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?

We had left poor little geek!sam confused by the crazy!Colonel's witty gun references and so our poor little geek!sam had hesitantly asked him if he was playing mind games.

Oh God, she was so embarrassed! She was crying and trembling, like a complete idiot. Her legs were quivering uncontrollably, and her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing and it had taken all her courage to ask Colonel Hammond if he was flirting with her.

"Are you flirting with me?"

Samantha looked at him, and she saw nothing but worry on his face. There was none of the all too familiar derision or mocking amusement, instead Hammond's blue green eyes appeared concerned.

"Or are you being cruel because you think it's funny to tease me?"

She whispered that last part, before she wiped her tears away on Hammond's sweatshirt that she was holding, all the while not wanting to reveal to Hammond how often that had been the case. In high school, Samantha had been asked to the senior prom by her crush, a handsome, utterly self-absorbed jock that she had tutored through elementary algebra so he could get his football scholarship. Bryan had called a few minutes before he was due to arrival at her house for the mandatory prom photos with her parents, and claimed that he was quite ill. So Samantha had gone solo to her prom, after her parents had insisted that she attend anyway, as they had paid good money for her nice dress, the shoes that had been dyed to match and the tickets.

To her complete lack of surprise, she had found Bryan there, dancing with Monique.

He had laughed at her when she had angrily told him that she was glad he was feeling better, and so Samantha had slunk away, in her far too expensive blue taffeta dress that she had pleaded with her mom to buy because she had felt beautiful when she wore the dress. It had been too early to go home and she couldn't bear to further disappoint her mother who had been so excited that Samantha had been going out on a REAL date to her senior prom, so she had escaped to the football stands where she had cried the night away. Even there she hadn't been safe, as a couple guys tried to pick her up as an easy lay.

When her mom had picked her up, Samantha had lied and told her what a wonderful time she had at her prom even without Bryan, how she had felt like a princess in her beautiful blue dress, and oh…yes… she had even danced! Samantha's mom, Annie, had been so thrilled, because Annie had never gone to her senior prom, as she had been a month or two pregnant with Mark, and Sam's grandparents had refused to allow her mother to flaunt her expectant condition. No, her mother had never gone to her prom, never had a party celebrating her graduation from high school, instead Annie had secretly gotten married to Jacob Carter the day after she had graduated from high school, with Jake having just finished his third year of college.

Sometimes, Sam had wondered if she was really living her own life. These thoughts were too familiar, the dark doubts surfacing in her subconscious far too often that she was actually living the life her parents had wanted to live, whether it was her father's highly regimented quest for a Stanford education, and her Doctorate or the care-free, exciting life her mom had never experienced, which resulted in failed attempts to teach Samantha how to style her hair and wear makeup. Perhaps there was a life she should be leaving, but she had never been allowed to experience.

Annie Carter had always told Samantha not to make the same mistakes that she had done, to complete school, to be self-sufficient without relying on a man to complete one's self-esteem and to never find herself being paraded down the main aisle of the local church with a fully loaded shotgun nudging the groom in the back.

"No, dear," Hammond said softly. "I wouldn't dream of disrespecting you. Don't you think that I might get weary of being mocked? Don't you believe that I hate getting spit in my face time and time again? How could I do subject anyone else to that?"

Hammond put his hands on her face, and to her embarrassment, he gently wiped away her tears with his thumbs. It was a surprising caring gesture, and his tenderness made her cry all the harder.

"Don't cry, dear. Forgive me, for being a ham-fisted old cowboy. Since I came back… I really don't deal with many people and I get so damn tired of being solitary. You know? And I don't know how to talk to people anymore… especially not to a lady like you. You're pretty, you're damn smart, and if you could only learn how to handle a gun, why you'd be perfect."

Samantha laughed at his wry comment, and Hammond gave her another half-smile.

"Since my wife died… when I need female… I mean…physical… companionship, there's someone that I see… I don't mean to embarrass you by admitting that, but…"

She flinched when George admitted that.

"No, it's nothing serious. She's no lady, and I accept the fact that I'm nothing more than a charity case for her. I'd be fooling myself if I thought the bitch actually cared about me, as for her, I'm nothing more than a freak show attraction. It's not an exclusive relationship for her, as I know she sees other men on the side. But she gives me a few minutes' peace, and I gladly take what few crumbs she deigns to offer me because it's better than nothing."

