ACT 3

Maybe it had been the look on the general's face. The way his shoulders drooped ever so slightly as he'd turned his back to them after making the announcement. Maybe it was the absolute sadness that radiated off the man. Sheppard wasn't sure. What he did know, at that moment, was that no matter what the general said, no matter what order he'd just handed down, he, John Sheppard, was going to disobey it. In spite of the fact that he'd come to believe what Ronan had said from the very beginning, he couldn't give up on Colonel Carter just yet. Not for her sake; and most certainly not for the sake of the man who had just officially declared her MIA and turned temporary command of Atlantis back over to him. Again.

If it hadn't been under the worse possible scenarios both times it might have been humorous, the way Atlantis kept bouncing back to him like a ball on the end of a string. Last time had been when Elizabeth…damn, he wasn't going to go there. It still hurt like hell. And he missed her, more than he'd ever thought possible. When Colonel Carter had arrived and taken over, it had been like rubbing salt in a wound. He'd done his duty, been professional, showed her the military courtesy she deserved, but he'd resented every moment of it. Not that it was her fault, but she was a handy mental whipping boy for his anger at the whole business, beginning with his own guilt over having supported the surgical strike against the replicators in the first place. That was the first domino to fall in this ever accelerating cascade of fiascos that had stranded the city in the middle of nowhere, brought Carter and the cavalry out to their rescue and set in motion everything that had happened since.

But he'd never wished her any ill. Not really. And she'd grown on him as his CO. Not…not that she'd ever replace Elizabeth, but she did bring a different set of skills to the job. And there was a certain satisfaction in seeing her go head to head with Rodney that had always left him feeling smugly pleased, especially when McKay came out of her office muttering and flustered. Nothing ever felt quite as good as seeing Rodney taken down a peg or two, and Sam Carter was the only one who could do it with grace.

Still, he'd have given just about anything to have Elizabeth back; a wish he'd made a dozen times if he'd made it once. And now Carter was gone. Not exactly what he'd had in mind, which made him recollect the old chestnut about being careful what you wish for. This one he'd trade in in a heartbeat. And as fervently as he'd wished for Elizabeth back, he now felt himself just as fervently wishing for Carter back.

It would have eased his guilty conscience. And it would have lifted the horrible burden off the shoulders of one of the few men he still admired.

So he knew he'd disobey the order to stand down. There were still at least two dozen planets that met their search parameters which they hadn't gotten to explore, and he was sure with a little prompting Rodney could broaden the scope of the model and come up with another dozen or two on top of that.

He couldn't take anything away from their current missions, and he wouldn't jeopardize the safety of Atlantis and it's people. But there wasn't any reason why at least one team a day couldn't check out one of those sites. There was always the possibility that where Carter had been bumped to didn't have a DHD and that was the only thing that was keeping her from dialing home. It was an ever increasingly remote possibility, but still…. It was a theory. And one he intended to pursue. General O'Neill's orders not withstanding.

So, he probably would piss off the general at least one more time. But for the right reasons, this time. And with any luck, with the right outcome as well.

o-o-o-o

Sam emerged from the tent and blinked in the bright light. Now that the leaves were changing colors the sunlight seemed especially intense, reflecting off the many yellows and oranges that surrounded their encampment. The days were warm but the nights were cool, and she had been especially glad of her heavy blanket this morning when the first frost had come.

At least Arisha said it was the first frost they'd had so far. Time to begin preparation, she'd told Sam. Twenty-one days from the first frost was when they began their journey to the warmer climate. Sam had no idea how to comprehend the distance described by Arisha, but if it involved moving to an entirely different climate, then the distance had to be significant. Arisha had said that they would journey for five weeks. At a pace of about fifteen miles a day, conservatively, for about thirty-five days, Sam calculated that they would be covering over five hundred miles. Enough, she figured, for a moderately dramatic shift in the climate, possibly on the order of about a forty or fifty degree difference, depending on the size of the planet, the tilt of it's axis and the nature of it's orbit around it's sun.

How she knew all this, she wasn't sure. The knowledge was just there. The oddest things would bring it forth—a tune Arisha hummed made her think of complex mathematical equations; the plants they gathered for medicine had her seeing formulas for compounds of different elements joined together; a broken receiver they used for communications came apart in her hands as if she had built the thing herself and she had fixed it in no time, not even half-understanding how.

