Doubt

Walking along the path in the park across from her home, Sam felt a keen sense of déjà vu.

Had it really only been a few days before when she'd walked this same path with Orlin? He'd teased her that she was falling for him even as they'd discussed the weapon that could destroy them all. That day had been buffeted by a brisk wind, too, and they'd had the park largely to themselves, it being a schoolday.

Now, as she walked next to the Colonel, Sam again noted that the park lay largely empty—even more so than it had been before. It was dusk, and cooling, and only someone who had a reason would be outside.

Like someone afraid of being overheard—recorded. Monitored. Someone whose own home had become suspect.

----OOOOOOO----

Earlier, after her bedroom door had clicked shut, Sam had eyed it uncertainly.

At one point right after their return from captivity in Hathor's stronghold, the team had gathered at her house for dinner. The menfolk had picked up Chinese and beer on the way over, and Daniel had bravely soldiered through almost two cans before passing out in a snoring heap on the armchair in Sam's living room. Teal'c had excused himself for Kelnorim, still trying to shake the effects of the torture he'd suffered during that jaunt through the 'Gate.

So, Sam and the Colonel had been essentially alone in the house.

She still didn't know exactly where during that fiasco of a mission that she'd become hyper-aware of O'Neill as a man. Or when he'd discovered the fact that she was feminine underneath the BDUs. Sam suspected it had to do with his arrival in her observation room—she'd felt him hesitate while unhooking the tubes attached to her chest, and she'd been made acutely aware of her own bare skin by his presence above her, hovering as he'd been, like a lover.

And then he'd pulled her into the alcove, and she'd been pressed up against him long enough to have felt—things. Like how hard his body was behind hers, and how his large hand shaped itself across her abdomen. How intoxicating his natural scent was—that combination of strength and man that was essential O'Neill. His breath against her ear had stirred things that she had buried deep inside. She'd tasted him on her lips even as his hand had stilled her cries. His potency, his power had surrounded her.

When she'd returned to pull him from the cryogenic stasis pod, and Hathor had finally been flung into the pit, he had pulled Sam into himself with a frantic strength—as if reassuring himself that they were both real. He'd held her close enough that she'd had trouble breathing, thinking, speaking—she'd wanted nothing but to warm his frozen body with the heat of her own.

More than a week later, with the remains of Kung Pao and fried rice on the coffee table, Sam had sat down on the couch next to him. It had been intimate, and quiet. Maybe they'd both had too many beers—maybe it was the tranquil comfort that had descended around them with the advent of night—maybe it was the still unexplored awareness that had been kindled on that far-distant planet, in those harrowing circumstances. It really hadn't mattered. They had forgotten to be guarded, and misplaced their ranks. During their inconsequential, inane conversation, he'd rested his arm on the back of the couch and somehow she'd found herself leaning into him. He'd stroked her shoulder, and she'd fingered the sweatshirt he'd worn. He'd bent his head and pressed his cheek against her hair, and then breathed deeply of her even as the backs of his fingers had followed the line of her temple. She had sensed his course, and she'd turned her head up to him expectantly.

In a single instant, both of them had remembered that they weren't allowed moments like that, and the frantic, hurried escape he'd made, leaving Daniel and Teal'c behind, had been unwaveringly awkward. The pain and regret in his dark eyes in that moment still haunted her.

That had been the last time they had been alone together. They had always been careful. And Sam thought that they had engendered a trust—an understanding. She'd thought that the interlude they'd abandoned would someday be seen out. She'd believed that O'Neill had wanted that as badly as she.

----OOOOOOO----

Eyeing that door, knowing that the Colonel was out there in her home again, Sam hesitated. A quick glance at the scar in the corner where one of Simmons' cameras had been firmed her resolve. She'd never been one to flinch—or back down.

She'd taken a few steps to the door and flicked the lock shut, and then crossed into her bathroom, shedding clothes along the way.

The heat of the shower had helped her—revived her. She'd dried her hair quickly, finger combing it with a little dab of goopy stuff that some stylist along the way had convinced her she'd needed. She forewent any makeup other than a bit of powder. The Colonel had seen her looking worse.