"I lose my self-respect in the process, but at least, I can pretend for a few minutes that someone actually cares for me."

"The reason why I'm telling you this is so you understand that I didn't mean to push too far just now. She prefers it… rough, you know what I mean? I obviously have forgotten what it's like to let an attractive lady know that I'm interested. I really hope you don't think I was pawing you. I enjoy… touching…caressing…the female form and I hoped since you didn't tell me to stop that you were enjoying it also."

"Samantha," Hammond whispered in a very soft voice that was almost a physical caress. "Forgive a half-crazed, lonely old man for being too rough? I did try… to be… gentle, but I've been informed by a very good source, my fuck buddy, that my emotional wiring's a might short-circuited."

Oh God, she was crying again, this time because she could sense Hammond's emotional pain which she had unintentionally increased.

"Let's call it a day," the Colonel offered. "If you want, tomorrow, we'll continue your lessons. If you're not comfortable with me teaching you, probably Kawalsky or Ferretti might be willing."

George was quiet after they left the firing range, mentally cursing himself out for terrorizing and torturing Samantha. Fuck, he was no better than Janet, who played mental mind games on him just because she could turn him into a complete basket case if she so desired.

He had stumbled through an apology, talking more in those ten minutes than he had in the last three years since his mental snap, and Samantha hadn't said anything. She had just cried and she had wiped her tears away on his far too large sweatshirt, until he had started wiping her tears away his fingers because he had nothing else available in which to wipe them away. When she had stopped sobbing, they had retreated from the firing range at a fast clip, thankfully not seeing anybody else on the way out.

Now she was sitting next to him in the passenger's seat, not saying a single word. George couldn't think of anything to say, and he got more and more worked up, obsessing over what he had said, what he had done and what a world class bastard he was.

Naturally, the one time he wanted a quick trip back to Colorado Springs, everything went to hell and they were soon stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. According to the radio, there had been a hell of a fender bender a few miles up the road, with medivac helicopters landing, and multiple ems and fire departments responding. So the two of them sat in his Mustang, a guarded, wary silence being the other passenger in the car, and he was being damn careful not to touch Samantha even accidentally, when he felt her hand on his right hand. Samantha pulled it toward her body and she deliberately placed his hand on her leg.

His hand was still being guided higher up her leg, and then his breathing quickened as George realized where Samantha was placing his hand. High up on her leg, higher up that he had originally dared, near the Y junction of her legs.

"I liked it when you touched me there," Samantha admitted softly, after she had put his hand dangerously close to no man's land. "It felt… nice…"

George, not daring to look at Samantha, asked her a simple question. "You… will… let me know if you're uncomfortable or uneasy?"

"Yes," she agreed in a very soft voice. "I'm sorry about getting so upset. I'm not used to anyone being interested in me. Usually, I'm the butt of a big practical joke that everyone's in on except for me."

Carefully, he began caressing her inner thigh, slowly and possessively, yet with a very light touch.

"Slower? Or faster?" He questioned.

"Slower," Samantha answered.

"Too much pressure? Or too little," George asked.

She didn't answer him, so he turned to face her, and he quirked a smile. Samantha had her eyes closed, her hands wrapped tightly around her lap belt, and she looked like a cat who had fallen into a big vat of Catnip.

It became a game to him; the rough feel of Samantha's denim jeans as he rubbed her leg, the mix of soft, gentle quick touches verses long, stroking caresses ranging from her knee to just an inch or two below where she probably really wanted him. Samantha would quiver sometimes, and once or twice, she gasped a slight moan, and by God, he had to admit that he was getting really turned on.

Especially with the stop and go traffic.

They'd go a few feet, have to stop, and he'd start rubbing her leg, enjoying the way Samantha's leg quivered under his touch. Then the traffic would move so he'd have to stop touching so to switch gears, and then so on and so on for the next three miles. Sometimes, he wouldn't rush back to caress her and she'd grab his hand and place it where she wanted.

Well, maybe not where she truly wanted his hand.

This time, they had gained all of ten feet of pavement before stopping, and he had his hand on the stick shift, before she grabbed his hand, and just held onto it with both of her hands.

"Problem?" He questioned.

"Talk to me, please," Samantha whispered. "It's getting a little intense for me, so I need to cool down."