Arisha was her constant companion. Something made her want to say "guard". The girl was watchful, but not bothersome. She did her chores and her duties and Sam helped as best she could, her arm with its cast in a sling around her neck. The bruise on her forehead was a lovely shade of purplish green, with splotches of yellow thrown in for good measure, and she was glad there was only one very small mirror in the tent, which she tended to avoid when at all possible. It was like looking at a stranger, and it gave her the most unsettled feeling. Every so often a horrible headache would overcome her and Zetra would insist she return to her bed. But other than that, she had been free to come and go…provided her escort came too.

And she was even getting used to the stares. At first she thought it was because she was a stranger. But Arisha had made a point of telling her that strangers were always welcomed by the sisterhood. In the towns and cities where they were sent to care for the sick, all who came to them were strangers. Tending them was their mission. Rarely did they get any in the encampment, but it was not altogether out of the ordinary. Sam's thought that it might have been her injuries was dismissed by the same argument. If these women's purpose was to care for the ill and wounded, then a bad bruise and a broken arm should not have been so stare-worthy. So what they found to gawk at, she could not figure out. She'd tried to ask Arisha, but the girl was adept at changing topics, and she never got a straight answer. And for some reason, that bothered her more than the stares did.

The only thing she had been denied had been her request to return to where they had found her. Apparently it was some distance away and the needs of the encampment, now that preparations for moving had begun, took precedent. Not even Arisha could be freed up to go with her—for which, judging by the look on Arisha's face, the girl was eternally grateful. Sam had just felt that if perhaps she could see the place it might further jog her memory and help her understand what exactly had happened to her.

Things were coming back to her. Bits and pieces. A flash of a face. A tidbit of conversation. An image of something that held meaning for her. But she could put no names to the faces, no context to the conversation and no significance to the images she saw. It was as if someone had taken scissors to her life and cut it into little bits, expecting her to reassemble it from nanomoments. It was impossible. She needed help.

Like that dogtag.

Like the items they had brought her, when she had asked if there had been anything else they had found with her. Not that there was a lot, really. A gray jacket, that was part of a uniform, she could tell. A heavy vest, in which she found an assortment of items she knew were for survival. Two weapons: a handgun, that she knew was called a Beretta, and a sheathed knife. And a radio. It hissed when she turned it on, and although she flipped through many different frequencies, nothing more than static came through. She knew what the items were, and she knew they were hers—she recognized them. But why she had them, when or where she'd gotten them, she had no idea.

The only thing missing, according to Zetra, were the rest of her clothes. They had been torn and bloody and needed to be cut off of her, so they had burned them. Sam had a faint memory of what they looked like. And that they'd needed to be cut off of her, she could understand why, if the soreness she felt in every muscle of her body was an indication of the condition they'd found her in. She hadn't felt this beaten and bruised since the Kull warrior had chased her half-way across the Alpha Site.

Sam stopped cold. She remembered that. Running. Her leg hurting. Hiding. Terrified. Pursued by the relentless and unstoppable black-suited drone. Thinking she'd killed it, only to watch it rise like some foul phoenix from the dust of it's own grave. Knowing she was going to die. Waiting for that moment.

But it didn't happen. Why? What happened next? It was like a movie that ended just before the final scene. Sam groaned in frustration. She had been close—so close! It had nearly come back to her. But now it was gone.

Kull warrior.

Well, it was something new to add to her list.

And the fact that she had been running from something.

Maybe she was still running. Maybe that was why she didn't remember. Maybe she didn't want to.

"Are you all right?"

The mystical Arisha appeared at her side, a frown of concern on her young forehead. Sam liked her, even if she knew the feelings weren't wholeheartedly returned.

"Just…tired, all of a sudden."

"Come back to the tent and rest. Zetra says it is too soon for you to be walking as much as you do. You must give yourself time to heal."

"It's just a broken arm," Sam said, dismissively.

"I think it's your…" the girl stopped suddenly, as if she'd been cut off. She swallowed and Sam could see her reforming her thoughts. "I'm sure she's just concerned about your other injuries. I will help you back."

At least Arisha was no longer afraid to touch her. She seemed to have gotten the okay from Zetra for this, and although the older woman herself still seemed hesitant, Arisha had quickly gotten over whatever it was about Sam that made her repugnant. She still had no idea what it was.

