Reunion

"Sam!"

"Pam!"

The exclamations were loud enough to draw puzzled looks from the other instructors and trainees.

"You two know each other, I take it?" This from the head instructor.

Pam's mouth snapped shut, then she forced out a "Yes sir – a long time ago."

"You can gossip later. We've got business to attend to now."

Sam could see the tension in Pam's neck, so she kept her mouth shut and resolved to be as inconspicuous as possible.

"Yeah, right. I'm the only female trainee, she's the only female instructor; we've already drawn attention to our previous friendship. "

The rest of the first day was as expected, extremely rigorous. She had to give credit to the instructors – they didn't treat her differently from the other trainees. And her fellow trainees seemed to accept her without question, assuming that she had good reason to be there. After all, they weren't in competition; they were all in the same boat. Cooperation in these exercises meant survival, and they all knew it.

As they left the training field for the resident dorms, Pam approached Sam and said, "There's a pizza place close by. Meet there later?"

Sam grinned. Pam obviously remembered that other meeting as well as she did.

"Sure. Let me shower and change."

Pam wasn't involved in any of the first day's training activities, so Sam hadn't had a chance to talk or even take a good look at her friend. Now that she looked more closely, Pam was thinner, but also very fit. Of course she would have to be in good shape if she was running exercises at SERE. But, why was she here? What could she have been involved in that would qualify her to be an instructor? Whatever it was, it probably would explain why she and Sam had lost touch.

The two women walked to a local outlet of a pizza chain, and the walk was strangely silent. The Pam that Sam knew had always been chatty and outgoing, but this Pam didn't say anything beyond their original greetings. She held herself rigidly as they walked and seemed to be on the alert for the entire two block walk.

"What's happened to her?" Sam wondered.

After ordering pizza and a pitcher of beer, they sat awkwardly, saying nothing.

Sam was the first to break the silence. "God, this feels like a bad blind date."

Pam looked surprised, then snorted. "When have you ever been on a blind date?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten that you set me up with that pasty-faced third year, Billy Something? The one who was a huge Star Trek fan. He did the Spock live-long-and-prosper salute all night. I was tempted to pull his fingers apart and make a wish."

"Oh yeah! That's right. I did do that, didn't I? I told him that you had a crush on Spock because he was the intellectual one." Pam was laughing out loud now.

Sam's jaw dropped for the second time that day. "You what? I spent three hours with that creep. Now I know why he kept telling me how high his SAT's were and what his GPA was."

Sam couldn't help laughing now, recalling that interminably long night – listening to the twerp drone on and on about his supposedly high IQ and his impending membership in MENSA.

God, she missed this. She and Pam, sharing food, drinks, and laughs.

But Pam's laughter stopped abruptly, and she looked surprised.

"I haven't laughed that hard since …"

"Since when?" Sam asked.

But Pam's face closed up.

Sam tried again. "Come on Pam, what's going on?"

Just then, the pizza arrived, allowing Pam to avoid the question. As they ate, they went through ritual small talk, catching up on mutual friends and classmates.

When the subject of families came up, Sam casually said, "You know, I talked to your folks a while back."

Pam almost inaudibly replied, "Yeah, they told me that you called. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone then."

Sam interpreted this to mean that she might be willing to talk now, so gently asked, "Is there anything I can do to help now?"

Pam's head was down, as if she weren't able to look Sam in the eyes. "It was a bad time, but I'm over the worst of it now."

Sam was unsure how to respond to this. Things were clearly not normal, but Sam didn't want to push Pam into talking about topics which disturbed her. She was just about to speak when Pam looked up and said decisively, "Sam, you have to be up early tomorrow, and you have a really tough week ahead. This isn't the time to go into it, but let's meet here at the end of your training. I'm still not sure if I'm ready to talk, but I've felt more comfortable in the last hour than I've felt in a long time. It almost feels like old times."

Sam was relieved to see that Pam's demeanor had lightened up considerably, and they made their way back to the dorms, chatting about the upcoming training exercises.

"You know these guys probably all figure that we're former lovers after this morning, don't you?" Pam asked.

"I didn't think of that, but you're probably right. Maybe that's good. If they all think that, they might not hit on me. I have a feeling that I'm going to be too busy and too tired to deal with any romantic advances."

"Oh you'll be busy all right. And don't think that I'll take it easy on you, just because we're friends."

Sam laughed at that. "I know you better than that. Just try not to make me look too bad since you probably know all my best moves and you know how I think."

Pam sobered up, and said, "No, I won't be any harder on you than the guys, but I won't pull any punches, either. You know how it is for women in this business."