"Cooling down can be fun; we can get some ice cubes, find out how sensitive you are to the cold." He teased Samantha before George quickly turned serious. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I won't put out tonight," she said quickly. "So don't even think it. Please. Don't be angry, I just can't."

That was blurted out quickly, as though Samantha had grabbed her courage to say it.

Fortunately, they were still stopped, so George could turn to face her. He removed his hand from hers, and he put it on her neck, carefully so to caress her. Hammond could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch. Her blue eyes were apprehensive and he knew that she needed reassurance.

"Not asking you to do that," he informed her in a very soft voice, one which he had soothed Tessa and Kayla with after they had woken up crying from their nightmares. "If you have a hankering to take this old battered warhorse to your bed, you'll be the one extending the invitation, dear. I won't press the issue with you, and I certainly don't expect you to 'put out' tonight or any other night. If and when it finally happens between us, you won't be 'putting out' dear, we'll be making love, and there's a big difference between the two experiences."

"I told you, I'm an old man. The fires aren't completely quelched yet, but it takes more than you dropping your pants and winking at me to cause my fire to kindle. If you agree, I plan on a tremendous amount of flirting and foreplay…"

"Tremendous amounts?" Samantha questioned with a very shaky laugh.

"Days… weeks…as long as you need for you to feel comfortable with what might be occurring between us next," he explained. "The ball is in your court."

George gave her a saucy leer before he continued smoothly, "And you will get to call the shots. Dear, I know you're a virgin. I know your past experiences have not been pleasant, but I also am fully aware of the fact that normally someone as pretty and smart as you are wouldn't even look twice in my direction. I'm a broken down war horse, Samantha…"

"Don't say that," Samantha pleaded.

"It's the truth, and I won't deny it," George insisted. "I am a spavined, ornery old mule who desires to give you the ride of your life, dear."

Samantha looked away from him and she was blushing yet she had an ear to ear grin. Saints alive! Carter had dimples.

The car behind them honked and George grimaced.

"Don't know why he's getting so excited, we've only moved two feet," he growled.

They held hands for the remainder of the way home, except for when he needed to shift gears. It was… nice… holding his hand, and to her surprised delight, George hadn't seemed upset when she had told him that she wasn't putting out tonight. Jonas would have been pissed, but George had been rather relaxed about her refusal to 'put out'.

No… he had gently chided her about her use of "putting out" and he had corrected her, informing her that she wasn't planning on making love tonight. George insisted there was a difference, and he'd wait for her to be ready. George had been really gentlemanly about it, and Samantha wished that she could just get over her fear and just do it. But after dealing with Jonas for that short time had made her leery of trusting men… especially in that matter.

After a particularly long stretch in the car and he was teasing her by resting his hand on the stick shift, Samantha captured his hand again. His hand was large and callused, and she stroked it for a bit with her free hand. Gathering her courage, she placed her left hand on his right thigh, thinking that she should reciprocate his caresses somehow…. George seemed like a decent guy, the SGC rumors of his craziness not withstanding, and… God, he was willing to be patient with her nervousness and her sexual awkwardness.

She shouldn't be surprised at that, as he hadn't even screamed at her once at the firing range.

Fact is he hadn't even raised his voice. No, instead, he had given her compliments, pointed out what she was doing correctly and praised her for her strict observance of gun safety rules.

Damn it, Samantha chastised herself. Just admit the truth to yourself, Sam! He was the first guy who was interested in her in far too long. Ok, he was also the only man whose interest in her had seemed to be on the up and up.

So she was more than willing to pounce!

Unfortunately, Samantha Carter knew that what she considered to be sexually pouncing was probably woefully insipid to the widower. Oh damn it, he was married for years, had been seeing someone to scratch his physical itch and she had a Big Scarlet V on her cardigan.

Yet, George had sounded wistful when he talked about the bitch he was bedding, the …. bitch… who treated him like he was a freak but who still managed to give him a few minute's peace to his weary soul. The Colonel sounded lonely, and maybe, just maybe, he was willing to accept her sexual inadequacies because he was tired of the Queen Bitch's derision and contempt.

Maybe he thought that Samantha was so desperate for companionship that she'd lower herself to actually date him. Little did George comprehend, that Samantha wasn't lowering herself to reach his level; instead she was reaching upwards towards the sky.

Carefully, she began rubbing his leg, and to her shame, he took her hand away from his leg.

"Was I doing it wrong?" Samantha asked, staring out the window, not wanting to look at George.

This was so humiliating! Thirty years old, a virgin, and she couldn't even touch a guy without him desiring her hands off him.

"Samantha," George's voice was soft. "Let me assure you that you were doing that entirely too well, and we were in imminent danger of me driving off the thruway as I was getting distracted by a certain sexy little vixen in the passenger's seat."

"Really?" Samantha blurted out in surprise, before she bit her lip, wishing that she didn't sound so damn…. adolescent.

"Really," he assured her.

George walked her to the door of her apartment, and after she opened the door, Samantha then shyly asked him in.

"We were in your car for hours! Do you want something to drink?"

She was obviously, painfully nervous, and while he was tempted to accept her invitation as he was a tad bit thirsty, George abruptly realized that Samantha didn't care if he was thirsty, she just wanted nothing more than to maneuver him into her bed.

That afternoon.

Samantha was willing to give her virginity to him, then and there, just because in all probability he was the first and only man in her life that hadn't belittled her or denigrated her. He was all at once overwhelmed with a fierce, raging hatred for one Major General Jacob Carter.

George had thought he had despised the man he nicknamed Jake the Snake before meeting Jake's daughter, but after seeing first hand the damage that Jake's personality had done to Samantha, it had been like pouring gasoline on a fire and throwing nitro in just for shits and giggles. His bitter rage had crescendo into a fiery inferno and he vowed that one day he'd cold cock Jacob Carter with a good hard left, then kick him in the balls.

Samantha had such low self esteem that she was willing to take him to her bed… and if he agreed, he'd just compound with interest, her self-respect issue.

Damn it, Jacob, don't you see what you've done to your daughter?

And he had dreamed up that stupid idea to hurt Samantha just because of her misfortune of having an absolute bastard as a father. What a monster he was! Thank God, Angie had hit him in the head with a 2X4.

"No, dear," he assured her. "If I stay, I might weaken in my resolve to wait until you're ready."

"I'm not afraid," she insisted, her voice trembling slightly. She bit her lip in that all too adorable way of hers. "I'm not. I'm ready… I was just surprised that you were interested in me. Please don't go. Stay, have a drink…we can talk…"

"Samantha… an enjoyable part of the entire experience is the waiting, the anticipation…. There has to be a relationship between us, a trust, an emotional bond, Samantha before we decide to take it to the physical level. Don't rush this," he whispered. "Just enjoy. This is new for you, and the worst thing would be for you to wake one day and realized that you had rushed in head first into making love with me and you were plagued with second thoughts and bitter regrets."

"I want to talk," Samantha protested. "I want to ask a few questions. I want to get to know you. Stay, have a drink…"

He put his finger on her lip to silence her.

"My favorite color is either green or blue. I prefer dogs rather than cats, though I have neither. No, I won't be seeing that other woman again…."

Samantha blushed, as though she was mortified that he had guessed that she had been wondering.

"Because it wouldn't be right to you. In fact, I turned her down recently, so I'm assuming that she has already found another willing man to fill my time slot. Also, we'll need to keep this out of the workplace. It won't be fraternization, because you and I know that I'm not really the 2IC at the base. I'm just… a figure head. But the others… they might harass and tease you for seeing the crazy colonel."

She tried to say something but he shhhh'd her.

"It's what I live with there…." He reminded her. "I couldn't let you experience that level of cruelty."

"I will get blood work done to confirm that I don't have anything that you don't want to get. You're probably been shot up with whatever they're giving the ladies at the SGC currently, but I will still wear condoms until we're absolutely, positively sure I don't have anything icky. Dear, our society has placed an ungodly amount of attention on what should be a private matter between two people. Remember, it's first and foremost a wonderful way to make babies. Far better than a syringe and test tube," he reminded her with a leer. "I've already had a hand and a few more body parts involved in creating my…."

He paused, unexpectedly overcome with painful, emotional memories, "My two beautiful girls…"

George couldn't continue, as he was trying to blink back his tears.

"So …beautiful…they… looked like… Angie… Thank God…"

He never talked about his daughters to anyone, except on the few insistences where Mack the Quack had poked and prodded until he had said something, and he never mentioned Kayla and Tessa to anyone. Their lives had been filled with such promise, cut short by a drunken seventeen year old, and their deaths, along with their husbands and their children, were festering holes in his wounded heart that would never ever heal.

It was then that Samantha Carter pulled him closer and planted a kiss on his lips. Her kiss was awkward, her technique tentative but she put more effort into kissing him than Janet Fraiser ever had. He was startled by her boldness, but he quickly kissed her back, and before he knew it, he had half dragged, half carried her into her apartment, and….

An unexpected moment of pain brought him back to senses.

"Shit," he growled, as an inexperienced Samantha had kissed his neck a little too enthusiastically and he knew that he'd be sporting a large hickey.

"Ooops," she whispered. Samantha looked embarrassed and he sternly warned himself not to laugh.

"You did that deliberately," he teased her.

"I didn't… I swear," Samantha apologized. He put two fingers over her mouth and he leaned in close to her.

"You marked me as yours," he growled playfully. "I should do the same for you. Fortunately, I think I can hide it with my BDU collar… but I should mark you somewhere, where everyone will know that you're mine. Close your eyes, and tilt your head back, so I can return the favor."

He wouldn't give her a hickey, but Samantha didn't know him well enough to know that he was teasing her. To give your lover a hickey accidentally in the throes of passion was one thing, but for him to do it deliberately, it was like smacking his open palm against Samantha's face just to leave a bruise signifying to one and to all that he owned her.

Instead, Samantha closed her eyes, tilted her head back and she bit her lip, anxiously waiting for him to deliver his promised retribution. Carefully, he nuzzled each side of her neck, making sure to not leave any marks, and then he removed his fingers from her lips. Then he placed his lips on her soft lips and he kissed her gently. Mouth closed at first, he then slowly progressed to open mouth kissing, and then he nudged her lips apart with his tongue. George did everything slowly and carefully, trying to guide Samantha carefully through this new experience and he could feel Samantha relax even as their kiss deepened.

George broke apart from her and then he kissed her softly on her lips.

"Wow," she whispered when she finally caught her breath.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Samantha. Taking it slow can be….enjoyable," he insisted. "I've told you, the media makes it sound like sex is the end all and be all of life, but I won't let you rush into it. Making love is a spiritual and emotional commitment, Samantha. I'm not talking of a hurried night, a frantic tumble then a shy goodbye, where I go back home before it gets too light. You deserve better, Samantha. You deserve so much better than that," he insisted. "You're a lady, and I need to make sure I treat you with the respect you deserve."

Samantha was a slight shade of pink, and he carefully adjusted her glasses that had been knocked askew during their kissing.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time," he suggested. "Maybe you could come over to my place and have dinner when we're done? I could cook or we could grab take out somewhere."

"That sounds lovely," Samantha murmured.

"Maybe I could rent a movie? Something Alien related or something with a wormhole…That way it can be work related training."

Samantha nodded her agreement.

"So… do I get a kiss goodbye?" Hammond questioned plaintively. "I don't know why I have to ask…"

His gentle teasing caused Samantha to blush, and then she kissed him again. She was a quick learner, he decided, as her kiss was a little less nervous, hesitant schoolgirl and significantly more 'I'd be happy to take you on the floor right now'.

When they were done neckin', he walked toward the door. George knew that he really had to leave before he decided to stay.

"George?"

"Yes, dear," He answered softly.

"You'll let me play with your gun tomorrow, right?" Samantha blurted.

She was so obviously self-conscious about her attempt at flirting and rather prettily rosily cheeked, but George knew enough not to smile.

"You're getting a lot of hands on tomorrow, at the firing range, and I'll have to think about what will happen later," George assured her.

George left her apartment and Samantha tried not to dance around like a complete idiot in her excitement. She had been out (ok, almost) on a real date and George had been content with a few kisses instead of trying to get into her pants. And what kisses they had been! Her knees had trembled and she had gotten tingly all over. Jonas had never kissed her like that, in fact, his kisses had been like being slobbered over by an over excited Labrador puppy. For someone who was so interested in sex, Jonas was rapidly being classified as a rank amateur when she compared him to George.

And George had been good-naturedly amused when she had accidentally hooverized his neck. Jonas would have probably returned the favor in spades, leaving her looking like she had wrestled with a battalion of Hoover Attachments and had lost the war. He would have given her hickies in the most conspicuous of places just to embarrass the hell out of her, but George had just kissed her a few more times.

Gently.

And his mouth had lingered on both sides of her neck. That had tickled!

"I need to find something better to wear tomorrow!" Samantha said out loud. "Something… casual…. And fun…."

Then she thought that maybe she should ditch the plain white cotton bra and panties, and go for something a little more daring.

Maybe something in blue… or green?

Yes, it was time for Samantha to go on a serious shopping expedition, but she didn't really have any girl friends in Colorado. Chloe was out of the question… but maybe Janet Fraiser? Janet had seemed nice and the doctor had given Sam her phone number and told her to call anytime.

So Samantha picked up the phone and dialed Janet. Janet answered on the third ring, and Samantha told her that she wanted to go shopping for new clothes that night and she wanted someone's opinion.

"I really don't have good taste," she admitted.

Janet quickly agreed, stating that she had nothing better planned, so they decided that they'd meet at Sam's apartment, go shopping and then have dinner and drinks.

Samantha Carter was energized, flush in the giddy excitement of her obvious crush on Colonel Hammond and for a moment Janet Fraiser truly hated the other woman. She had once felt like that toward her ex, Bernard, and everything had gone so horribly wrong when she had arrived home a day early from a conference in Buffalo and found her husband and her BROTHER in bed together.

Since Bernie was at that time still in the service, she had grabbed her camera, took assorted photos while they were too busy in the throes of passion to notice, and had printed them off in glossy 8X10s which were hand delivered to his CO while her divorce lawyer had gotten them in poster size.

Then and there when she had gotten her divorce decree, she had solemnly vowed never to be a victim. Gone was the happy-go-lucky Janet Fraiser. Instead, she called the shots in her new relationships as she found most men to be pathetically weak and thinking only with the wrong head. Offer them pleasure and they'd do anything to continue it.

Sex – it was the only thing for which men were good.

She had let down her barriers only twice, to Jonathan J. O'Neill, who had assured her that he was getting a divorce until he knocked up his wife and then it was, "Too bad, Janet, but can I still see you on Thursdays?" and Colonel George Hammond.

George would probably deny the depths of her feelings for him with his last, dying breathing, claiming that she felt nothing but contempt for him, but she did have a soft spot for him. When he stood there, on her door step before their first time together, clutching his offering of a bouquet of flowers for her, so painfully hoping that someone actually cared for him, as a person, yet believing that she, like everyone else in his life, held nothing but disdain for him, the sight had quite broken her heart.

Janet had almost turned him away then and there, because she knew that the shattered Colonel yearned for more than she could ever possibly give him. She was damaged goods, bitter and emotionally shattered after her divorce and he needed someone who was capable of healing him emotionally.

George wasn't the best stud in her stable, not by a long shot. He didn't have the youthful vigor of Lt. Simmons, the willingness to experiment like Siler, and he snored to wake the dead in China on the few times he had actually fallen asleep in her bed. But Hammond had a gentle touch, and had an almost gentlemanly consideration for his partner's enjoyment. Janet admitted to no one, except herself, that she enjoyed their couplings. Sometimes, she felt uneasy at the men passing through her revolving door, wondering if her hatred toward her ex and her brother had twisted her into nothing more than a bitter whore.

Hammond never made her feel like a whore, as he always thanked her for her sweet compassion before he left her bed, like she was doing him the favor. Yet, he was comfortable making the occasional quips about her Golden Arches and her supposed need to get a new mattress every few weeks. In other words, George Hammond knew exactly what she was, but he still treated her with respect.

Sometimes, he still brought her flowers, as though they were actually dating. The thoughtful gesture touched her, the simple gift of flowers, as none of her other boys gave her flowers, and so she had vainly protested that he didn't need to spend his money on her.

"No, dear, let me do this for you. I need to do this," he had protested, and so he had won the battle and the war, and how she hated that happy feeling she felt when he handed her flowers because it was just a weakness in herself that would be exploited.

The colonel still loved his wife with all his heart and soul and Janet wondered if his fanatical, obsessive devotion to Angie was because he was guilt-stricken because Angie had died while he was a POW in Iraq. Old school and with his morals still firmly intact, the very idea that anyone would stray on their marital partner was anathema to the colonel. Love and Cherish, until death you do part, George was still holding to that vow, even though Angie was long dead.

