Title: 9.4 Seconds (One of The Many Lives of Samantha Carter)

Rating:MA

Warning: Dark Fic, Mirror Universe, Angst. Discussion/Memories include a previous Suicide attempt, and remembrances of torture and being a POW. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Cussing, And two mind-bleaching Squicky pairings, so keep your Clorox wipes handy if you decide to brave this story.

Geek!GirlSamantha was seen in Ripple Effect. She was the quiet one, wearing glasses in the scene with the multiplicity of Carters. This is her story.

Pairings:

Geek!GirlSamantha and her Colonel.

Vixen!Janet and most of the SGC.

Family!Man!GeneralJack and Mrs.General!Sara.

My apologies for any typos. My betas seemed to have overdosed on the mind bleach.

I think that's a compliment?

Samantha Carter was thrilled with her new assignment. After dealing with Herschfield at the Department of Aerospace Research Headquarters in Washington D.C and how the conniving, little thief had always taken credit for HER work, she was amazed to find herself in a TOP SECRET Department of Defense establishment working as a consultant.

Ha! Wouldn't her Dad be proud? His daughter the geek was in the Air Force, ok, working for them! Oh yeah, so she couldn't actually tell him because of that non-disclosure agreement that she had eagerly signed.

Most of the other Geeks seemed significantly better than Herschfield, for example, Daniel Jackson seemed quite nice and he was rather cute to be truthful. Ok, he was more than a little cute, Samantha admitted to herself.

Bill Le, right off the bat, had shown her pics of his many kids and his wife. Bill seemed like a decent guy as he didn't posses the wandering hands like Herschfield. Then there was Rodney McKay, oooh…. Yuck!

She despised him already!

He was Arrogant.

McKay informed her that he liked dumb blondes and since she was rather a pretty dumb blonde at that, why didn't they go out on date? Then they could get married, and she could stay at home popping out the next batch of geniuses while he worked for a living.

That comment made her so mad! So she let him have it!

"Look buddy, just because my reproductive organs are on the inside, doesn't mean that you're any smarter than I am," she told him. "Yours just dangle in the breeze."

Her Life Coach had told her that she needed to be more assertive and to stand up for herself. If she didn't stand up for herself, no one else would.

You're not a door mat, Samantha. Don't let people walk on you.

"Oh wonderful," Rodney had snarked loudly. "We've got Betty Friedan here."

Oh God, why did she have to say that about the reproductive organs? Why? Why? WHY? Damn it, she just got so mad sometimes until she erupted like Mt. St. Helen's. She'd take and take and take abuse and swallow repeated put downs until she blew up.

Then they had to take Basic Training to get on the other side of the Gate. When she has so quickly signed the non-disclosure agreement, she didn't read the fine print where she'd be reliving the horrors of being the geekiest girl in the elementary school and the last picked in gym class.

The Pentagon wanted everyone in tip-top physical shape, especially since they'd probably end up running for their lives from a hostile alien race due to McKay's mouth, and soon she had found herself under the baleful blue eyes of one Colonel George Hammond. He was a tall, bulky, reticent man who had appeared less than delighted with his assignment. The Colonel's ramrod straight posture, with his arms hanging just so at his side and shaved bald head reminded her painfully of her impossible to please father.

Plus they'd all have to learn how to handle a weapon. She tried not to think of the one time her father had taken her and her brother Mark shooting. Samantha hadn't even gotten to attempt it more than one or twice before her father had called it a day, and stormed out of the shooting range. Jake had thundered and roared at her mother about what sissies he had for kids even while Samantha had barricaded herself in her bedroom and had wept for hours.

Mark didn't care that his father thought he was a slacker, but Samantha craved her father's approval like a junkie craved his next fix. Just once, just once, she'd wanted his approval on anything. Even her doctorate in astrophysics hadn't been enough for her father as he had shrugged his shoulders and asked what type of job she could get with it, as there wasn't a chance in hell that she was ever getting into NASA.

Oh God, do you think they'll offer a remedial beginner's handgun class? If Hammond's anything like my father, I'll be too nervous to shoot.

You know, I wish I could tell Dad about this, maybe he'd actually be proud of me for once because one of his kids had actually followed in his footsteps and was in the military. Well I was somewhat in the military. Well, it probably wouldn't be good enough for Dad, as nothing was ever good enough for him.

To her surprise, nobody else in "Team Geek" as they had taken to calling themselves could read the stars, stripes, oak leaves, eagles and bars of the insignia of the various military personnel around them. Rodney had called Hammond Corporal, which earned a smirking dress down and an order to drop and do a few pushups. Rodney's mouth was in tiptop form, but not so for the rest of him.

Hammond had to demonstrate the correct way of doing pushups, and then it had taken twenty minutes for Rodney to do the five required. While Rodney was loudly complaining about being abused and how he'd like to see the Colonel do some pushups, the Colonel dropped to floor and banged out sets of ten in rapid succession. First standard Military form, then sets of wide pushups, diamond pushups, elevated pushups, three-point pushups and then he ended it up with fifteen deep pushups, using three chairs that he had the scientists vacate.

That done, the Colonel got off the floor, barely breathing heavily and glaring menacingly at a rather subdued Rodney. And for a wonder, Rodney shut up, much to the delight of the other scientists. Then after Rodney caught his breath, he was soon complaining once again.

"He's not a man; he's a red-headed gorilla! I can't believe that Colonel Steroids is pushing us through basics. I was created for my brains, NOT my brawn."

Then her medical exam had been so utterly embarrassing. Dr. Fraiser had explained that all the women at the SGC had to be on Depo Provera, just to prevent any possible pregnancy complications caused by Gate travel. Janet had noticed her obvious discomfort when questions about her medical history had brushed on her sexual history. Then the doctor had patted her hand reassuring.

"Not sexually active right now are you?"

"No," Samantha admitted.

"Have you ever been?" Janet questioned.

Samantha's face turned a vivid shade of scarlet from her embarrassment.

She was thirty years old and still a virgin! And according to her ex-fiancé, she'd die one.

Janet patted her hand again.

"Don't worry, we all are at some time," Janet reminded her. "And one day, you'll meet the right guy and you'll know."

The doctor seemed nice also.

But the worst part of her entire dream assignment wasn't that she had Rodney to deal with, but that Jonas Hansen was here.

Jonas, the biggest mistake of her life. Her ex-fiancé, who she had dated because her father had set them up thinking Jonas, was a nice guy. Fortunately, she never gave it up to him, as she quickly realized after their engagement that Jonas was the typical psychopath who'd kill baby kittens by drowning them. Well, actually, he'd set them on fire first and then drown them, claiming it was an act of compassion.

Jonas had wanted sex on the first date, the second date, the third date… well, you get the idea, and Samantha hadn't felt ready to do the deed. She kept putting him off, and then when she was still overwhelmed with the idea that ANY man, especially one as charming as Jonas wanted anything to do with "Geek Girl", her nickname during high school, she had agreed to his marriage proposal after a whirlwind three month relationship.

And then the pressure to put out had increased, and her gut instinct kept telling her to wait until they were married. Jonas got enraged with her continual refusals until one night he had broken a lamp in his anger and then verbally ripped her to shreds.

"You're gonna die a frigid old virgin. You'll be ninety seven years old wearing those shapeless cardigans that you love and you'll still be a virgin because nobody will ever want your cherry."

Sam was hoping and praying that now that he was married, he'd leave her alone.

Naturally, she was mistaken.

It was only her second day, and she was wearing her bright, shining BDUs so new that the creases were obvious to one and to all. She was in the locker room, tying her laces up, when she felt someone's hand on her back.

"Don't you look so spiffy in your fatigues, Samantha," Jonas drawled in a creepy tone that made her heart start racing.

"Jonas, it's the still the girl's locker room. You have to leave until it's your turn," she vainly protested.

She would have control of the situation! She would! No one could make her feel inferior without consent, and by God, Samantha wasn't consenting to this. Unfortunately Eleanor Roosevelt had never had to deal with Jonas when she had originally quipped that phrase.

"Samantha… I'm going to stay, because I really want to see you naked. I mean as your former fiancé, I should know what you look like naked. Oh wait, I keep forgetting. You're the oldest virgin in America as you won't give it up. Tell me, anyone want your dried up cherry? It must be pretty tough by now. Might need a jackhammer to do the deed by now."

"Jonas, stop being crude," she protested again.

"You know, Sammy," Jonas said with a leer. "You owe me…"

He grabbed her hard, twisted her arm until she cried out, and then slammed her against the locker. Putting one hand on the front of her fatigue, he stopped unexpectedly, no doubt wanting to terrorize her further while he savored her fear.

"Don't worry, darling, by the time I'm done with you, that little problem of yours will be gone…"

She tried to knee him, and to her surprise, Jonas abruptly stiffened.

"Captain Hansen, you will release the Doctor now," said another male voice.

Hansen turned away from her and tried to strike the other officer, but he ended up smashed head first into a locker by Colonel Hammond. His limp form slid downward and then Jonas was prone on the floor. Samantha had to bite her lip from prevent herself from cheering loudly as that was the first time she had ever seen Jonas handled so completely and efficiently. Hammond, with a noticeable distaste, prodded Jonas' in the ribs with one boot clad foot, as though Jonas was a large pile of something rather icky, and the Texan appeared delighted when Jonas didn't so much as moan.

"Ma'am?" Colonel Hammond drawled in a thick Texas accent. "You ok? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Thank you, Colonel," Samantha whispered. "I'm fine, just a little sore."

"You look a fright. My office is the three doors down on the left. Why don't you sit there for a bit and relax until I return? I'll need to speak to General O'Neill about I witnessed, but it was plainly an unprovoked attack. But first, I need to take the trash to the infirmary. Feel free to help yourself to my coffee. It's much better than the swill they serve here."

And with that, Hammond got on the phone and called for a medical team to pick up the still immotile Jonas while Samantha quickly made her escape.

Hammond's office was small and dimly lit. It was also extremely neatly organized with nary a paper clip out of place on his desk. There were four or five photos on his desk, all of whom appeared to be family members and several of the pictures had the grim 2IC grinning ear to ear. Picking up one of the photos, she had stared it for several minutes before she could confirm that it was a younger, and yes, smiling, Hammond holding a newborn baby in his arms. The silver frame was enscribed with "World's Best GrandPa" and a date, some five years prior.

Sam smelled the delightful aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and she decided to pour herself a cup, but she soon gave it up as a lost cause as her hands were shaking so badly. She was wiping up the mess she had made when Colonel Hammond entered the room.

"Ma'am? The General would like to talk to you about what happened. It's merely a formality as I witnessed his assault and heard what he said. I can assure you that Jonas Hansen will be thoroughly reprimanded for what happened, and he will be removed from this facility. In fact, there might be a good chance that they'll drum him out of the service for this."

Samantha sat down heavily in a chair, and she knew that she was blushing.

"You heard? What he said?" Samantha whispered.

"How do you know Jonas?" The Colonel didn't answer her question. "Some of the comments were a bit… too personal an attack for him not to know you. Was he your… ex?"

"He was my ex-fiancé," she explained. "We separated… because I…."

She stopped in mid-sentence, not wanting to the grim man in front of her why she and Jonas had decide dto s.

"Ma'am, I'm a bit old-fashioned, probably because I was raised in the Texas. What you are and what you aren't ain't nothing of which to be ashamed. The only way you could ashamed was if you and he had…"

Hammond stopped, and waved his hand, his gesture conveying what he meant.

"He wouldn't have handled it with the proper respect and sensitivity that it deserves. That particular undertaking deserves a gentleman's touch… someone who'd make sure that it was full of happy memories for you rather than just another notch on his belt… I hope I haven't embarrassed you, Ma'am, but if I did, I apologize, but it is truly how I feel about the matter."

She shook her head, and tried to stop shaking. To her surprise, Colonel Hammond took her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze before releasing them.

"Ma'am," he said in his deep voice. "You don't have to give the General all the details about what Jonas said. Just tell the General that Jonas had you pinned against the locker and that he wanted to hurt you. That'll be enough as I was a witness."

Samantha sighed, and she wiped her eyes quickly.

"I don't know how to thank you, Colonel. If you hadn't come in then…" Samantha stopped and then continued. "I wish I could thank you…"

"How about if you sit with me if we have lunch at the same time?" Hammond requested. "Being 2IC here, I usually eat alone. Fear of fraternization, I guess. It's a might lonely everyday to have lunch by yourself."

She agreed, because what else could she do? Though truthfully, the very thought of having lunch with Hammond left her cold. The rumors about the taciturn, stone faced 2IC had already spread through Team Geek, and the kindest ones were that he was crazier than a March Hare and when provoked he was as vicious as a cornered rabid wolverine.

"May I take your hand?" Hammond questioned softly.

She extended it, and he grabbed it much like Jonas did. Instinctively, she pulled away from him and he shook his head.

"No… I want to show you something. If someone grabs you like that, it's called a wrist lock. You do a quick twist against the thumb. The thumb is the weakest part of the grip…" He demonstrated quickly. "You also need to learn how to stand, to make yourself appear less of a victim. Your shoulders are hunched, you never look anyone in the eye and you just about scream, 'Easy Victim'. But you were right, going for the groin, but also go for the eyes, and the throat. Also, breaking his pinky probably would have caused him to stop the wristlock. Grab the pinky and bend it backwards."

Hammond made her practice until she could easily get out of his wristlock. She knew that he wasn't putting all his strength into his grip on her wrist, but by the end of his lesson, Sam realized how she could have broken Jonas' grasp.

"With a little adrenalin in you, you'll do fine," Hammond informed her. "But I hope there's not a next time for you, Ma'am. Now don't forget, you need to speak to General O'Neill about what happened."

George began examining O'Neill's lesson plans after Samantha Carter had left his office. He had thrown them into his "In" bin after he had gotten then, vowing never to look at them. Shaking his head in disbelief at O'Neill's obtuseness, he reached for black and red pens and began revising O'Neill's lesson plans.

First off, physical conditioning then he had to teach those geeks how to defend themselves. He had been surprised by the amount of anger he had felt when he saw Jonas hassling Samantha Carter. Mack the Quack would probably quack that it was a good sign that he was actually interested in the welfare of another human being, but goddamn, if a man had ever done that to his wife, he'd knock the loser flat on his ass.

After Hansen had been handled, George had realized that this was an excellent opportunity to lay the groundwork for seducing Jake Carter's daughter. A few chivalrous comments in a slow, heavy Texas Twang, especially the one about it being best for the woman if a gentleman handled her first time to ensure her pleasant memories had led to Samantha's polite comment about thanking him properly. A lecherous man would have insisted on drinks outside the base, in order to achieve the touchdown as quickly as possible… but instead he had requested that she might sit with him at lunch.

God, after dealing with that creep Hansen, no doubt there was a reason why Samantha had never given it up… so that meant… a…slow… deliberate… seduction.

No one ate lunch with lonely ole him because he was the 2ic, for fear of charges of fraternization? That was truly inspired bull shit.

Nobody wanted to eat lunch with him because he was the Top Pick on Sgt. Siler's List of Personnel Most Likely to Repeat a Complete Mental Snap and Take a Squad or Two Down Before They Restrained Him. Then again, he was the only one on the base that he knew of that had met the first criteria for the list.

Yet, if he actually got her into his bed, he was pretty sure his current seduction style that bordered on mutual sexual assault would completely traumatize her and have her screaming for the police before he got her undressed. He'd have to work on that, not with Janet….naturally.

But… maybe he could remember what it had been like with his wife, to reminisce fondly on the sensation of being so utterly focused on your partner's pleasure that nothing… and he meant… nothing… else mattered and the exquisite joy and delighted pride that he had once felt when his wife had softly called out his name.

Janet was a wildcat in bed and a screamer to boot, but his wife… how he missed her soft voice whispering in his ears, how she used to rest her head on his chest afterwards and how they'd talk about anything and everything until they drifted off to sleep. Oh God, how he longed for her gentle touch and how she massaged his aching shoulders and lower back, not because he asked, but just because Angie knew they were paining him.

God, he truly was a monster if he was thinking on how to seduce Samantha Carter by trying to remember what had once worked with Angie.

And the worst part was once he got her into bed, he knew that he'd destroy Samantha, because he was incapable of anything else. Every thing he had once loved and cherished lay buried underneath six feet of limestone Texas soil, shaded by a large Texas Ash tree that overlooked a small pond.

Angie had always held a fondness for that particular tree, and the kids had done good when they picked out the cemetery plot. Enough room for all of them there and there was a spot reserved for him with his name on it and date of birth on it.

Ironic, wasn't it? The reason why his family had decided to get a plot in Texas was walking and talking on God's Green Earth, and they weren't.

Brooding on that dark thought for a bit, he returned to writing his lesson plans and he lost track of time when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," he ordered.

