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 and have run screaming for the hills.
I think that's a compliment?
Saturday morning, he pulled his Mustang up to her apartment building at the agreed upon time. Samantha Carter was waiting for him, a rather unusual experience for him as Angie was always a few minutes late for everything while he had been militarily punctual. He never took Janet anywhere as the good doctor was far too ashamed to be actually seen in public with him, so he'd have to guess what how her timing ran, but considering how many men Janet was juggling in her bed, he assumed that she was precisely on the dot punctual.
Samantha gave him a bright smile, but his mind focused on what she was wearing. She was wearing a cardigan. It was blue, it was furry, and if his eyeshot hadn't gone to hell, George would swear on his wife's grave that there were little butterflies on it that were flitting among brightly colored flowers.
BUTTERFLIES!
He was taking a cardigan wearing geek to the firing range to teach her how to shoot, and there were cute little butterflies on her sweater.
It was so goddamn pathetic and bitterly ironic that an insecure Samantha required her armor of cardigan wherever she went. It was amazing, George thought, what each person used as an emotional shield. For him, when his personal demons were haunting him, salvation from the monsters was a faded baby blanket and a tattered teddy bear.
But for Samantha, no doubt she used her collection of all encompassing, oversized cardigans as a physical defense to keep the average male's eyes from admiring her figure. He had caught the slightest glimpse of what lay beneath the cardigan burqua that she wore everywhere, but her figure seemed… enjoyably curvy.
His personal peccadilloes ran toward curvy, voluptuous women ala Marilyn Monroe. Angie had been more Mae West than Twiggy, a rarity among the cookie cutter cache of Twiggy figured Air Force wives at every Air Base whose internal ranking structure appeared to ebb and flow based on their weight, hair color and their husband's rank.
Not dear, sweet, loving Angie who had faced each day with such enthusiasm and joi de vivre.
He and Angie had met at a dance during one of his breaks from the Academy. He had been standing in the corner, wondering why the hell he had bothered coming because his younger sister had ordered him not to even think of chaperoning her in spite of what his mother had said, when this curvy Tex-Mex spitfire of a girl had decided that he was going to dance with her. By the end of their third dance together, Aingeal, "Angie" Arroyo-López had planned out his life.
He was going to deflower her that night, marry her after he graduated from the Academy, then give her plenty of babies and they'd grow old and wrinkly together.
Unfortunately, that little five letter word, cancer, had intervened and made a mockery of her methodical plans.
George greeted Samantha at the sidewalk, softly questioned her about her healing wrist, and after he was assured that that Doctor Fraiser had declared that it was just fine for today's activities, he opened the passenger door to the Mustang.
"This is your car?" Samantha gasped. "It's so sweet!"
She began asking questions about the car, and George was delightedly surprised when he realized that Samantha knew a thing or two about cars. When he had stupidly shown the car to Janet, as he was curious about what her reaction to the classic car would be, the diminutive doctor had just sniffed, "Not a lot of room in the back seat, eh?"
Well, at least it hadn't been a sardonic comment about him being a typical male overcoming his shortcomings by buying a flashy car. No, George had known that he was going to buy it the minute that he saw it, as he could just imagine Angie driving it, entirely too fast, with the windows down and her long hair getting tangled in the breeze.
He and Samantha chatted about the engine, the tire size, what had been restored on the car and many other things, and finally he motioned for Samantha to get into the car.
"Come on, we don't want to be late," he reminded her.
"I'm sorry," Samantha apologized. "I just am amazed at the condition of the car. It's beautiful!"
"When we get to the firing range, you're not wearing the cardigan are you?" Hammond queried, trying to hide his amusement.
He failed miserably; as he could feel Samantha emotionally retreat. Her face turned a shade of scarlet that matched several of the little butterflies that were flitting among the bright, multi-colored flowers on her sweater.
"I was cold," Samantha admitted after a long, exceeding painful silence. "The weather in DC was a little warmer than it is here. I haven't really had time to shop for new clothes."
Carefully, he put his hands on hers and gave them a deliberate squeeze. Then he took his left hand and he slowly ran his thumb over her right hand. To get Samantha, he'd need to be slow, deliberate and cautious.
"It's a very pretty cardigan," he assured her with complete honesty, as the blue was a pretty shade that matched her eyes. "I worry that you'll ruin it by getting it dirty at the firing range. I have an old sweatshirt in the car, you'll swim in it, but I don't care if you get it dirty."