Maybe that's why she liked George so much, because he'd never cheat on his spouse.

"Thank you for coming over," Samantha said excitedly. "I need to buy some clothes and I saw that leather jacket you wore to work the other day. It was sweet. I'm just hopeless with stuff like this."

Janet Fraiser had taken Samantha Carter's Visa and yelled, "CHARGE IT!" at the top of the escalator at the mall and then had decided Samantha was buying out the entire mall. Least that's how it seemed to Samantha, because Janet was busy spending her money. She had great taste, Samantha admitted, but a little more daring than what Samantha was comfortable.

"You've got a cute figure," Janet protested as she held up a shirt with a plunging neckline. "You've got… assets, Samantha. Men love what you've got. Take it from me; those are the first thing guys notice on a woman and you want to show them off to get their attention. That's what their eyes notice first."

Samantha blushed and asked softly, "Really?"

"Well, that's what the dogs notice first. They notice the boobs, the rear and then they decide to look at the face. There are a few guys that aren't like that, but they are rare and far between. Like… Hammond, for example. He's a gentleman; he doesn't stare at a girl's rack. So tell me… is he the reason you're getting all the new clothes?"

She grimaced, knew that she was bright crimson again, and Janet laughed.

"Oh ho! He is indeed! Then we need to get you something really sexy…"

"He took me the shooting range today, to teach me how to shoot," Samantha tried to defend herself and her purchases. "I was chilly, I wore a cardigan. It was so embarrassing because I could tell he thought I was a geek."

"So… did you like his gun?" Janet questioned with a very sly tone in her voice.

Damn it, she was blushing harder, as all she could think of was how George had kept talking about guns and his hands on approach to teaching her about his gun.

"Guns are ok," Samantha answered finally. "I don't know if I could actually shoot someone."

"How do you think you're going to defend yourself?" asked Janet. "If you don't want to use a gun."

"Explosives…" she admitted. "I can handle them."

Janet laughed again and Samantha finally had enough.

"WHAT," she growled.

"It doesn't matter how long the wick, so long as it has a big boom," Janet teased. "Now let's go find something that will give you a really big boom."

After Janet had completely updated her wardrobe, and they had dropped the half dozen bags off at her car, Samantha was quite embarrassed when Janet grabbed her hand and pulled her into Frederick's. Frederick's of Hollywood! Good God, it was notorious! What if one of the guys from the SGC saw the two of them in the store! You know, like DANIEL JACKSON or even worse, Rodney!

Janet was quite familiar with the store, apparently, as she marched over to one area and pulled something off the rack. Samantha nearly died on the spot as the 'outfit' consisted of four pieces of string and not much else.

"Now that I've shocked your system," Janet purred. "Let's go over there. This section is a little racy, and you really aren't ready for that."

So began the battle of the lingerie section, as Samantha tried for long, flowing and body covering, while Janet tried for erotic and sexy. Their discussions drew the attention of several sales people, who having no one else to harass as it was a slow night, decided to put their two cents in.

"Virginal!" The lanky redhead chirped when Samantha pulled out something that she thought was quite nice.

"It's our first time," Samantha protested. "I want something nice."

It was long, flowing, covered everything and it came with a nice silk robe.

"Even my great aunt Martha, who's 98 years old and lives in a retirement colony in Boca Raton, wouldn't be caught dead wearing that," the cashier chimed in.

"Stay away from white," said the blonde. "It screams virginal, it screams wedding, it screams desperate need for commitment, it screams lets settle down and make lots of babies, and most guys will run out the door if they see white in an outfit like THAT. Since it's your first time with him, you want to give him something that's racy, but not sleazy."

"A good girl playing at being bad!" The cashier yelled.

"Ignore him, he's here for the discount," hissed the blonde.

And so the catcalling began. By the time the Lingerie Inquisition had finished, Samantha had answered far too much personal information about herself and George.

"So, he's older, military, was married for over twenty years, but now he's a widower, he hasn't really looked at a woman since his wife died…"

"He's a romantic then…" sighed a curvy brunette that had appeared from behind another rack full of outfits that consisted of fishnets and string.

"This rack," suggested the cashier, standing fifteen feet way. "And his favorite colors are blue and green. Well, this is it! He'll be saluting you in no time in this, girlfriend!"

