The music carried her back, but it was the smells which welcomed her home.
Bread – her mother's pumpernickel bread baking in the oven mixed with the acrid smell of school textbook and the musty sweetness of rubber eraser. The smells and sounds of childhood long forgotten by the conscious mind- and Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, legs barely reaching the floor as she worked her way through the page of equations opened before her. Her mother bustled around the room, preparing dinner in the short space between when she and Dad got home from work.
Stumped, Sam chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip for a minute, staring at the problem before her, but it was no use. "Uh… Mom?"
Her mom looked up from the stove. "Yeah, Sam?"
"Do you have a minute? I've got a question…"
Her mom stepped over to look over Sam's shoulder at the math book. Pointing at the difficult problem with her pencil eraser, Sam explained, "I get Algebra-" If the truth were known, she was rather proud of this accomplishment. As a fifth grader, she was taking Algebra years ahead of her classmates and had to be bused to the local Junior High for her math class. So she was a bit hesitant to let even her mom know she couldn't find the answer, even if it was for extra credit. Still… "How do I solve a problem with two variables?"
Her mom read the word problem, then chuckled. "It's a trick question, honey – sort of. This first bit," she pointed, "has it's own single-variable equation. Solve that first, and use it's answer in the other equation."
Armed with that new information, Sam looked back down at the problem. And reread it. And suddenly the equations – and even the solutions – were crystal clear. She smiled up at her mom. "Thanks!"
Her mom squeezed her shoulder in response. "Anytime, honey."
Then, her mom turned away suddenly, her attention diverted. Sam followed her gaze towards the radio. A slow, somber cello solo had started playing on her mom's classical station – her mom's favorite song. Sam looked back at her mother, and couldn't help smiling again. Her mom noticed her reaction, and smiled back. As her mom listened to the song, Sam turned back to her math, barely aware she was humming happily to the music.
Some things would never change, and she knew at that moment that hearing that song would always bring her back to the safety of her mother's kitchen.
Only… She'd been wrong. Things could change, always and forever, in the blink of an eye. Her world could shatter, even in her mom's kitchen.
Only… Then it wasn't really her kitchen anymore.
And the song continued, carrying her forward.
Standing between Mark and her dad, clutching her dad's hand so hard it nearly hurt. It must have hurt him, but he never said anything. He never did.
At the front of the church, her mom lay in her coffin, except she wasn't really there anymore. Sam looked up at her father standing next to her, at the strong man who – after his immediate tears - had managed to keep from crying.
She was still angry at him, but she was also proud. Proud that he'd kept them together and kept them going through the nightmare of the last week. Proud, too, that because of his example, she had managed not to cry since then, either.
At least, not when she was awake and where other people might see her, which was close enough.
The solo started, and Sam looked towards the woman playing the cello - playing her mother's song. Except now there was nothing safe or comforting in the familiar melody. It was cold and black and lonely and seemed to expand to fill the church with Sam's own grief.
Tears welled up inside her, but she would not cry. Her mind scrambled desperately for something – for anything – to concentrate on rather than give in. Because her mom was gone…
And two times two equals four..
Her mom was gone….
And two times three equals six.
But….
And two times four equals eight, and two times five equals ten, and two times six equals twelve… She was mentally calculating what sixteen times twelve was by the time the service ended.
But she never cried. Until.…
The last notes of the song were fading in her ears when she woke up, tears on her cheeks and soaking her pillow. Instead of strong arms pulling her across the bed towards comfort, there was only empty space. She was alone.
Only she wasn't, not really. That was just an illusion caused by distance. Rolling over the other way, she reached for the bedside phone.
-o-o-o-
It was too early for the alarm to be going off. He'd just gone to sleep, for crying out loud. Then, he realized it was the digitized ring of a cellphone. The song finally got through his still half-asleep consciousness: "Ride of the Valkyrie." His eyes popped open. Sam.
Fully awake in an instant, he grabbed the phone and sat up. It was flipped open and at his ear before his feet hit the bedroom floor. "What's wrong?"
"Jack." It wasn't a question. He could hear her ragged intake of breath, and knew she had been crying – probably still was. She was reaching to him in the only way she could. His immediate instinct – an urge so strong it left him trembling for control – was to rush to the nearest airport, get the nearest plane, and fly the damn thing to Colorado.
"Are you okay?" he asked as gently as possible, trying to keep his own fear and frustration out of his voice. Those didn't matter right now.
"Yeah... I mean…" her voice broke.
Damn. "Sam?"
"It was just a dream. More a memory, really. I probably shouldn't have called-"
He interrupted her in his best CO voice. "Carter."
It worked. "Sorry."
Better. "So…?"
So Sam told him about her dream – or more accurately, her memories. About how her mother used to love classical music, and how as a child Sam would listen with her. But after her mother had died, the magic seemed to go out of the music, leaving it flat and lifeless. She had stopped listening to it, hadn't imagined she'd ever find joy or comfort in it again.
Until she had started listening to it with him.
She had been regaining control of herself the entire time she'd been talking to him, until she ended by explaining matter-of-factly: "I fell asleep listening the songs you loaded this weekend, and hearing mom's favorite song again must have triggered the memories. I know it's sort of silly to be so upset over just a dream, and I probably should have just waited till I called you tomorrow…. But I needed to talk to you…"
"No, I understand," Jack quickly reassured her. And he did. Because it had been months after Charlie had died before he could look at a baseball glove without feeling the twist of a knife in his gut. And it hadn't been until Teal'c wanted to know what something called 'baseball' had to do with one's mother and a pastry involving baked apples that he'd ended up at another baseball game. To his utter amazement, he had managed to enjoy it with his friend. So he really did understand her reaction to the music. "And never hesitate to call – anytime."
"Thanks." Though whether she was thankful for being understood, or for finally having someone to share herself with, or for his simply being there on the other end of the phone at 2am was unclear. Jack suspected it was all three.
He smiled. "My pleasure." And he meant it. Maybe he didn't need to be lying next to her to be there for her after all.
She hesitated a minute before saying, "I should be going. We both need to sleep."
"You gonna be okay?" He didn't really want to end the conversation either. He never did. But she was right.
"Uh-huh. Now. I love you, Jack."
"Me too - I love you."
"'Night."
"Night."
And Sam severed the connection, leaving him alone again. Only, not really alone. He turned on his clock radio – tuned as always to the local classical music station – and lay back down to sleep. The music filled the room as he drifted back asleep imagining, hundreds of miles away, Sam doing the exact same thing.
He continued to keep Sam's MP3 player filled with music. Much of it was the classical music which had suddenly become even more special to both of them, but sometimes the occasional pop-tune snuck in which Cassie insisted Sam just had to listen to. Through it all, however, he never replaced that song – the cello solo which had been Sam's mother's favorite. When she had shared that memory with him, the song had somehow become 'their' song, too. Jack liked knowing that she always had it with her to remind her of who she was and of how much she was loved. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing.