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 woke up to the sound of a ringing phone and she realized that she had fallen asleep on the couch. Her good hand reached for the phone, and she answered it. For the moment, she groggily wondered where she was, and why she thought someone should be there in the room with her.

"Hello?" She tried not to yawn, but she did so anyway.

"Sam? It's Danny. Daniel Jackson, you know… from work?" questioned a familiar male voice. "I'm really sorry that I didn't give you a ride home tonight."

Being raised since birth to never express her disappointment in anything, as her distress had only led to her father's caustic sarcasm in order to toughen her up, she tried to be the Good Girl and smooth everything over.

"That's ok, I caught a ride with Colonel Hammond," she explained. "Drove me home, and we picked up Chinese for dinner so I could have something to eat."

"How was he?" Daniel questioned slowly, his voice dripping in hidden meaning.

"Perfect gentleman," she assured Daniel. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, you know they all say that he's… stark raving nuts," Daniel said slowly.

"He was the perfect gentleman all evening," Sam repeated.

"All evening?"

To Samantha's delight, Daniel sounded a little jealous. She nearly giggled, but the idea that anybody would be interested in her was just so ludicrous.

"Yes, he brought me home and bought me dinner. I thought it would be polite to let him eat here."

"D-d-d-did he behave?" Daniel sputtered. "He didn't try anything, did he?"

"Yes, Daniel, he behaved," Sam said dryly. "He's not that bad. He's just extremely introverted."

"He likes you because you can read the insignia," protested Daniel. "The others are already grumbling that you're the Teacher's Pet."

She had always been the Teacher's Pet, the good girl who got good grades and who always behaved. Combining that with her dad's military career and his frequent moves, she was always the odd girl out. Her smile faded, as she realized that her hopes for finally being accepted by the others were probably the same as it had always been.

Pretty damn poor.

Even among the geeks, she was to be the queen of geekdom, scorn and rejected.

"I'll make sure that I bring him an apple tomorrow," Samantha said softly.

"Well, that's the reason why I'm calling…"

"You're bringing him an apple tomorrow?" Sam teased. "Are we coordinating?"

"NO! I'll give you a ride to work tomorrow… well… I'm offering," Daniel sputtered. "If you want, that is."

"That would be wonderful," she admitted. "I thought I might have to take a taxi."

They chatted a bit longer and then Sam agreed to meet Daniel at her front door at seven AM. After she hung up the phone, she reached for her glasses and saw the note from Hammond.

Hammond arrived home, checked his mailbox like the idiot he was, because he never got anything except for bills and catalogs. Oh, he did get a Christmas card from Murray the Shark Lawyer, but that was it. Much like he expected, his mailbox was empty. He undid the alarm and entered his inner sanctuary.

Everything was neat, everything was spotless, everything was just so. He could hear the hum of the pumps for his salt water aquarium. It was a monstrous three hundred gallon salt water aquarium that he had put into his condo just because Kayla and Tessa would have loved it. They had always loved to watch the colorful fish zip about in his fresh water tank when they had visited, so he had indulged. In spite of the fact that he had splurged on the condo, had a truck and a classic car in his garage, and had somebody playing "Tank Boy" and keeping his aquarium ship-safe and algae free, he still had more money than he could possibly ever use in his lifetime, as he normally lived pretty frugally.

As it was, his big ticket items, with the exception of his truck, were all items that his loved ones would have enjoyed. The condo with the lake view was his much promised house to Angie. The garaged 1966 Mustang coupe that was viper blue with white metal flake stripes was a sweet piece of work that Angie would have loved. He rarely drove it, and when he did, he was always amused to see various NCOs drooling over it in the parking lot.

He had paid far too much for it, but what the hell was he saving his money for?

Hey! Maybe if Samantha accepted his offer for a lift to the SGC tomorrow morning, he'd take the car. Weather was supposed to be nice. Maybe she was the type of girl that would get impressed by a classic auto?

That thought brought him back to the damn fish tank.

"If I actually get to go off world, I'm going to have to hire a fish sitter," he said to himself.

He sat down on the couch, put his long legs on the coffee table, and he stared at the darting colorful fish for a bit. George was drifting off to sleep when his phone rang.

"Hello?" George answered the phone in a rather deep, groggy voice.

To his disgust, it wasn't Samantha but instead, someone from which he truly didn't want to hear.

"George… You're using your bedroom voice. Did you bang her?" said a female voice. "You sound like it. You've got that rumble in your voice."

"Why I'm doing fine, Janet, thank you for asking. How are you this lovely evening?" George retorted.

"I'm really curious. Did you bang her?" Janet questioned intently. "Did you introduce her to the joys of Sex? Did you make her a woman?"

"Janet, what's the problem? Didn't get lucky tonight? You're being extraordinarily crude tonight even for you," Hammond retorted. "But in answer to your question, no."

"She shot you down?" Fraiser's voice rose several octaves in feigned surprise. "What is she waiting for? Christmas? She's not getting any younger!"

"Janet, it's not something that's going to happen right away. It's going to take time," he protested. "How in the Sam Hell did you find out that I drove her home?"

"Siler," Janet admitted.

"You're doing Siler now?" Hammond questioned with some concern. "Where the hell do you get the energy?"

"There's just something about Siler's big wrench…" Janet purred.

"Too much information," he protested.

"Siler saw you driving her home, being the chivalrous knight that you are, so he started a new pool."

"You know, Siler should stop running those pools. There's a reason why he nearly got demoted in rank at his last assignment," George said with some asperity.

"Well, he knows that the General fathered Sarah's bambinos, so there isn't any "Whose the Daddy of the General's Wife's Baby" pools. I put five hundred on you, George…"

"Five HUNDRED?" George protested. "What's the pool? Who is the person most likely to have a complete mental snap?"

"No…wait? How do you know about that pool? Anyway, this pool is whose gonna do Samantha," Janet explained. "You're the long shot, George. You're two hundred and fifty to one!"

"Janet," George explained patiently. "Do you really think you're going to get over a hundred thousand dollars out of Siler? There's a reason why he's always getting hurt, and it's not because he's accident prone. Who's got the best odds?"

"There's three. O'Neill, two to one odds. Jackson, he's four to one, and then there's slight higher odds on Rod the Bod as a bunch think McKay will do it."

His phone beeped, so he put Janet on hold and then answered it. George was a might startled that he remembered how to use his call waiting feature, as he NEVER had two phone calls at the same time, and he was even more astonished to hear Samantha's voice on the line.

"Hello, Doctor Carter," he said gently. "I locked the door on the way out. I didn't want to wake you. Do you need a ride into work tomorrow? It's absolutely no problem. It's on my way to work…"

To be honest, he was surprisingly sincerely disappointed when Samantha informed him that she had accepted Daniel Jackson's offer to give her a ride to work. They said their goodbyes and then he clicked back to Janet.

"Was that Samantha…?" Janet put an obscene spin on Doctor Carter's name, and George again wondered why he had allowed himself to get involved with the woman he nicknamed the SGC's Black Widow.

Ah, he remembered. He had taken her offer to share her bed because he had feeling particularly friendless that day, adrift in a loneliness and despair so deep that it had been threatening to overwhelm his soul and his sanity. So when Janet had wiggled her hips at him and winked her eye, he had gone to her like a bee to a flower, or perhaps a mate to a female black widow spider, uncaring that she'd lead to his complete destruction.

Some half remembered quote came to mind… Samuel Johnson?

I have ever since my wife's death, seemed to myself, broken off from mankind, a kind of solitary wanderer in the wild of life, without any direction, or fixed point of view; a gloomy gazer on the world to which I have little relation.

"Yes, she doesn't need a ride to work tomorrow," George explained.

He let Janet ramble on and on, thinking that she was more concerned about losing the $500 more than anything else and he finally said goodnight. Hammond put the phone down and he looked at his living room.

Some living room.

He existed…. Nothing more… nothing less. He certainly didn't live.

Mack the Quack wanted him to try another round of antidepressants, but he refused. He quoted the old flyer's truism to the quack, not wanting them to take his pilot's license from him.

No bottle on the throttle, no med in the head.

Or what he was reminding himself these days.

Hide the scars, to walk among the stars.

When he was in the psych ward, they had dosed him with assorted shit until the vibrant colors of autumn leaves that he had viewed from the barred window of the rec room had faded to various shades of gray. Once upon a time, he had found solace in music, and once the drugs had kicked in, the peace he had once found turned into cacophonous chords.

So he had refused to take the drugs, and the colors had returned along with the pain.

Yes, all he felt was pain, and all he would feel from now until the end of time, but it still preferable to feeling numb.

God, his head was painin' him something fierce, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep until the early hours, so he took out his notebook and began writing his lesson plans for the geeks.

Daniel Jackson arrived at her apartment on time, and Samantha thanked him for the ride. He drove a battered hatchback, and Samantha tried not to notice that he had needed to clear a few books from his front passenger's seat and had in fact, thrown them into his back seat while she was walking toward the car.

"How's the wrist?" He questioned immediately.

"Not so bad," Samantha said.

She gave a happy grin and gestured with her brace covered arm.

"I can't twist it without pain just yet, but the brace is only a precaution," she explained.

"So what happened?"

Sam's smile faded and she scrunched into herself. She tried never to speak bad about anyone, and she hated conflict in any form. Her parents had some doozies of fights when she was younger, and their screaming had always made her run to her room and barricade the door. She'd cry into her pillow, hugging her teddy bear tightly until they'd stop screaming and shrieking obscenities at each other. Then her mom would come up to her room, with a tray of cookies and lemonade and she'd explain to Sam that sometimes Mommy and Daddy had fights and said nasty things, but they still loved their children very, very much. It wasn't her fault, no matter what Samantha believed, her mom promised her. It was never Samantha's fault that her parents fought.

Though young Samantha never mentioned to her Mommy about the really bad fight her Mommy and Daddy had, in which her father had cursed his anger and regret that his stupid wife had gotten knocked up the second time. Samantha was younger than her brother, and she was really, really sure her dad didn't truly mean it. He just didn't really expect her to hear it, but the fight had gotten so ugly, that she had gone downstairs to beg them to stop and so she had overheard. Sam never told her mother that she had heard her mother scream that she wished she had gotten an abortion and a divorce but that Jake was too Catholic to allow either.

Instead, she had been even more determined to gain her father's love and respect.

On the rare times she admitted to herself that maybe she was attempting too hard to earn her father's love, and her efforts were futile and doomed to failure, she vowed to try even harder.

Maybe one day her father might stop hating her for being born, and maybe… just maybe… like her?

So instead of telling Daniel the truth, she just gave him a white lie.

"Jonas got a little fresh," she admitted.

"I heard Hammond slammed his head into a locker," Daniel stated. "Since Hansen was fresh to you, he deserved it."

Daniel nodded his head and Samantha looked at the man driving the car. Daniel was a pacifist, always trying to find an answer to a conflict without the use of a gun. Hammond had nearly stroked when Daniel had suggested in class something to the effect of not every conflict needed to end in violence.

Doctor Jackson, if we're going off world, you need to accept the fact that some problems will not be solved by sitting 'round a campfire, smoking a peace pipe and singing Kumbaya. Sometimes you'll be running like hell, trying to save your six while using a P90.

"You really think that?" Sam questioned, trying not to sound surprised… and grateful.

"I do," he said. "You're pretty and you're really smart."

"You think?" Samantha asked, really surprised by this. As no one, not even Jonas when he had been trying to get into her plain white panties, had said that she was pretty.

"Yes," Daniel admitted.

Someone laid on their horn, causing it to blare, ruining the moment and then Daniel gunned the motor and zipped through the intersection.

Wow, Samantha thought. He thinks I'm pretty.

First thing she noticed in the parking lot was a viper blue 1966 Ford Mustang coupe. It gleamed softly in the early morning light, and there were a few sergeants encircling it, and gawking enviously. It was parked next to a new black Corvette, but her eyes were focused on the Mustang.

"Sweet," she whispered as she stared at it.

"What?" Daniel questioned.

"The Mustang," Sam explained.

"It's a car…." He responded, his voice conveying his lack of understanding on why the car was so special.

"It's a classic car. It's an antique," she explained. "I think it's in MINT condition!"

"It's from the seventies," protested Daniel. "What's the big deal?"

"1966," she retorted.

"I'm sorry, Samantha. For me, artifacts are at least a thousand years old before they're considered antiques, and they have to be several thousand years old before they're interesting antiques."

"I can see your point," she admitted softly, but inwardly, she was marveling at the car. It was in pristine condition, and lovingly polished.

I wonder who owns it. Maybe O'Neill does.

"Colonel Hammond!" General O'Neill caught him just as he was slamming his locker shut, not looking forward to another day of Geek Training Camp. "I see you brought the Mustang today. Sweet car, Colonel."

"Thank you, Sir," Hammond answered automatically.

"I can also see why you and Sgt. Siler decided to take three parking spaces for your two cars," O'Neill retorted.

Siler, the resident bookie, made enough money on the side of his paltry NCO salary to buy a 'vette. It was Sly's pride and joy, and he only drove it on the rarest of occasions, when his betting pools were current, there was no fear of reprisal from unhappy losers and the weather was fine. He always took two spaces in the parking lot, and so Hammond had parked next to him, leaving a wide berth.

"Don't want to ding it," he answered. "Do you need me to move the car, Sir?"

"I'm a General, Colonel. I let the MPs deal with the parking infractions, as my mind is focused on other, far more momentous issues. Speaking of which, meeting, my office, fifteen minutes, Colonel."

O'Neill sauntered out of the locker room and George debated the odds of being struck by lightning. After the last meeting with O'Neill, it probably would be preferable.

General Jonathan J. O'Neill knew he was considered a fuck up by his superiors in the Pentagon. The awarding of the single star on his shoulder had been a near miraculous stroke of luck thanks to some quick action at a cocktail function. Saving the Secretary of Defense' life due to his stellar Heimlich maneuver skills when the Secretary was choking on an olive in his martini was a definite vocational boost in a career marred by thinking with the wrong head. No one could ever charge him with adultery, because he was smooth as silk, but the rumors had been swirling around him for a long, long time.

He had only taken George Hammond as his 2IC because the Secretary of Defense had called him at his home and requested that he do so. Jack knew which side his bread was buttered on, and he did anything the Secretary wanted him to do.

And, by God, he did it cheerfully.

But Hammond.

Damn it, George Hammond should be the one running the base, as his career record was spotless, as it was highly doubtful that he had ever needed to dive out a General's window after servicing the Mrs. General, causing him to bust his knee by tearing assorted ligaments in his haste to avoid the General who had returned a little earlier than expected. Jack claimed to this day, that he had tripped over Charlie's toy which had been left on the steps. Sara had wanted to punish Charlie severely as she viewed it was Charlie's fault that Jack had to be carried out via a stretcher to the ambulance, but Jack assured her that it wasn't necessary. Charlie's guilt over leaving the toy out and causing his father's injury was punishment enough, Jack promised her.

Yes, Hammond's record was spotless, except for that big black stigma of having a nervous breakdown after realizing that his wife and family were dead.

It was amazing, in Clinton's new military. You could be gay, as long as you didn't ask and didn't tell, could commit adultery every chance you got, but one little mental snap was held against you forever.

He knew that Hammond held no respect for him, but that was ok. Jack didn't respect himself either.

Mackenzie was seeing George every week, faithfully like clockwork, as that was part of the condition for George to work at the base. George wanted to be on that first team to go through the wormhole, and per Mackenzie, George was simply not mentally stable enough to be allowed through the Gate.

"Simply put, he's got suicidal ideations. He's not actively looking for it, but he's also not going to step aside if the chance comes his way," Mack had stated. "Colonel Hammond can't go off world as he currently is, because if push comes to shove, he'll take the bullet. George will be smiling when he gets it."

"Hammond doesn't believe he has anything to live for, except for his position here," Mack had continued. "He's got two more years until mandatory retirement. After his retirement party, I would expect him to attempt suicide within seventy two hours."

"Then he's not going off world," O'Neill decided.

"Then you're giving a death sentence because you've just taken away his position here. He needs something to get him involved with the rest of the members of the SGC. Hammond needs to interact with people."

"He can join the bowling team," O'Neill quipped.

His quip earned a narrowing of Mackie's dark eyes.

"Softball?" He threw in for good measure, as he never knew when to stop, which was the reason why he had jumped out of a second story window, ripped his knee apart when he landed and had crawled to his truck on his hands and one knee, hoping that a certain Lt. General didn't recognize his truck.

"I understand that we're getting an influx of scientists into the SGC," Mack pointed out.

O'Neill grimaced, as he hated scientists and he hated civilian scientists the most.

"They'll need survival skills," Mack continued. "Especially if they run into trouble. Who better to teach them then someone who has lived through the worst?"

"You're suggesting HAMMOND? Hi, I don't say anything for days at a time Hammond?"

"Dr. Fraiser agrees," the shrink continued over O'Neill's protests.

"FRAISER?"

"She is the one closest to him out of everyone here," Mack reminded him. "Yes, before you make a snide comment, yes, I know they have a physical relationship."

So he had regretfully agreed to Mack's insane suggestion, and the end result was Mack had him touching base with Hammond regularly regarding the rooks. So that's why he was meeting with Hammond and Mack.

He was playing with one of his toy jets when he heard George enter the room. With a final mental ZOOOOM, he put the plane away and turned to face Hammond.

Hammond entered the General's office, and he stood quietly in the doorway, watch the General play with one of his airplane models. Mackenzie nodded an acknowledgement and Hammond returned it.

"Sit down, Colonel. I want to hear about the rookies," O'Neill said over his shoulder as he flew the plane toward its pedestal.

He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to figure out what O'Neill wanted him to say. More importantly, he wanted some guidance in what Mackey wanted to hear him say. George was getting more and more convinced that when the moment of truth came, Kawalsky would be the one leading the first team off world, while he stayed behind.

Charles Kawalsky and Louie Ferretti.

God, how he hated those two men, and how George loathed their little snide comments about his mental breakdown that he always just overheard. His secret Santa, some horseshit idea of O'Neill's, had given him a big container of assorted nuts for Christmas. He had walked over to Ferretti, handed it back to him and coldly told him that he was highly allergic to nuts and their little joke would have killed him.

Actually, he used to enjoy Texas Chili Gourmet Cashew Nuts or the Chili Lime Cashews by the handful. And well… Thanksgiving, it was never Thanksgiving, if Angie's Roast Turkey with Chili-Pecan Sauce and Cranberry-Jalapeño Relish wasn't on the menu.

"We've had some problems with the military personnel," Hammond finally said after a long pause.

O'Neill dropped gracelessly into his leather chair, and turned to face him.

"Hansen is gone," O'Neill informed him. "He's no longer assigned here. He's going to Antarctica for a very, very long time. I want to thank you for handling that matter quickly, though perhaps next time, slamming his head into a locker…"

"He had her pinned against the locker and was making sexually suggestive comments," Hammond responded quickly. "We've got a large influx of civilian females into this facility recently. Do you want them to think that we condone that type of behavior? Plus her father is buckin' for Lt. General last time I heard…"

Mackenzie wasn't saying anything, which meant that he was shrinking George's head like a shrunken apple head. Hammond coughed, resisting the temptation to raise his voice up an octave, but he could literally feel his head shrinking.

"So… how are the children doing?" O'Neill questioned.

"McKay's whining will get his team killed, Felger's head is in the stars looking for glory, Chloe's too busy oogling Felger, Coombs is…."

Hammond rattled off his notes, and he paused at the last two names.

"Jackson's claiming he's a pacifist, but the first time he gets shot at, I'm sure he'll change his mind damn quick. Carter… she and Jackson might have potential. She can read insignia, been teaching the others. Might have been a good pick for team leader for the geek brigade, but she's been suffocated…."

"I just saw her five minutes ago, when did she die?" quipped O'Neill.

Hammond sighed mentally.

"Crushed? Verbally," he continued. "She's fearful of expressing an opinion, always trying to smooth conflicts out. You yell at her, she'll fall apart on you… but then again… maybe not… When Hansen harassed her, she tried to stand up for herself… but if he had raised his voice and yelled at her, I think she would have fallen apart then and there... Considering Hansen knew what buttons to push on her, I'm surprised he didn't do that."

"Appears she's gotten emotionally stronger since she last dealt with Hansen," suggested Mack after a long pause.

George shrugged his shoulders, and a few more painful moments of small talk, he was given permission to leave. He left the room at a brisk march, and he caught Sgt. Siler in the hallway. He grabbed Siler by the arm and pushed him into a stairwell.

"Sgt. Siler, I understand that you have a pool going on one of the female scientists?" Hammond questioned softly.

Siler pretended not to understand, but Hammond pushed him against the wall.

"You can have your little pool about my looming metal breakdown, but I think the advisability of you running a pool on who's gonna score with the daughter of a certain Major General… destined to be Lt. General in the next few months, is pretty damn idiotic. Unless, Sgt. Siler, you desire the chance for you and your 'vette to be watching the penguins down in Antarctica with Hansen. Major General Jacob Carter finds out that you're running a betting pool on his daughter, you'll be back to Airman, Sgt. For the record, penguins don't bet."

O'Neill had to admit Mack the Quack was correct. Hammond had summed up correctly the various scientists and their various quirks.

"Hammond needs to connect with other people," Mack reminded him. "That's the most he's spoken in the year that I've been dealing with him. It's a very good sign that he stepped in with Hansen."

"He nearly cracked Jonas' skull when he slammed Jonas' head against the locker," O'Neill reminded Mack. "Don't get me wrong, he deserved it, but there's a dent in the locker where Jonas' head bounced off it."

"Would you prefer her father getting involved?" Mack questioned.

"I'll skip that," he admitted.

"Keep on Hammond; make sure he continues teaching the rookies. He needs to talk to people; he needs to permit himself to actually bond with another person. He's got a wealth of knowledge in his bald head, so don't let him weasel out," reminded the shrink before he disappeared.

There was a few minutes' peace in his office, and then he heard a timid knock on the door.

"General O'Neill? Sgt. Davis said that you were looking for me?" a female voice asked rather timidly.

"Carter, come on in please," Jack requested, before flashing the female scientist, his best mega-watt smile.

She was very nervous about meeting the General, especially after the events of yesterday. Everyone knew what had happened between her and Jonas, or at least they thought they did, and how Hammond had cracked Hansen's skull to defend her honor. Chloe had even made a snarky comment about how surprised everyone had been to hear that HAMMOND had rescued her.

"So… is there something going on between you two," Chloe asked.

"Don't you need to chase after Jay for a bit?" Sam had snapped, as she had slammed her locker door shut, then she had tried not to wince as she had jarred her bad wrist. "You know, I don't know a lot about guys, Chloe, but I think the puppy dogs eyes you're making at Felger is a little too obvious. Reeks of desperation."

"Least he's not crazy," Chloe had retorted.

She had gotten so mad that she had wanted to say something really nasty to Chloe, about Jay being a complete loser with big, bulging eyes and how Chloe should have more respect for what had happened to Hammond because Felger would have been whimpering for his mamma within the first five minutes but naturally she didn't. Her father always told her good girls didn't pick fights, so she just decided to ignore Chloe's snide comments.

"Carter, come on in, please," the General said warmly before giving her a wide smile. "Take a seat."

When she was settled in the chair in front of his desk, she was surprised that O'Neill was still smiling.

"I just wanted to talk to you about what happened yesterday. Jonas Hansen is still in the hospital, and once he's discharged, he'll be joining the South Pole base," O'Neill said cheerfully.