It was silky and blue, the same color as her dress at her senior prom, a flyaway baby doll that tied in the front. Sheer, but not too sheer.

"Perfect," Janet agreed. "That color blue will look good against your skin."

"Soft and silky, so he can touch, and then he can untie it. So he can savor the experience," the blonde piped in. "But a little bit daring, so he thinks you're playing at being a bad girl."

Samantha soon found herself paying for the outfit, and while she was wondering how something made of such a small amount of fabric could cost so much, Janet then plopped down on the counter some small camo colored items.

"This is for tomorrow," she explained. "It's a bra and boy shorts. When he takes you to the firing range, you wear these."

"Camo?" Samantha squeaked.

"CAMO. It's a military thing, trust me," Janet explained.

When the shopping expedition was done, Samantha returned to her apartment, dragging for too many shopping bags after her. She invited Janet to come in for drinks, and Janet immediately made herself at home by digging into one of the packages and pulling out a few items. Janet then put them on the kitchen table, and began pointing out what was so special about them.

"See… the camo bra has these little bullets as accents, so does the matching boy shorts. You wear them tomorrow, ok? That way when he shows you his gun, you ask him if he needs your bullets," Janet teased.

There were little silver bullets attached to the bra and shorts and Samantha knew that she was blushing again. How she wished her cheeks wouldn't flame so easily.

"You've got to stop blushing, Samantha. What's going to happen when George decides to drop trow to show you the legendary Hammond howitzer? Are you going to have a case of the 'vapors'?" Janet fanned herself energetically, while giving a credible impersonation of a fainting Southern Belle.

"I don't even know if will go that far," Samantha admitted. "I mean, he's seeing someone now."

Janet recovered rapidly from her faint and her eyes narrowed, "He told you that?"

"Yes, apparently she's a real bitch," Samantha admitted, not seeing Janet's eyes narrow further. "Nobody likes him at the SGC, Janet, yet he's been an absolute gentleman with me. How could this lady he's seeing be so cruel? He says he's nothing more than a charity case for her, because she treats him like he's a side show freak, but he's still so grateful for that because she actually pencils him in for a few minutes a week. I mean, how can people be so cruel?"

"People, when they feel insecure about themselves, like to pick on those they think are weak. Hammond had a breakdown because what kept him alive in Iraq was the idea that his family would be there waiting for him, when he was released, and when he was released, he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea that he was still alive and his family wasn't. The boys at the SGC like to think that if it had happened to them, they wouldn't have snapped," Janet explained. "I don't think Ferretti and Kawalsky would have lasted six weeks in that camp, let alone six months."

"I think he wouldn't have minded staying tonight… but I told him that I couldn't do it," Samantha admitted softly. "You know what he said? He said it had been a while since he dealt with a lady, and he'd be willing to wait for me to be ready."

"Really?" Janet questioned. "He said that?"

"Yes," Samantha confessed.

"You're lucky then," Janet informed her. "Now, I have to work tomorrow, so I need to go."

Samantha again thanked Janet for her help shopping, and she walked Janet to her car. She waved at Janet when the doctor pulled out of her driveway, and Janet gestured her goodbye. For a moment, Samantha had thought she had offended Janet because Janet had seemed a little icy when she was talking about George, but it was probably just her imagination.

Janet Fraiser punched her gas pedal hard as she was so furious.

"So, Hammond, you think I'm a bitch? You don't think I'm a lady?" She let loose a string of obscenities, not wanting to admit that Hammond's brusque comments to Samantha about the slut he was sleeping with had scored and burned her soul. She doubted that Samantha in her throes of puppy love had noticed that she had bruised Janet's feelings.

"Well, honey, you go fall head over heels with your little virginal princess. You fall for her bad, Hammond, because you're looking for someone to put on a pedestal, just like your goddamn perfect St. Angie, and you get her into your bed. But don't you enjoy your romance for too long, Hammond, as I'll have a little talk with Princess Samantha after you bang her. I wonder what she'll say when she finds out you and Daddy go way, way back and how you fucked her just to get even with her old man."

"By the time I'm done with you, Hammond, you'll be back in your little padded cell."

Janet wiped a tear from her eye and she cursed herself for crying.

"I never treated you like a charity case."