Janet Fraiser glided into his office and quickly closed the door behind him.

"You didn't crack Hansen's skull, just to let you know, but he's got a severe concussion," Janet breathed huskily.

She was feeling frisky… pain always turned her on, especially since she didn't like Jonas. He was probably the only man she hadn't tried at least once between what he had sardonically nicknamed Janet's Golden Arches.

Over two billion served at last count.

"And… and… someone came down to get her wrist x-rayed. The adrenalin rush wore off and her wrist hurts. Just a bad sprain, so I gave her a splint and some TLC," Janet smirked and then sat on his desk, crossing her shapely legs deliberately, so he could admire them. "Someone's got an admirer."

"What's his name?" George retorted.

"You know," Janet purred. "Don't be dense."

"You're fucking Ferretti now?" he questioned. "Where do you find the time? You've got a different man twixt those thighs of yours every night, Doc."

"Have been fucking Ferretti for the last six months, dear. Every Wednesday night when his wife thinks he's bowling," Janet reminded him, "But I know you're just playing stupid. Our lovely, virginal Samantha Carter was all abuzz about you. She wanted to know more about you, so I told her all about you."

"Fuck," he swore. "If she runs down the hallway screaming like the very hounds of hell are after her next time she sees me, I'll blame you."

"No…" Janet giggled. "I didn't tell her the truth about you. I mentioned the Iraqi Prison Camp…"

"Everyone knows about my stay in Club Iraqi," George reminded her in dry tones. "Plus my extended vacation at Club Insanity. And I quite sure that rumors that are circulating through out this fine establishment don't come even a hair close to the truth of what I experienced for my fourteen month vacation in Iraq."

"I did mention what happened to your wife and your family," Janet informed him. "How they died, still believing that you were KIA."

Unbidden a thought came to his mind, the hospice nurse that had cared for his wife, telling him how Angie had died, surrounded by their daughters and their families. Angie had died happy, with a smile on her face; because she thought he'd be greeting her on the other side. It had taken time, but he had managed to track down his wife's caretakers, begging them to please tell him anything and everything about her final moments.

It had taken Mack the Quack's intervention for any of them to actually talk to him.

Rumors had it that he had been very fucking scary in his zealous pursuit for the information. But damn it, he had needed to know, wanting to grasp for any reassurance that Angie hadn't been in pain, that her death had been a good death.

"Don't worry girls, I'll be seeing your father soon… He's waiting for me… and I so want to see him again…"

"And how you found out," Janet continued.

The shrink telling his assistant, "I don't believe Lt. Colonel Hammond is in any condition to be told about his family. If he asks about his wife or his children, you're to stall him."

"Sir, he needs to know that they're dead. We can't lie to him!"

"Lieutenant, he just got released from an Iraqi POW camp, he's in no condition to know that his wife went out of remission and that she died while he was over there. We certainly can't tell him that his family was killed by a drunk driver on the way to the funeral and he has no family left," the shrink said in a voice that carried to where George had been hiding.

At a forced march, he walked back to his room, and grabbed his needed supplies. Then he got into the bed…

Carefully, he took out the razor blade from the razor and he put it against his skin. They hadn't cleaned the room completely before he had been assigned it, and he had found the unused razor in the back of the closet. He had hidden it, instinctively knowing something was horribly wrong by how they evaded his questions about his family.

With a quick, savage motion he made a long, vertical cut on his left arm running from his wrist to his elbow and then quickly did the same to his right. He reclined back in his bed, his hands inside a waste paper basket as it wouldn't be right to make the poor housekeeping aids clean up after him, growing dizzier and dizzier….. He should have done this in the bathroom, but there wasn't a bathtub there, just a shower, and this way, it would be less of a fuss.

He thought of happier times with his wife… as the colors started fading from his sight and he almost didn't hear the scream when the housekeeping aid saw what he had done…

"How O'Neill was willing to take you as his 2IC…. When no one else wanted you…"

He was sitting in O'Neill's office, dressed in his brand new blues as he had lost muscle and mass during his stay at the Iraqi Hilton, wearing his brand spanking new Colonel Eagles on his shoulders, them being nothing more than a bone thrown to an old dog who was too damn stubborn to lay down and die. Mack the Quack was there also, and O'Neill and Mack were nattering on and on about how Cheyenne Mountain would be an excellent place for George to restart his career.