She dragged on a pair of jeans, donned an Air Force t-shirt, and had to look in three different drawers to find her favorite sweater—another reminder than someone else had touched it last.

With socks and running shoes on and tied, she finally unlocked her door and went in search of O'Neill.

He was on the couch, in exactly the same position she'd remembered from that night so many months before. One arm outstretched on the back of the couch, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. He'd gravitated, naturally, towards her television. The Colonel could always find something with which to entertain himself.

She'd stood briefly at the corner, just watching him. Even as ambivalent as she felt about him, she was constantly struck by his presence—even sitting quietly as he was, he exuded power.

He hadn't even looked at her before he spoke. "Ready?"

Sam took a deep, cleansing breath. "Yes, sir."

And he'd turned off the television, unfolded himself from his seat on the couch, and placed the remote neatly on the coffee table before following her out the door.

Sam now walked next to him, stung by the tense, twisted familiarity of doing so. How many times in the last few years had they walked like this? Companionably, easily. Their strides matched well—both of them tall, both athletic. They'd trudged up and down many an alien sand dune, barren hill, or forested valley. But almost never on their own planet, in the last lights of their own sun.

She'd forgotten her gloves, and the cold forced her to plunge her hands into her pockets. She couldn't help but muse on the strategic fallibility of that necessity.

Sam began, because she wanted it to be over. "You said you needed to tell me things, sir."

"Simmons wasn't here just because of the incident with your little alien friend." The Colonel's voice emerged tightly, without preamble.

"His name was Orlin."

"Orlin." The Colonel glanced sideways at her. "Whatever. He wasn't the primary reason that the NID got involved here."

"I thought it was the weapon on 636."

"No. That was all just an excuse."

"Then what was it, sir?"

"The NID has been investigating improprieties within the SGC—trying to ferret out activities that aren't allowed."

"What kind of activities? Hammond runs a pretty tight ship."

"He does." He paused, the sound of their shoes on the pavement eating up several seconds. "Carter—Simmons was investigating us."

"Who, SG-1?"

"No, Carter." O'Neill raised his hand and gestured between the two of them. "Us. You. Me. Us."

Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "What's there to investigate? We've never done anything that needed scrutiny."

"Someone within the SGC has been talking—passing along rumors, making damned stuff up for all I know." He turned so that he was facing her. Catching her eye, O'Neill raised his eyebrows slightly. "I don't know who."

"Sir, I haven't spoken to anyone about—anything." Sam fisted her hands in her pockets. The thought flitted briefly through her mind—some people did know that a certain attraction existed. Janet, Daniel, Teal'c. Even Cassie had commented on the fact that Sam and the Colonel seemed to share a brain cell when they were paired up during game night. They killed all opponents at Pictionary.

But none of them—and Sam was absolutely certain about this—none of them would have any reason to approach the NID. There had been no indiscretions. And after that single night following Hathor's demise, no opportunity.

He canted his head to one side. "I know, Major. I'm just sayin'."

"Saying what—that I have said something, or done something to draw suspicion?"

"Somebody has—I'm not saying it was you."

"Sir, it wasn't me!"

"I know, Carter." His lips flattened. "I know."

"So I'm being accused of what—being gossiped about?"

"Carter." O'Neill's voice was still low, serious, while Sam knew that hers fast approached shrill. "You just needed to know. It's why you weren't brought into the loop. Why I couldn't demand that the bugs be cleaned out of your house."

"Why? There's nothing going on."

"I know." He took a step closer to her. "But if I'd started making demands, it would have fed the rumors. I couldn't treat you different. I couldn't tell you."

"So Orlin was just a bonus for the NID." Sam turned away from the Colonel, speaking more to herself than to him. She could see her breath in the air. "They came for one fish, and ended up with another."

O'Neill didn't speak, just stood gazing up at the stars beginning to emerge.

"So what now?"

O'Neill drew in a breath. "I don't know."

"You said I'd been cleared."

"In the investigation into the alien."

"But not of this other thing."

"Hammond is working on it." O'Neill looked down, scuffing at a spot of grass growing up between two sections of sidewalk.

Sam hesitated before asking. "Sir, how much does he know?"