Placing Sam's good arm over her shoulder, she took some of Sam's weight, and together they worked their way back to the tent. Compared to the bright afternoon, the inside was dark and difficult to see in until her eyes adjusted. In her absence someone had brought in new linen for her bed and it was stacked neatly on the covers.

"Let me give you clean bedding," offered Arisha, stripping away the blanket that lay on top. She stopped cold for a moment, staring at the sheets beneath, and then, as if remembering herself, swept down and bundled them up, carrying them out of the tent and away toward the wash.

But Sam had seen.

The sheets were soaked in blood. Blood that hadn't come from either her arm or her head. Blood that hadn't come from a wound—at least not a wound she was aware of. She ached all over, but she knew her body well enough to know there were no deep gashes, no gaping cuts on her that could have left so bad a stain behind.

Not for the first time she realized they were hiding something from her. This time she was going to get answers. If Arisha would not talk, then she would point-blank ask Zetra, next time she came. And if she could not get Zetra to answer her questions, then she would go to Malana. And she was fairly certain Malana would have no compunctions about telling her exactly what she wanted to know.

o-o-o-o

"Head wounds bleed very badly. The amount of blood is often disproportional to the severity of the wound itself. You had a very bad gash, probably from hitting the standing stone when you fell."

Sam gave Zetra a mirthless half-smile and shook her head.

"I don't believe you."

Zetra cocked her head and met her look for look.

"You doubt the evidence of your own eyes? I can get you the mirror, if you like."

"I've had head wounds before. And yeah, they do bleed a lot. But not like that."

Zetra studied her for a moment, and Sam could tell the woman was debating with herself. Or maybe assessing Sam and her ability to handle the truth. In either case, after a long pause she seemed to come to some decision.

"Very well. It is best you know anyway. And since you have not asked, or made mention of it, either you did not know or it is one of the memories you have lost." She took a deep breath and leaned slightly forward, as if to take Sam by the hand. At the last moment, though she seemed to think better of it and simply folded her own hands together. "You were with child when you were injured. Whatever happened to you, it must have injured the child as well. You were already bleeding when we found you. There was nothing we could do."

Sam stared at the woman, barely comprehending. At first, bizarrely, she thought Zetra meant she had had a child with her when they found her, but as the woman's words sank in, their meaning hit her full force.

"Pregnant?" It came out a half-whisper.

Zetra nodded.

"So it would seem. You do not remember?"

Dazed, Sam shook her head slightly.

Zetra gave a small shrug.

"It is possible you did not know. I do not think you had quite reached quickening. Maybe three months. Maybe less. It is hard to say."

Sam found she was trembling. She clasped her hands together to try to stop the shaking, but it would not stop. A powerful loss overwhelmed her; an ache for something which, until a few moments ago, she had never even known existed.

"I am sorry."

She looked up into Zetra's eyes, and for the first time saw true sympathy there. Sam couldn't help herself. A small sob escaped.

"Yeah," she managed, in a voice she knew was none too steady. "Me too."

Zetra stood to leave. Something occurred to Sam.

"Is this why Malana hates me?"

Zetra's head indicated no.

"Malana does not hate you. And the feelings she does have, have nothing to do with this."

"Then why?" Sam pleaded, trying to keep her voice steady, but failing.

The sympathy was back in Zetra's eyes.

"I think you have learned enough this afternoon. Another time I will explain it."

Sam let her go this time. A tear escaped from one eye and she wiped it angrily away. She would not cry. She didn't know how or why, but she did know that crying was not something she indulged in very often. And this would not be one of those times.

Still. She couldn't make her mind let go of what Zetra had just told her.

Pregnant.

Questions crowded her thoughts, demanding answers.

She had none.

She studied her hands. Married. Where she came from married people wore wedding rings. But her hands were bare. Not that that meant anything. If she had been beaten, it was possible she had been robbed. Still, when she studied her fingers she showed no evidence that they were missing anything.

Unmarried then. Consensual or forced? She hugged herself, trying to keep the trembling under control. Maybe her memory loss was tied to this. Maybe she couldn't remember because she didn't want to remember.

The thought chilled her.

But what if it was true?

It might explain a lot.

It might explain everything.

It was a horrifying possibility.

The air in the tent seemed thick and nauseating. If this was her past, then maybe she should leave it buried, stop trying to ferret out the memories, trying to sort through the images.