Ah, Janet must be deliberately trying to goad him into reacting, and so he simply nodded his head. His Ferretti comment must have pissed her off, and she was trying to score on him.

Theirs was a hateful, twisted relationship, but it worked.

Sometimes.

"So…" Janet said chirpily. "My place or yours tonight, Hammond?"

"Neither," he replied. "Too tired to play tonight. I would hate to disappoint you, Doc, what this old man's physical limitations."

The fact that this was the first time he actually said something like "No", "Not interested" "Too Tired" to Janet caused the little vixen's face to turn dark and nasty. Just a momentarily lapse of poise, but Janet regrouped quickly, her countenance once again wearing its usual smirk.

"Darling, you better learn to smile," Janet said softly. "You'll never get into her pants without one."

Samantha Carter knew that she was the topic of conversation as everyone knew that Jonas had been shipped out to the hospital, and she tried not to show that she knew that her name was on everyone's lips. Her injured wrist was throbbing in time to her pulse, and the black splint she was wearing was quite itchy.

Damn it, it had to be her right hand and her car was a standard. The helpful and rather cute Daniel Jackson had offered to give her a lift home, but he was energetically arguing the finer parts of Phoenician grammar with another member of Team Geek which meant that she'd be here for hours. General O'Neill had talked to her, assured her that the Jonas problem would be resolved, that it wasn't her fault, and then he offered her a ride home.

He was cute too!

But fortunately, Janet Fraiser had warned her about him. Apparently General O'Neill was bit of a dog and his wife was having twins!

She wasn't really sure about Janet, but it would be nice to have a female friend. Janet had also warned her about Colonel Hammond. Not a warning so much as an appeal for her to be compassionate to the older man.

"He's been through hell these last few years, and you know the military mindset, Samantha," Janet explained. "Hammond would sooner die than admit anything, and the entire base knows about his brief sojourn in the Psychiatric Ward. I mean, his wife died from cancer, while he was held in Iraq. They declared him KIA, his wife went out of remission, and died from grief. Then his daughters, their husbands and their two daughters were killed by a drunk driving on the way to the funeral. It was horrible, Samantha, they didn't even have the decency to tell him. No, instead, he found out by eavesdropping as he was wondering where his family was."

And then the story had gotten even worse. Damn her for a fool, she got misty eyed as Janet continued the story. She was too damn sensitive for her own good!

"He took his razor and slit his wrists. That's why he always wears long sleeves," Janet explained. "He's very self-conscious about the scars, as they're pretty ugly. I think it's a good sign that he actually stopped Jonas. Hammond's kept himself apart from everyone else here, not getting too close to anyone here… I think I'm the only one that eats lunch with him…"

"The Colonel invited me to sit with him at lunch," Samantha admitted shyly which caused Janet to smile.

"You will won't you? It's not healthy for him to always keep himself separated from everyone. Hammond's got to realize that he can trust people here," Janet explained.

As though her thoughts conjured him up, Colonel Hammond appeared. He was in civvies, and he appeared startled to see her.

"Ma'am?" He questioned. "I thought you were going home early."

"Can't drive," Samantha explained before pointing at her splinted right wrist. "I drive standard. I'm waiting for my ride."

"Want a lift?" Hammond offered.

"That would be nice," she admitted. "Just let me tell Daniel that I'm catching a ride with you."

Daniel had appeared a little put off that she was getting a ride home with the Colonel, but then he got distracted by an obvious Phoenician grammar error in mid-discussion, so she quickly waved a goodbye with her good hand and returned to where the Colonel was waiting for her.

As they left the SGC, Hammond didn't say anything to her except to ask where she lived, and to confirm the cross streets. It was probably her imagination, but she swore she saw Sgt. Siler with a completely flabbergasted look on his face in the parking lot.

Hammond was the picture perfect gentleman, opening the passenger door to his Ford Explorer and then assisting her with the three-point seatbelt. Then he drove her home, and he didn't say anything, not even a single word. The silence was nerve-wracking, and it grew more and more pronounced until finally Hammond spoke again.

"Need to pick somethin' up for supper?"

"I can make something when I get home," she said.

"There's no problem if you'd like to stop somewhere," Hammond offered. "You just let me know where, and I'll stop. There's a decent Chinese place near where you live."