"Not Palmer or McMurdo?" Samantha questioned.

"South Pole," the General explained. "He'll be arriving there in time to experience six months of utter darkness. The USAF does not condone what he did…"

"What happens to his wife and kids?" Samantha asked. Hansen would be furious and no doubt would take his anger about his transfer on them.

"His wife apparently left him some time ago," O'Neill explained. "I sent an MP to his house to let her know that Captain Hansen was in the hospital when no one answered the phone. The neighbors said that no one knows where she is."

The two of them continued chatting for a bit, and then O'Neill dropped a bombshell.

"Colonel Hammond thinks you have potential," O'Neill said cheerily.

"Oh, that's…. " Samantha began slowly, trying to be appropriately modest. What a day this was turning out to be, a cute guy told her that she was smart and pretty and Hammond thought she had potential! It was almost as though her father had told her that.

"Extremely high praise from him. Trust me," the general explained, as he stood up from behind his desk. He escorted her to his office door, "Now, if there's anything I can do for you, feel free to let me know. I have an open door policy."

O'Neill returned to his office, and she found herself in the hallway. Colonel Hammond was in corridor, and he shook his head.

"Ma'am?" He motioned. "If you'd come to my office please?"

She followed him dutifully as he walked down the hallway at a brisk pace. Finally, he opened his office door, and motioned her into his office. She entered, and he closed the door behind him.

"Ma'am, you may feel I may be out of place by what I'm about to say, but I want to make sure that I warn you about General O'Neill. He is… quite the… flirt. It amuses him to trifle with other people's feelings, uncaring of the damage he might do. It is an ill-kept secret on this base that he was having an affair and was promising the woman that he was leaving his wife, until Sara got pregnant."

Her mind was racing, trying to formulate a proper response when Hammond turned strictly professional.

"The Firing Range is on our to-do list with your class. I've talked to Fraiser, you can't even think of firing a gun until this weekend. Do you have any experience with handguns?"

"No, not really," Samantha admitted. She knew she was blushing. "My dad took me to the range when I was younger, and it didn't go well. It didn't go well at all."

Hammond stared at her for a bit, and he was biting his lip. Then he nodded his head once as though he had made a decision.

"Sounds like you have some bad habits I'll need to break," Hammond stated softly.

"My father told me… that I was an absolute idiot when it came for firearms," Samantha offered softly.

Instinctively, she tightened up, waiting for Hammond's inevitable condemnation.

"No, it sounds like your father was an absolute idiot for trying to teach you," he retorted sympathetically. "I didn't teach my daughters how to shoot. I let their mother do that. There's a shooting range outside of Colorado Springs. I'll pick you up on Saturday morning, 7AM. Ok? It'll probably be all day affair, so I'll get you home around 4 or 5 in the afternoon."

For a moment, he felt something close to sympathy for Samantha Carter. It was obvious to him that O'Neill had charmed her with a big smile, so he had decided to warn her about O'Neill's past history. He also hadn't failed to notice how when she confessed that she wasn't that good with guns that her shoulders had hunched as though expecting to be ridiculed. The sympathy he felt toward her was ridiculous. Nobody could be that insecure and self-effacing.

Ah, she was Jake's daughter, so she was probably more familiar with sarcasm and smart-ass remarks than a kind word. Another useful hint in seducing Samantha Carter.

"You have to promise me something," George finally said.

"Yes?"

"I'll let you use my gun to practice…. But you need to be gentle," he explained.

"Gentle?" Samantha questioned.

"It's been a few years since my gun has felt a lady's soft touch," he said softly.

Samantha Carter looked at him, and then she blushed. A real, honest-to-God rosy stain marked her cheeks.

She was a military brat, she knew the cadence.

"This is my rifle,

This is my gun,

The rifle's for fighting…

This one's for fun."

"Promise you'll be gentle with my gun," he repeated. "It's not flashy, kinda old. Been abused a bit…"

His voice slowed when he said that, and then he continued. "Promise me you'll be gentle with it. It's battered, but it's good for a first time."

To his evil delight, she looked at the floor before she nodded her head.