Maybe it was best this way.

Sam lay back down on the cot and pulled the blanket up tightly around her. But she was restless. Something wasn't right about this line of thinking. She pulled her left hand out from beneath the covers and stared at it. There should be a ring there. She could see an image of it. Almost a picture. The ring flashed in the light, bright gold reflecting flame. And the hand…her hand…was holding a face. A man's face. A face she knew she loved.

Just as she knew she would have loved the child that was never to be. Because it was his child.

If only she could remember who he was.

o-o-o-o

He had taken the longest route home he could. If he could have hitched a ride back on the Daedelus he would have. It would have added a few more days to his journey. But Caldwell was staying put for the time-being and he had no excuse for not taking the intergalactic gate and finding himself deposited in full view of Hank Landry in the gate room of the SGC.

Hank had hustled him out of there quickly. Even so, he had still caught the sympathetic murmurs of the staff in his wake. News traveled fast. Especially bad news. There was an funereal air about the whole facility as Hank walked him to the VIP quarters where he got to spend yet another wonderful, sleepless night before heading back to DC in the morning.

Jack paid the cab driver and watched the guy back out of the driveway, making sure he didn't run over Sam's azaleas. He'd never taken her for the gardening type. She had confessed once that she did indeed talk to her houseplants but somehow that was different than get-in-the-dirt, muck-in-the-mulch gardening. He always imagined her hands more at home covered by the grease of her motorcycle than the dirt of her back yard. But when they'd bought this house the first thing she'd done was to head to the local nursery and pick out a half dozen bright pink azaleas to plant at the end of the driveway. It had taken a while, but he finally got her to tell him why: they'd been her mother's favorite flower. No matter how many times they'd moved when she was a child, her mother had planted an azalea bush. For Sam, it meant home.

It was painful to look at them now, so he turned away and walked to the door. Which was ajar.

Somehow he didn't think it was the neighbor stopping by to feed the dog.

Especially since they didn't have a dog.

Instinctively he reached for a gun that wasn't there. Crap. Stupid commercial flight.

Flattening himself against the outside wall, he reached over and gently pushed the door open wide enough for him to fit his body through. Edging around the corner he looked cautiously into the dim entryway but saw nothing. Maybe it had been one of the neighbors, stopped by to check on the house, and left the door unlocked. He knew they'd given one of them a key. He just couldn't remember which one.

A clattering from the kitchen pretty much killed that idea. Jack looked around for something heavy to wield. The fireplace poker was a good fifteen feet away and he knew from experience that half the wide-planked floors in the living room squeaked underfoot. He may as well announce his arrival with a trumpet. The only thing that was nearby was a vase on the entryway table. It was certainly a cliché, but it would have to do. He picked it up, hefted it, and gauged exactly how hard he'd have to swing for it to do any damage to the intruder. It was going to take quite a swing.

It was then that Daniel appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, a cup of coffee steaming in his hand. He froze at the sight of Jack, standing there with the stupid vase upside down in both hands. The two of them stared at one another.

"Daniel…."

"Jack…."

They both looked at the vase. Jack set it back down on the table.

"Making yourself at home?"

Daniel took a sip of the coffee.

"Mmm," he replied, swallowing. "Hope you don't mind."

"How'd you…?"

"Yeah…I thought we talked about this once. You know…about locking your door?"

Jack turned and looked. Sure enough, the lock was undamaged.

"I coulda sworn…." he began, but Daniel cut him off.

"Actually, you did this time. It's just…well, Sam had told me where you kept the key hidden. So I let myself in."

Jack stiffened at the mention of Sam's name. Like he didn't know why Daniel was here.

"Look, Daniel…."

"Jack…I know what you're going to say. But I'm not leaving. Not yet, anyway."

Jack gave him a cold, hard stare. He never had been able to really intimidate Daniel. Even less so, these past few years. Fine. Maybe if he ignored him he would give up and go away. Because he really, really, really didn't want to talk to anyone right now. And especially not Daniel.

"Fine. Whatever. Make yourself at home. You know where the spare room is. I'm going to bed."

Daniel checked his watch.

"Uh, Jack…it's three in the afternoon."

"Yeah, well it's about 10 at night on Atlantis and my body just doesn't switch time zones as fast as it used to. So, good night. Or good afternoon. Or whatever." He headed for the stairs, hoping Daniel would take the hint.