"Hammond?" The Colonel turned his attention back to Sam. "More than you'd think. He asked me about the Xanex testing."

Sam couldn't stop the smile that rose. She'd long suspected that O'Neill did that just to get a rise out of Daniel or her. The correction had become automatic. "Za'tarc."

"Whatever. He knew about it—about the end part." He frowned, and then answered her next question before she asked it. "Apparently Dad and Anise have been chatting."

And her father and General Hammond had known each other for years. "Crap."

O'Neill tried for levity. "I didn't even know that the Tok'ra had water coolers."

Sam didn't smile.

"So, yes." The Colonel continued. "Hammond is aware that there may be—issues."

"Did he ask you about it?"

"He told me to be wise." One corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "Whatever the hell that means."

Sam had no answer for that. So she asked the question she'd been harboring for what seemed like weeks. "Sir—why don't you trust me anymore?"

The Colonel didn't say anything for a long beat. "What do you mean?"

"You could have—should have told me about all this."

"I didn't know." But the protest sounded hollow.

"Sir, I'm not stupid."

"No, Carter, you're not."

"So why didn't you tell me?"

O'Neill simply looked at her for a while, his jaw tensing rhythmically.

"There's more?"

"Simmons is on a witch hunt. He's hoping to get his own people into the SGC. He was looking for signs that we—all of us—Daniel and Teal'c too, are no longer capable of performing our duties. Your exposure to that computer thing, the Jolinar thing, the mind stamp thing—all of those combined have made him question your ability."

"You've had the same—or more experiences."

"Yes, and I'm under the same scrutiny. The same doubt."

"From him." Sam shook her head. "I'm talking about you, sir. You didn't trust me. You could have warned me what was coming. And you didn't believe me that Orlin was real. Why not? Have I ever done anything to make you doubt me?"

"Nobody could see him—"

"We couldn't see the Retu either! And how many other entities have we come across that we didn't immediately understand? And how many completely unbelievable things have we seen?" Her voice had grown loud, and she drew herself back a bit. "You should have believed me. You should have believed in me."

"Carter—I—" He started, then frowned, pursing his lips.

"I did exactly what I should have done, sir, and I was recommended for psych evaluations and spied on."

Still the Colonel stood silent.

"I'm wondering if I can continue with this team, sir. I would only be a distraction if the rest of you have lost respect for me. If you have doubt in my abilities."

"Carter." His tone was low, dangerous.

"Sir, if you have nothing else to say, I would request leave to return to my house."

"Carter. Don't."

"Sir?"

He stood with his head down, his eyes closed, both hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Don't."

"Don't what, sir? Go home?"

"Don't request a transfer."

"Then give me a reason to stay on the team." She took a step toward him. "I need to know that you still trust me."

"I do, Carter."

"Then what?" Sam exclaimed. "What is going on?"

"It's not you." He took a long, deep breath, raising his head. "I don't want you to be damaged by this. I don't want your career—your integrity—blown to hell."

"So you openly doubt my sanity? That's supposed to save my career?"

"Damn it, Carter. Don't you see? Everything that we say and do is being monitored by the NID. I had to let it play out. I trust you—but we've all had out moments when we weren't—right. When we believed things that weren't real. And no, I didn't believe you. I didn't think that this guy was real." He shifted, moving closer. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, controlled. "But don't for one minute think that I ever lost faith in you. I believe in you. I always have. Ever since you challenged me to arm wrestle."

Sam paused, in the dimness of the evening his eyes were black, little more than slits under his lowered brows. She tried to find truth there, but her own hurt prevented it. And she recognized that maybe the fault wasn't all his. Maybe she'd lost a little of confidence, too, in the dregs of this whole mess.

"So don't. Don't ask for a transfer. Stick with SG-1."

"You're asking?"

"I'm asking."

The darkness had descended completely. She could no longer make out distinct features—couldn't see into his expressive eyes.

"I'll think about it, sir."

She turned to leave.

"Sam."

She stopped again, turned half way to him.

"I won't doubt you again."

Long, dark seconds ticked by. "I'll think about it, sir."

And then she left him there, on the walking path.

But she felt him watching her the whole walk home.