"Decent Chinese?" Samantha questioned. "I don't know much about the local area just yet."

"Actually, it's pretty good Chinese."

Her stomach growled softly and she agreed that it might be nice.

"I'm glad you agreed, as I planning on stopping there after I dropped you off," Hammond admitted. "It's not really worth the effort to cook for one."

Hammond insisted on paying for her meal, turning completely deaf and rather mulish when she tried to give him money for the meal and then he parked the truck, insisting on walking her to her apartment, carrying her food. It was probably a good thing as she couldn't have juggled the food and her lock. It stuck on the best of times, and he had to force it with his shoulder in order to open the door.

"Best have your supe look at that lock, Ma'am," he informed her.

Then Hammond was putting her containers of Chinese food on her kitchen table, and she wondered if she should invite him to eat with her.

"Colonel?" Samantha questioned. "Would you like to stay and eat dinner with me?"

His lips briefly quirked in a half smile, and Samantha thought that of the two of them, his smile needed more oil than her front lock did. It was a rusty smile, as though he hadn't smiled in so long that his lips weren't sure exactly how they were supposed to position themselves. That ghost of a smile unexpectedly reminded her of the photos of the smiling Hammond with his family she had seen on his desk, and she wondered about the man he once had been.

"I'd be delighted, Ma'am," he assured her. "I must admit that I wasn't looking forward to going home and eating alone."

He let her monopolize the conversation, sometimes she'd stop in mid-sentence as she realized that she was completely dominating their tête-à-tête, and he'd gesture with his hand, or his chopsticks, silently urging her to talk more.

"I can't believe that you're letting me talk your ear off," Samantha protested when the meal was ended.

"That's alright, I don't talk much. Better to keep quiet, and be thought of as wise then open your mouth and remove all doubt," he said softly.

Sam looked at him, and he quirked another half-smile at her glance.

"It was my Fortune cookie last week," he explained. "Angie… she was my wife… she always had to read her fortune cookie, and she got me in the habit. Though she was a bit of a wildcat… and she had this tradition, where she always added the two words at the end of fortune. If she had read last night's fortune, it would have been…. Better to keep quiet, and be thought of as wise then open your mouth and remove all doubt… in bed. Don't know where she got that habit from, but she got me in the habit of adding that to my fortune."

"In bed?" Samantha questioned. She knew that she was blushing, and to her surprise, Hammond shook his head in quick agreement.

"Yes, you can add that to your fortune, and it always works. Go ahead, and read yours, you'll see that she was right," Hammond insisted.

She cracked the cookie, looked at her fortune and then shook her head in embarrassment, "I can't read this."

"Come on, what's so bad that you're blushing?" Hammond questioned softly.

She shook her head, and he reached for it. He looked at it, and again quirked another half-smile. It was his third smile that evening.

"Quantity has a quality of its own… in bed. Well, that's the God's honest truth," he added easily, before cracking his cookie in his hand, and pulling out the fortune. "Let's see what mine says. The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up… in bed. Beats sleeping on the floor."

That quip made her laugh, and he seemed surprised.

"Let me clean up, and then I should be going," the Colonel suggested. "Don't protest, I know how to clean up after myself. When I dry the dishes, I'll leave them on table, as I don't know where they go."

She protested, and finally he gave her a mock order to go to the living room. In return, she playfully saluted him with her bad hand, and then she went into the living room. Samantha then curled up on her comfy couch and began flipping through the TV channels. There was a show on Discovery that she had wanted to watch. It was about the Space Shuttle Program, which once she had wanted to be part of more than anything in her life.

When George went into the living room to say his goodnights, he found her asleep on her couch. Her cardigan had been neatly hung up and her glasses were on the table next to her. Samantha looked so damn young when she was sleeping. And she was surprisingly pretty too, hiding her beauty behind her armor of thick glasses and ugly sweaters.

Carefully he picked up an afghan and he covered her with it, not wanting to wake her. Then he grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled a quick note. Deliberately, he left it on her glasses as that way she'd find it in the morning.

If you need a ride to work tomorrow, call me. Hammond.

That done, he left her apartment.

George was almost halfway home when he realized that tonight had probably the most pleasant evening he had experienced in far too long. It was nice to listen to someone else talk rather than have CNN blaring in the background while he ate alone.