"Have to be twice as good to get half as far." Sam said in unison with her.

"Amen to that."

The week went by quickly and was just as tough as Pam had predicted, and as Sam had anticipated. The knowledge that she might actually be in a position to use these survival techniques motivated Sam to soak up as much as she could in the short time before the Abydos mission. She felt that she did well, better than some of the trainees, not as well as others, but she knew that didn't matter. Bottom line, the reason for the program was to teach them all ways to survive in dire situations.

At the end of the week, Sam and Pam met again at the same restaurant. They hadn't talked all week – both had been busy with respective tasks. Pam seemed much more relaxed than during their previous meeting.

"You held your own out there, Sam. I'm proud of you." She tipped her beer mug to Sam in salute.

Sam ducked her head, embarrassed by the praise from her friend. "Thank you. I was impressed with you too. You really know your stuff, and how to teach it."

"Unfortunately, I learned it the hard way." Pam stopped, looked away from Sam, and took a long drink from her mug.

Sam's curiosity urged her to question Pam, but she held back, merely suggesting "We can talk about it or not. It's completely up to you."

Pam turned, looked directly at Sam, and instead of opening up to Sam, confronted her with a question of her own.

"Just why are you really here, anyway? I read the administrator's comments about a general wanting you to get out from behind a desk, but we both know that's a load of b.s. Believe me; I know that no one goes through this course without good reason. So why are you here?"

Sam had been expecting the question. Pam was too smart and knew her too well to accept the cover story. She sighed and replied, "It's classified."

Pam was incredulous. "Classified? You're an astrophysicist, for God's sake! What could you possibly be doing that requires this type of training? Are you part of some top-secret astronaut program?" The last question was delivered in Pam's trademark sarcastic form.

Sam patiently replied, "I'm sorry. I really can't tell you."

Pam still looked doubtful, and somewhat unhappy that her friend wouldn't even hint at her current job description. But Pam knew that classified meant just that, and she had no right to question Sam any further.

"Ok, fine. Can you at least tell me where you're stationed, so that I know where to send mail?"

Sam was relieved that Pam understood her need to keep quiet on the topic, and very glad that Pam wanted to maintain contact after being out of touch for so long.

"I'll be at Cheyenne Mountain, near Colorado Springs."

"NORAD?"

"Can't say."

Pam grinned and said, "Can't blame a girl for trying."

Sam decided to take advantage of Pam's good mood, and broach the sensitive subject of Pam's recent history. She poured more beer for them both and asked, "So what have you been up to? Last time I heard, you were flying Huey's in Florida. Where'd you go after that?"

Smugly, Pam said, "It's classified."

Feeling swatted down, Sam said, "I guess I deserve that. You really can't tell me, huh?"

Pam seemed to deflate a little, and replied, "Actually it was classified up until a short while ago. I guess enough time has passed so that the information could be released."

She went on. "Before the ground war started in Desert Storm, but after Iraq invaded Kuwait, Navy SEALS penetrated the Kuwait coast. I flew a combat recovery Pave Hawk helicopter for emergency evacuation coverage."

Sam was astounded. She'd known that women had flown support helicopters during Desert Storm, and had wondered at the time if Pam was one of them. But she hadn't heard about women flying missions before the war.

Pam continued in a flat voice. "It was a night operation, and we had a mechanical failure. Just one of those dumb things – probably a $2 bolt came loose at the wrong time. I tried every trick I knew to keep us up, but we went down – hard. Two of the crew died in the crash. Three of us were injured, none of us too badly. One of the guys broke his arm and both of them had minor burns. I only broke a couple of ribs and had a concussion."

"I guess that we were lucky and came down on land, otherwise we would have drowned for sure. As it was, within minutes of the crash, we were surrounded and captured by Iraqi's."

Pam stopped, clearly having difficulty with the account. "It was pretty bad, Sam. I won't – can't go into details; it's just too hard. There was no way of keeping time while we were there, but we found out later that it was five months. Eventually we were rescued by a squad of marines – by accident, it turned out. No one even knew that we were still alive. They'd sent out the MIA's to our families and privately told some of them that we were presumed dead."

She stopped now. No emotion showed in her face, but her fists were clenched on the table, and tension was evident in her rigid posture. The lack of emotion in her face and voice concerned Sam almost as much as Pam's horrifying story. Pam should be reacting somehow – anger, bitterness, sadness – something. It was possible that she'd gone through all those already, but it didn't feel like that. Pam had never been afraid of showing how she felt. It was one of the differences between Sam and her. Sam tended to clamp down on those feelings, a result of her dad's influence, she knew. Pam was the one who convinced her to let it out at times, to not keep everything bottled up. Now, Pam was shutting down, and the little that Sam knew about psychology told her that this wasn't at all healthy.