She gave him a shy smile, and he again motioned for her to get into the passenger's seat.
Oh God, she had been so stupid to wear the cardigan! But Samantha had been very chilly when she was waiting on her front step for Hammond, so she had gone back into her apartment and grabbed the first sweater she could find.
Naturally, it HAD to be the one with the butterflies!
Her blood had thinned after being in DC for so long and the brisk October Colorado wind was going right through her, and she still hadn't gotten around to shopping. Her free time was spent futilely attempting to get her apartment together, but sometimes, she just got so excited about the latest development in the Stargate program that she'd run home and do research on her own time and forget about unpacking her clothes.
Never in her life had she ever entertained the possibility that she'd be involved with a program this earth-shattering!
Hammond had smirked when he saw the cardigan, as it loudly proclaimed her the geekiest of geeks as who wore a CARDIGAN to a firing range? Actually the smirk hadn't reached his face, but she could tell that she had blown her chance to actually appear normal.
He didn't talk much on the drive to the shooting range. No, instead Colonel Hammond concentrated on driving. The Mustang was a standard, and every so often, his hand would touch her leg while he shifted. It was odd, as Hammond often touched her hand when they talked privately, especially when she was feeling uneasy and he noticed her uncertainty.
Plus she noticed that his fingers would almost caress her leg when he shifted.
Hammond would immediately apologize for touching her leg, but she would almost swear, based on her extremely limited experience with boys...err… men (ok, Jonas) that he was doing it deliberately. When Jonas' hands had gotten friendly, it had been akin to wrestling with an octopus when she tried to fight him off. In fact, that was the reason why she had broken up with Jonas as she had finally decided that she was tired of getting pawed and mauled in public places.
She was more than a pretty face!
Ok, she was more than just a super smart geek with breasts!
Samantha had feelings, and she had morals, because a movie theater simply wasn't the place to do what Jonas had wanted her to do! He had unzipped his pants and grabbed her hands….
When she realized what he had wanted her to do to him in a MOVIE THEATER, she had thrown her engagement ring at him and fled from the movie theater. In the short time they had been together, Jonas had pawed, pinched, grabbed and poked various parts of her anatomy, leaving her bruised, battered and feeling pretty cheap.
She had often pleaded with Jonas to go slow with her, especially in reference to that one particular sensitive matter, but Jonas had informed her that by doing everything fast and quickly, she'd get over her fears once she was… deflowered. Instead, Samantha had gotten increasingly tense about that particular issue.
Now… Hammond, Hammond's fingers were light touches.
No pinching, no poking, no prodding. Instead, his slow touch was like being kissed by a butterfly and she realized that she was getting… tingly… when his hand lightly brushed against her leg. Samantha had never "tingled" when Jonas touched her. No instead, her stomach had clenched and her muscles had tightened up.
Cherie, her first college roommate had been extremely experienced, necessitating Samantha to sleep in the lobby quite a few nights while her roomie had pulled an all nighter with her current 'friend', and Cherie, taking pity on her, had explained the entire sex situation to Sam and why Cherie would rather have sex than go to class.
Tingling was good, but there were supposedly even better sensations to be experienced between a man and a woman.
She must be imaging it, as why would any man, even as allegedly mentally disturbed like Hammond was rumored to be, be interested in a socially misfit, cardigan clad, super genius, virginal geek girl like her? Being a touch too empathetic about being an outcast, she hadn't developed the readily apparent aversion for the solitary Hammond that seemed to infect the SGC. Hammond was always polite to her, and he had been her knight in shining armor, ok, green fatigues when he had slammed Jonas head first into a locker. The Colonel had also told the General that he thought she had potential…
Sam could have moved her leg to prevent the accidental touches, but she had long legs…and honestly, she really enjoyed the tingly feeling.
They were stopped in traffic, and to her surprise Hammond's hand was resting on her upper thigh, and the tingling sensation was turning into more of a warm sensation that was filling her body.
Oh God! His heavily callused hand was unhurriedly caressing and stroking her upper thigh and… touching her so leisurely and gently….
Samantha unexpectedly wondered what his caresses would be like if he made love to her. She had often daydreamed about her first time being with an Anti-Jonas, a man who would take his time…
But funny, she had always pictured her dream lover as being the life of the party, besides being close to her age and having a full head of hair! Ok, and her dream lover would have more than a passing resemblance to either Mel Gibson or George Clooney.