He didn't.

"Jack. You have to talk about this."

Jack whirled on his friend, one foot on the first step.

"No, Daniel. I don't."

"Yes, Jack, you do. Trust me."

Jack studied Daniel's face and tried to ignore the reflection of himself in the man's glasses. If he only looked half as bad as what he could see, then he looked like hell. And frankly, now that he got a good look at Daniel, the guy didn't look much better. He had that pinched Daniel look to him that he got when he'd been wrestling with some inner demon for too long.

He'd almost forgotten. Sam's death wasn't his loss alone.

He flinched as the word "death" snuck its way into his consciousness. He'd never actually thought it before; and certainly never said it aloud. When he did, it would be so…final.

And here was Daniel, damn him, come to make sure he could say it—would say it, because, he knew, Daniel would force him to come to grips with this instead of letting him hide upstairs by himself, wondering how many lite beers a guy had to drink in order to actually pass out.

Then it dawned on him.

"She put you up to this," he said, accusingly. "She told you to come here if anything ever happened…."

Daniel's gaze dropped to the floor and he shifted uneasily on one foot. Oh yeah. That was it. He'd hit the nail on the proverbial head. Sam had set this up, long before she'd ever left for Pegasus. Maybe even longer ago than that. She knew him too well. Knew he'd try to hide, to climb into a hole and pull it in after himself. Knew he'd leave his phone unanswered, his doorbell unheeded, his pager turned off.

So she'd sent Daniel.

Jack almost laughed.

And then he almost cried.

Which Daniel must have seen, because he reached over and, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder, deliberately guided him off the step and over to the living room to the sofa in front of the fireplace.

Jack couldn't believe he was allowing himself to be led around like this; but at the moment, any will he had to protest or fight back simply wasn't there. So he sat on the sofa and stared at the cold hearth and prepared to let Daniel talk. He'd tuned out the best of them at the Pentagon. He could tune out Daniel Jackson.

Except Daniel wasn't talking.

He was just sitting there, staring at the same patch of rug on the floor in front of him. Saying nothing.

After several minutes, Jack decided he'd had enough

"Well. As illuminating as this is…."

Daniel looked up, that funny distracted look on his face. Almost as though he'd forgotten Jack was there.

"What? Oh…sorry. I was just…you know…thinking."

"Ah," replied Jack. "I tried that once. Didn't much care for it."

That got Daniel's attention.

"Jack…"

"Daniel…you know, I think we've done this already. So if you don't mind, I'm going to go upstairs now."

"We need to talk. You need to talk."

"No. I. Don't."

"If Sam were here you'd talk to her."

"If Sam were here I wouldn't need to talk to her…cuz I'd be, well…talking to her."

He knew there was logic to that statement…somehow. He just wasn't going to puzzle it out.

Apparently neither was Daniel. He just shook his head distractedly and let it pass.

"She knew you'd be like this. That's why she made me promise to come."

So he had been right. He knew her so well. Just like she knew him.

"Look, Daniel…I appreciate it. Really, I do. And you've done your duty. You fulfilled your promise. Just…go away. Please."

God he was tired. Inside, outside, brainwise, bodywise…any way a man could be tired, he was. He just wanted to go upstairs. And so help him, if Daniel didn't let him…well, he wouldn't be responsible for what happened.

Daniel seemed to accept this.

"Okay. Fine. Go get some rest, Jack. But I'm not leaving."

Or not.

"Daniel…." he said threateningly. The man next to him held up a hand.

"Don't…don't be mad, Jack. But I did make a promise. And I swore I wouldn't leave you alone until you'd had a chance to deal with this. I'll just…uh…hang out here until you're ready to talk, and I'll take you up on the offer for the guestroom, if that's okay."

Jack shrugged. At least he got a reprieve from Daniel's persistence. Maybe tomorrow he could actually get him out the door and back to Colorado Springs.

"Whatever," he replied, wearily. "Can I go to bed now?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Jack made it to the bottom of the stairs one more time before he heard Daniel clear his throat.

"And Jack?"

He paused and turned to look at his friend. He was standing now, his arms folded across his chest.

"About Sam…I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

For some reason Jack's ability to speak seemed to vanish at that particular moment, so he simply nodded, and turning, climbed up the steps. It was the most agonizing fifteen steps he'd ever made in his entire life.