October 2012
Sam's been on Earth for five weeks, but the eggheads over at Area 51 managed to dangle enough fascinating alien toys before her that she's only been in Washington for two. They'd chatted almost nightly, but still, Jack missed her. Despite all the time he spends alone while she's zipping around the galaxy, the apartment always feels loneliest when she's on Earth, but away.
What he misses most are the sounds of another person sharing his space. It's not that Sam's loud. Quite the opposite, save for when she's chattering away to the plants he mostly manages to keep alive in her absence. What he really misses is the quiet swish of a turning page in the latest science journal or the gentle clacking of her laptop keys as she works on her next book about wormhole physics. They're sounds he's associated with Sam for as long as he's known her.
That's not to say, however, that he doesn't appreciate the sounds he'd never in a million years have imagined hearing.
He's a few feet from the front door when one of those sounds registers. A heavy bass line is pounding from inside the apartment, muffled by the thick walls. The music offers great cover – there's no way she can hear his key in the lock over the noise.
Careful to keep quiet, Jack slips inside the apartment and stops short.
There, bopping around the living room, a stack of books in hand, is Sam. The dark walnut shelves lining the back wall of the living room are mostly barren, but there are dozens upon dozens of books from their combined libraries spread out on the floor.
Jack is proud of how far she's come. A few years ago, she'd have been home for all of five minutes before giving in to her anal retentive compulsions and alphabetizing the shelves.
He doesn't recognize the pop song blasting from the souped up stereo, but it's no surprise that Sam does. All the time she spends at the gym when she's Earthside tends to leave her with a remarkable repertoire for Cam Mitchell's karaoke nights. She never knows what a song is called or who it's by, but she always has perfect recall of the lyrics.
Jack leans one shoulder into the wall and settles in to watch the show.
Sam dances from one pile to another, sorting titles, head moving in time with the beat and hips swaying ever so slightly from somewhere inside the far too large for her grey sweatpants. Oblivious to her audience, she sings along.
"… I want your love and I want your revenge…" she sings loudly, with little consideration for pitch or tone.
There are a number of things at which Samantha Carter excels. Singing is not one of them.
For the first time, Jack wishes he'd let Cassie talk him into getting a camera phone the last time he'd had to upgrade his cell.
"I want your love, I don't want to be friends…" she trails off slightly, depositing an armload of books on the shelf. A few lines of French blast from the speakers. Sam ad libs, subbing in, "Some-thing in French only Dan-iel understands. Blah blah blah, I don't want to be friends…"
Without turning around, she points the remote over her shoulder and switches the station. Another pop song pumps into the apartment, bass thudding off the walls.
Even though he's going to have to reset the station presets – again – this is so worth his upcoming quality time with the stereo's instruction manual.
Sam only needs a few seconds before that scary smart brain of hers identifies the song and supplies the appropriate lyrics. She bends to grab another armload of books then sashays over to the appropriate shelf, singing once more.
"… dun-dun-dun out, blood and fire. Bad decisions, that's alriiiiiight. Welcome to-o-o-o my ridiculously science fictional life… Mistreated, misplaced, misunderstood, Miss 'No way, it's all good,' it didn't slow me down. Mistaken always second guessing, underestimated, look I'm still around…"
With the books in what she considers their rightful places once more – Jack prefers them organized by size and shape, but his opinion doesn't seem to count for much in these matters – Sam turns to gather the next batch.
When her eyes land on Jack, they go as wide as he's ever seen.
"You're home!" she says over the music. Her embarrassment is palpable.
"I am." He knows full well he'll pay for it later, but he just can't wipe the shit-eating grin off his face.
Sam hurries over to the stereo and turns the volume way down. "How long have you been standing there?" she demands.
"I got home right around 'Something in French only Daniel understands'," Jack reports gleefully.
Her cheeks flush bright pink which only makes the whole scene that much more memorable. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
"No." Jack's grin gets even wider.
"Figures."
"Exactly how often does this little show run?"
"One time only. Sorry."
"Damn," Jack says with mock disappointment. "I was really looking forward to grabbing a beer and catching a repeat performance."
He may be several years removed from field duty, but Jack still has the instincts to duck from the throw pillow fired his way. He strategically retreats to the safety of his room.
It takes some time, and he'll probably have trouble finding his preferred station again, but the two minutes it takes to find that last song he caught her singing are worth it when he cranks the volume on his clock radio and is treated to Sam's aggrieved "Ja-ack!"
It's nice to know that even after so many years, there are new sides of Sam just waiting to be discovered.