Or Harrison Ford. He was… hot… and Samantha would admit only to herself that one of the reasons why she had seen Star Wars a dozen times was because of Han Solo.
Maybe an introspective, older, balding man was the way to go?
Oh God! Where did that thought come from? She was so embarrassed that she bit her lip. Samantha sternly warned herself to get her mind out of the gutter! He was a Colonel in the Air Force, the defacto 2IC of the base, and fraternization would be a quick ticket out of this once in a lifetime opportunity.
Yet everyone commented that if anything happened to O'Neill, Kawalsky would probably be put in charge of the base. Colonel Hammond was a figure head, a puppet… a running joke among the SGC and she wondered anew how the SGC could be so heartlessly cruel to one of their own.
In all honesty, Samantha was no better, as she had avoided sitting with him at lunch even after he had rescued her from Jonas. The Colonel had quirked a bitter half-smile at her when he saw that she was sitting with Team Geek.
Hammond appeared to abruptly realize where his hand was, as he apologized and removed it to safer grounds straight away.
"I'm really sorry, Ma'am," he apologized. "This is the first time that I actually had someone in the car with me. Usually, I drive alone, so I can put my hands wherever."
"That's ok," Samantha admitted. Then she blurted out, "You can put your hand back there…"
She was crimson, she knew it!
"That's right generous of you, Ma'am, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea that I'm getting fresh with you," he drawled. "I'll remember to keep my hands on the stick…."
George had a moment's unease over what he was planning to do to Samantha Carter. This seduction was almost painfully effortless. When he had caressed her upper thigh… accidentally… her breathing had quickened and she had unconsciously bitten her lower lip. Tomorrow, after he took her to the range again, he was planning on taking the scenic route back to Colorado Springs. What with the delay caused by road construction, Samantha would be trapped in the passenger seat for a couple hours, within easy reach of his wandering hand.
It wasn't right to seduce Carter and break her heart into a thousand pieces, just to get payback on her old man. From all appearances, she had been far more of a victim of Jake Carter than he had ever been. He had been in Hotel Iraqi for slightly more than a year; she had to deal with Jake for almost thirty years.
Shit, thinking of Angie earlier had made him more and more aware of the fact that Aingeal Marisol Arroyo-López de Hammond would be exceedingly pissed over what he was planning.
Angie, I get so lonely some times, and I get tired of getting treated with such contempt.
Unexpectedly, he heard Angie. Sometimes, when he was alone, he could hear her… In Iraq, when they had been beating the shit outta him, he had often imagined that she was in the cell with him, cradling his head in her lap, weeping that she couldn't protect him from the blows that were falling.
¡Soy furioso contigo, Jorge! No tome su dolor hacia fuera en ella. Sea apacible con ella, George. Eres siempre apacible con mí.
George rubbed his temples, as Angie was apparently quite angry with him, cursing and screaming at him in Spanish that he shouldn't take his pain out on Samantha and demanding that he should be gentle with the girl.
You didn't treat me like a whore on our first time together, Jorge.
No, I couldn't treat you like that, Angie.
So don't treat her like one, because if you do, that means you're no better than Jonas. In fact, you'd be worse than Jonas, because you'd be hurting her just because of who her father is. It's not her fault who her father is, and you're right. He's done more damage to her than he ever did to you.
Maybe…. Maybe he'd seduce Samantha anyway, attend to the most delicate of consummations with kid gloves and gentle caresses, just to prove to himself that he was still capable of the gentler human emotions. Since he was over the hill and sliding down the grade pretty damn fast, their coupling wouldn't be a fast, frenetic tumble in the backseat of the car.
The other boys at the SGC were used to Janet's worldly ways and they'd probably traumatize Samantha if they did it. He'd take his time, do things right and make sure she was comfortable and ready….
Perhaps, in time, a chary fondness could develop between them.
Who knows, maybe one day, she'd actually sit with him at lunch, rather than make half-hearted excuses about sitting with Team Geek.
Hell, while he was wishing fishes could fly, maybe he just better accept the fact that he'd destroy her one way or the other. He always brought everyone down to his level.
Samantha knew she looked ridiculous! Hammond's black, tattered sweatshirt was ridiculously large on her. She could use it as a maternity shirt, if she ever got pregnant … well… that is if she ever had sex.
Hammond had quirked his trademarked and apparently copyrighted slight smile when she had taken off her cardigan in the parking lot. She had been wearing a short sleeve shirt underneath her cardigan, and Samantha just knew that Hammond was admiring 'the girls'. Jonas had often remarked to his friends, while she was within earshot, that 'the girls' were Samantha Carter's only redeeming features. Well at least, Hammond wasn't grinning ear to ear like a loon and commenting loudly about how he didn't need a pillow what with "the girls" keeping him warm at night.
"The Girls" had shown up early and then not merely happy with arriving early, had decided to keep on developing. When her few female friends had been excited about getting cute little training bras, her mother had already taken her to a specialty store where she learned about the indignities of painful underwire bras and the need for structural steel support for those doomed to a lifetime of wearing ugly over the shoulder, boulder holders.
But now George and Sam had checked into the range, and her firearm lesson was looming on the horizon. Quickly, she prayed that this lesson not turn into a repeat of the one she had years previously with her father where he had stormed off in disgust, loudly denigrating her as a complete klutz.
"What?" She questioned, uneasily, resisting the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest.
"You've got a cute figure," George drawled. "Don't know why you have to hide it behind an oversized cardigan."
"I was cold," she protested, wishing she sounded a bit less well… whiny.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I don't mean to be embarrassing you or making you feel uncomfortable," the Texan apologized again. "If I upset you by my coarse manners, you let me know, ok? Angie, she had to take a file and smooth off my rough edges. Truthfully, that she only smoothed my rough edges after she hit me with a big rock. She needed to crack my hard head open and pour some sense in it."
She laughed, as his self-deprecating humor was so wry that she found herself wanting to cheer and reassure him.
"You really do have a cute figure," Hammond repeated softly. He shook his head as though realizing that he had said that out loud.
"First things first, Ma'am… The gun you'll be practicing on is broken, and it will not fire. It also does not have bullets in it," Hammond explained. "Today you're going to learn about the fundamentals of my gun. You'll learn to respect it, not fear it. By the time, I'm done with you, you'll know to hold it in your hand, how tightly to grip it, how to sheathe a gun in your holster without causing it to discharge…"
He paused, licked his lips slowly, and then failed to hide another amused half-smile, before he continued smoothly, "Unless you want it to discharge prematurely…but that's no fun… for either the gun or the holster. You'll learn how to protect yourself from accidents, so you don't find yourself in unexpected trouble. By tomorrow, I want you to be empowered, not a victim…"
"Remember Doctor Carter, I'm an old Air Force Colonel. I've got enough experience for both of us, and I will teach you everything you need to know, and I will do everything I can, even I have to hold your hand the entire way, to turn your first time with a gun into a pleasant, enjoyable experience for you."
Samantha had to endure the mandatory gun safety review. Her father had given her the basics when she was younger, and in the following years, she had often reviewed the basics of handgun safety just in off chance her father wanted to take her back to the shooting range. Naturally, Jake Carter hadn't offered because in his mind, his daughter was a complete idiot with a handgun.
Not so Hammond, who made several complimentary comments about how she answered his various questions regarding gun safety.
"It would have been nice to have you in the class when I was giving them the gun safety review. They just sat there, like a bunch of bumps on a log," Hammond sighed. "I would have appreciated having my star pupil there."
Sam just knew that she was blushing like a school girl with a crush. In the last hour, Hammond had told her that she had a cute figure and that she was his star pupil, and she was getting flustered by unfamiliar sensations of praise for her brains and approval of her looks. Hammond, fortunately, didn't notice, because no doubt he'd think derogatory comments about an übergeek having a crush on him.
For thirty minutes after the safety lesson, Hammond explained to her about the different parts of the gun, how to load and unload the weapon and obvious things to check when you had difficulties using it.
Then he led her to the firing range, and he pointed at the target. It was a black silhouette of a man on a white background, and she quickly guestimated the distance between her and "Him".
"Go ahead, aim and pretend to fire the gun," he drawled.
She did so, and she bit her lip when she saw Hammond shaking his head.
"Hold that position," the Colonel ordered.
The Colonel walked around her slowly while she still aimed the firearm at the target. Finally, he stopped circling her, and she realized that Hammond standing directly behind her. He moved closer to her, and when his body brushed against hers, she realized that her aim was getting shakier by the moment.
"First things first," Hammond said softly in her ear. "I'll have to put my hands on you to make sure you're positioned correctly. I'm not getting fresh."
"Ok," she said.
While Hammond moved still closer to her, and placed his hands on top of hers that were still holding the gun, she became hyperaware of such insignificant sensations. Hammond's soft breathing in her ear, his warm, callused hands resting on top of hers, the slight smell of cologne that had been on his sweatshirt was stronger now as he was also wearing it now. His body was so close to hers… her knees were shaky, and oh God! She would die from embarrassment if her knees wobbled!
"Hold the position, Doctor," he whispered in her ear. "I haven't given you permission to be at ease yet."
"How long are you going to keep me like this?" She wanted to ask, but instead she concentrated on steadying her aim.
"Hold it," he instructed. "Sixty more seconds…."
Samantha began counting down to zero, but by the time she got to twenty, Hammond announced in her ear, "Fifty….."
When he finally announced, "Time, at ease Doctor," she quickly exhaled, not realizing that she had been holding her breath. Her pulse was bounding like a lab puppy exploring the great outdoors and it took a while for her to catch her breath. What had been most surprising to her was how physically tense she had been and the physical rush she had experienced when she finally been allowed to relax.
Hammond stepped away from her and then removed his hands from hers.
"There are no bullets in the gun," he explained. "I want you to confirm that."
Her hands shaking, she checked the gun and confirmed that there were no bullets.
"Give me the gun," George ordered. He took it from her and put it into the case, then locked it. "Shaky hands with a gun make me extremely nervous."
She began to protest, and then he shhh'd her.
"Close your eyes," he stated. "I want you to close your eyes, and do what I tell you."
Samantha closed her eyes, and she felt ridiculous. Fortunately the range was empty, which seemed surprising considering it was Saturday morning.
"I understand that you're nervous," George whispered in her ear. "It's your first time, and you're not sure what to expect. That's why I'm here, because your first time needs to be with someone who's experienced."
He continued whispering in her ear, slowly and deliberately.
"I want you to inhale, slowly….. hold it…. And exhale. You need to relax. I know you're nervous, but you need to understand how truly delicate and sensitive what you're holding was… It filled your hands nicely, didn't it?"
She nodded.
"It's a good size for you. Not too small… not too big…fits awfully nice…in your grip…"
"But you need to be careful about the trigger. Don't squeeze unless you want it to discharge. You have to be careful, like you're holding a butterfly in your hands…"
George tsk'd, tsk'd after that, and he sighed.
"Your shoulders are entirely too tight," he explained. "You need to be loose and relaxed, because you don't want to be so tense when the gun is fired. Let me loosen your shoulders"
George put his hands on her shoulders, and he began rubbing them. His fingers worked his way up her neck and the tingles were returning with a vengeance.
"You need to relax. I understand completely. You're nervous. It's your first time. You wonder what it's going to be like. What it's going to feel like. That's why I'm here, I'm experienced, and I can make sure you don't pick any bad habits."
"You've got to stop anticipating what may happen, Doctor Carter," he continued to explain in her ear while he continued to rub her neck. "So tight… you need to let go. Stop anticipating, and just do it. I'll make sure everything's ok and everything's done safely."
He was still rubbing her neck and then massaging her shoulders and it felt so damn good. She was getting a strange fluttering sensation in her belly and surrounding areas and…still his fingers kept massaging her.
"Some women… they worry….far too much…" His voice was honey smooth, and just so deep and rumbling. "Turn it into an empowering moment for you. It's a feeling of power, a feeling of being in control…and once your first time is out of the way, you'll be so utterly relaxed…. And you'll realize that there was nothing of which to be afraid. You might find out that you enjoy it and that you want to do again and again…"
"You had a bad teacher," George continued slowly. "He wanted to take things at his pace. He should have realized that you were young and you were nervous. Understanding and patience… would have made everything so much easier for you. Instead he was in a hurry, only worrying about himself."
His hands were now rubbing the back of head, where her skull and neck met, she could feel herself turning to goo under his hands and George was still whispering in her ear.
"I'm an old man, Doctor Carter. I'll take as long as you need to feel comfortable. Hours… days…Relax and I can take those unpleasant memories from you…and replace them with very pleasant ones indeed…."
"How about weeks… Months?" She whispered softly.