"Holy crap, Pam! How did you deal when you came home?"

Pam gave a bitter laugh. "I played good soldier. It was all classified, so I couldn't tell the family. I was in the hospital for a while; the ribs hadn't healed properly, so the doctors had to take care of them and some other stuff that happened while we were held."

Sam knew that she couldn't begin to imagine what the "other stuff" might have been, and it was clear that Pam didn't want to share that information. She asked, "How about counseling? Isn't that mandatory?"

"Yeah, I talked to a shrink while I was in the hospital, but you know how it is. If they think that you're the least bit unstable, they'll declare you unfit for duty, and kick you out. I convinced them that I was ok. They gave us a month of leave after we recovered, and then put us back on duty. I'm still flying, which I love, and a few times a year I come here to help with the training exercises."

Sam understood Pam's reluctance to confide in military psychiatrists. It was a common attitude in the service. When she was a kid, she'd overheard her father's complaint to her mother about a "damn fine pilot taken off duty just because some shrink thinks his mother didn't love him enough." But Sam knew Pam, and this wasn't Pam anymore.

"Have you talked about this to anyone else?"

Pam looked at her in disbelief. "Who? Like I said, it was classified until not too long ago, so I couldn't talk to anyone before that. By the time it was declassified, I'd convinced everyone that I was fine."

She sighed heavily. "Sam, I know that I'm not entirely ok, but I also know that I am fit for duty. I'm not drinking too much, not doing drugs; I'm showing up for work every day and doing a good job, by the way. I'll be damned if I'm going to a shrink and be told that I have to quit doing what I love."

"But just telling you this tonight has helped a lot. Thank you."

Sam looked at Pam for a long moment, considering what to say. "Pam, you really need to talk to a professional. I'm glad that it's helped to talk to me, and I'll be here to listen any time that you need me. But I don't know enough to tell you what you can do to make yourself feel better. I understand completely that you don't want to see an Air Force psychiatrist. Is there any way that you could afford to see a civilian counselor? If you could do that, it wouldn't have to jeopardize your career."

Sam knew that Pam's family was very well to do, so money shouldn't be an issue. She decided to push Pam more, even if it meant fighting dirty.

"Pam, I know that you believe you're doing a good job, but what if that doesn't continue? Don't get me wrong, I trust you and I'd fly with you any time, but if this keeps eating away at you, you could make a mistake. You don't want to be responsible if someone gets hurt."

Pam looked so devastated that Sam immediately felt horribly guilty, and almost apologized. She stopped herself, though, and thought, "She really needs to hear this, and it's best if it comes from a friend."

Pam slowly opened her mouth, and then closed it without speaking. When she opened it again, she very quietly said, "Damn you. I'm supposed to be the bitch, not you."

She took a deep breath. "You're right. I've already got two deaths on my conscience, and I don't need any more. I'll call my dad tomorrow and see if he can discretely find a good counselor."

Sam hesitantly asked, "Still friends, then?"

"Oh, I suppose so. Who else will there be when I need to bitch about my shrink?"

The evening ended shortly after that, and when Sam returned from the mission to Abydos, a short message from Pam was waiting.

"Hi astrogeek! Took your advice and it's already helped. Call when you get a chance.

Pam"

After that, the two kept in contact, making an effort to meet in person whenever their irregular schedules allowed it. Pam's counseling sessions helped her to turn a corner. Most of the time, her eyes were lively again, and she seemed to be back to enjoying life, not just enduring it. She'd never be the same person that she was before her capture, but Sam could see a real difference. After a while, Pam was even able to open up to Sam about some of her experiences while she was a prisoner.

Sam came back to reality with a jolt. She'd been halfway dozing as she reminisced about Pam, but now she heard something. What was that buzzing overhead? Did she dare look?

She peeked up through her leafy cover, and spotted a UAV flying in the distance.

"All right!"

She quickly sat up and used her watch to reflect the sun, hoping that the UAV could use it to pinpoint her location. A sudden shot from her left ended the flight. Sam lay back down and swiftly used the branches to cover back up as the drone walked by, moving in the direction that the UAV had gone down. As soon as he was out of sight, she'd head to the crash site too.

At last she allowed herself to feel some hope. The gate must be back up; SGC teams were probably on planet and searching. Her chances of survival had just increased significantly.

Author's note: more chapters await you