"I know you want to do it…you want to figure out what all the fuss is about… and once you trust me… you'll let me teach you…I don't think it'll take you months to grab your courage. Open your eyes now, Doctor Carter."
And Samantha opened her eyes, still wondering if George was still only talking about the handgun. He had stopped rubbing her neck, with a final, teasing stroke of one finger, and Hammond was taking the gun out of its locked case.
"You're still shaking, Doctor. Don't tell me that you're frightened…" He put his hands on hers, showing her how to hold the gun correctly. "No… you're not frightened, you're shaking in anticipation…."
And so that's how her lesson continued and she grew more and more flustered.
He was breaking cardinal rule number one with guns. George wasn't paying absolute attention to the gun; instead he was deliberately trying to seduce Samantha… mentally. Everything he said was strictly on the up and up, but he was well aware of the fact that the young lady was taking everything he said in the wrong way.
Yes, the gun that she was using to practice was empty, plus it was busted to boot. Tomorrow, he'd give her a real gun with live ammo, but today, he was just putting her through her paces. After his stay in Hotel Iraqi, he was good at mind games, as he had used them to survive, but this time, the prize was far, far sweeter, and Samantha Carter was a babe in the woods. A few soft touches, some rather tame comments about the gun that someone with a dirty mind would immediately equate to sex, and a lot of hands on to show her the correct positions had her completely flustered.
George had taken Doctor Carter out of her familiar surroundings of home and lab, and then once they had arrived at the firing range, he had insisted that she leave her cardigan in his car. She was nervous and uneasy, and he just kept touching her carefully and deliberately, just a touch too long to be completely professional.
Finally she requested a break, and he granted it. She took excellent care of the gun, making sure it was safely secured, even though Carter knew it was broken and unable to fire. Then she fled to the break room which was fortunately empty.
Samantha was sitting on the bench and she was literally hugging herself. He sat down next to her and offered her a bottle of water.
Carter refused, so he deliberately placed it against both sides of her neck. She shivered from the cold and he again suggested that she drink.
"You're pale, Doctor Carter, and you're shaking. You're overheating, take my sweat shirt off," he recommended, trying to convey his concern.
He tugged the sweatshirt off her, easily undressing her, and then he continued to rub the icy cold water bottle against her face and neck. A surprisingly unresisting and mute Samantha did not voice a protest over his ministrations. His other hand was possessively resting on the small of her back, and George could feel Samantha Carter vibrating for the lack of a better word. Not shaking in anticipation and desire, but vibrating, the type of body-encompassing trembling that usually foretold that your plane was about to fall apart and you'd be praying to the Gods of the Martin-Baker Ejection Seat that you'd make it back to Terra Firma.
Shit! He had pushed her too far, too fast today. Somewhere along the line, he had decided the hell with Janet's crazy idea of destroying her competition, and to instead focus on going slowly with Samantha. He had only teased her with words, and soft touches. He hadn't pushed her into a corner... hadn't even tried to kiss her... yet she was physically shaking.
Damn Jonas! Damn your father too!
"Hey…. Talk to me… are you ok?" Hammond asked gently.
"Colonel Hammond," Samantha whispered. Her soft voice was shaky, and he cursed himself again for unintentionally traumatizing her. "May I ask you something?"
"Yes, Samantha…. Did I upset you? I'm so sorry, if I did…. Tell me, dear," he asked softly, trying to convey his apology in his tone of voice.
She looked away from him, and he moved his arm from the small of her back to her shoulder.
"Come on, my dear Samantha, can you tell this old cowboy what I did to upset you?" George pleaded.
He heard her say something, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it.
"Come on, dear, how did this dumb flyboy get you so distressed?"
She shook her head, and she put her hands over her face. Shit. He had her in tears!
"I'm so sorry, Samantha, I'm just a dumb mule from Texas. I'm dumber than a rock and uglier than homemade sin, and I think I know I did. You just nod your head if I'm right, you hear? Did I make you uncomfortable with what I was saying? I don't much experience with young, pretty ladies and since Angie died, I haven't talked to any ladies, 'specially not as intelligent and classy like you. Was I too crude? I told you to let me know."
Her questions were repeated, and he unexpectedly realized how much it cost Samantha emotionally to ask, "Are you flirting with me?"
She looked at him, and her blue eyes were tearful.
"Or are you being cruel because you think it's funny to tease me?"