Disclaimer in chapter 1

15

Sam looked down the row of booths in her section, smiling when she realized Charlie and Allison occupied the one second from the end. She didn't bother with her coffee pot, but grabbed a couple of waters with the menus.

"A little early for school to be out, isn't it?" she asked, sliding a glass before each of them. They were sitting on the same side of the booth, Allison practically in Charlie's lap.

"We have last period free for study hall," Allison piped up, taking the menu Sam offered.

"Hmm." Sam said, "You're right, this does look a lot like the library. I can see how you'd get confused."

"See?" Charlie said, turning to his girlfriend. "I told you she's been spending too much time with my dad."

Allison nudged Charlie's shoulder. "Don't listen to him, Sam. You're exactly what they needed." Sam grinned at the compliment. She liked Allison. Physically, she reminded Sam a bit of herself at that age. Shoulder length straight blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Allison seemed to blush as easily as Sam still did.

"Are you still coming for dinner tomorrow?"

"We're planning on it, right Charlie?"

"I don't know what the big deal is," he grumbled, slouching in his seat. "Dad's just gonna throw some burgers on the grill and grill us."

"Sam won't let him, will you, Sam?"

She grinned again at the kids. "I'll try to keep him under control, but you know how he is. I'll be back to take your order." She started walking back to the counter, shaking her head. If she'd ever had any doubts about Charlie being a chip off the ol' block, living with the two men had certainly cleared them. Beyond the physical resemblance, Charlie's stubbornness was rivaled only by Jack's.

Stopping to take another order, Sam looked up when she caught the flash of olive green. It was two officers in dress uniform checking out the interior of the dinner. There were several military bases in the area so It wasn't that unusual of a sight. She was about to direct the two men to have a seat when they removed their hats. The taller, younger of the two was unfamiliar, but she knew the man with the receding hairline.

"Oh, my god," she mumbled under her breath. There was no way she could make it out of the restaurant without them seeing her, either through the kitchen or the front door.

"Miss? We're ready to order," an elderly woman said sharply.

"Of course," she said pasting on a smile, keeping one eye on the officers. "What can I get you?" Sam was busy writing the explicit instructions the woman gave for both her and her husband, while trying to hear what the servicemen were asking Jill. She noticed her co-worker pointing in her direction, and felt her stomach drop.

She'd grown lax. It had been nearly eleven months since she'd shown up in this universe, and when no one had shown up to question her identity, she'd stopped looking around every corner. She'd let her guard down too soon.

"And make sure there's no butter!" her customer admonished.

"Yes, Ma'am," Sam answered automatically. Underneath the couple's order, Sam scribbled a note:

Call Jack 303-989-4421

Lt. Col. Samuels has me.

As she approached the men, she tried not to react to seeing Samuels. The Samantha Carter of this universe wouldn't have met him, and she wouldn't be nervous if someone from the military was standing in the doorway.

"Take a seat anywhere you like," she smiled.

"Samantha Carter?" The unfamiliar of the two asked.

"Yes," she confirmed, looking from one to the other. "Was there something. . ."

"If you'll come with us, please," he said.

Sam gave out a nervous laugh. "I'm in the middle of work here. If you'll tell me what this is about. . ."

Samuels stepped closer and lowered his voice. "You'll come quietly with us now or we'll make sure your young friends there," he nodded at Charlie and Allison, "join us. I don't think their parents will think too highly of that, do you?"

Sam gulped, giving him a slight nod. "Just let me put this in." She started to head for the window where she hung her tickets when Samuels grabbed her hand, none to gently.

"That won't be necessary. I'm sure your friend can finish up for you." He took the green pad from her hand, tearing off the top sheet to place it on the counter. Sam felt herself pale as he read the note underneath.

Samuels eyes narrowed as he tore the next sheet off, stuffing it in his pocket. "I see you know me. I wish I could say the same." His voice hardened. "Let's go." Sam took a few extra seconds removing her apron, hoping Charlie would look up from his girlfriend long enough to notice the Army officer with his hand on her elbow. Luck wasn't on her side, however, as Charlie's attention was riveted on Allison. She knew she should be concerned about where Samuels and his goon were taking her, but all she could think about was Jack and how he was going to go ballistic when he discovered her missing. If only she could have gotten some word to him. . . .

"Where are you taking me?"

Samuels made a tsking noise. "You don't really expect me to answer that, do you? Quit stalling and lets go," he said, tugging on her arm. Jill looked up with a questioning glance.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Sam said, hoping it wasn't going to be long. With a man on each arm, they hustled her outside and into a van. It looked like a vehicle used to transport prisoners, and she wondered if she was considered one. They helped her up, settling her on the right hand bench, where the man she didn't recognize snapped a handcuff on her.

"This really isn't necessary," Sam said, struggling against the restraint. "I came with you willingly."

"Yes, but I'm not so sure you'll remain that way," Samuels said, withdrawing a syringe from his pocket.

Sam felt her eyes grow large, unconsciously backing away from him. "Now that really isn't necessary. I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

"No, you're not," Samuels confirmed, depressing the plunger causing a thin stream of liquid to shoot out the end of the needle. "Give me your arm, Samantha." Sam struggled against his hold. There was no way in hell she was going to co-operate with being drugged!

"That's 'Ms. Carter' to you," she answered through clenched teeth as she pulled her arm back as far as she could. She wasn't going to let him know she'd been trained to resist questioning, or torture for that matter. But if she was drugged, she wasn't sure any amount of conditioning would help her. She tried to remember what Colonel O'Neill had taught her about being evasive when interrogated. Don't give away the farm, Carter, but a bit of truth mixed in with the lies will confuse them. God, she missed him, missed all of them. There wasn't going to be any SG-1 calvary riding over the hill in the nick of time to save her. Even if there was an SG-1 here, they didn't know her, or have any idea of her existence. She was so screwed.

"Winters! Give me a hand here!" The taller man stepped up into the van grabbing her legs as she tried to kick Samuels. "You're only going to hurt yourself by struggling," he said, swiping the inside of her elbow with an alcohol swab. "Wouldn't want you to get an infection now, would we?"

"Fuck you!" Sam spat, continuing to fight against the hold on her arm and legs.

"Language, Ms. Carter!" he sneered as the needle pierced her skin.

"I don't know who you think I am, but you've got the wrong person. Unless you're here because of my subversive actions in the Foodservice Workers Revolt."

"Cute. I'm sure I don't have to explain why we picked you up."

"Um, actually, you do. I'm sure it's against several laws to pick up civilians, restrain and drug them." To make her point, Sam tugged on the hand cuffs once more.

Samuels stood, pushing his face into hers, forcing her to inhale his less-than-fresh breath. "Have a nice nap, Ms. Carter." He moved to the front of the van where Winters was sitting in the driver's seat. She could already feel the pull of the drug and tried to fight it, but it was near the end of her shift. She had no reserves with which to fight the fog converging on her mind. The last thought she had was of Jack. He was going to kill her for not calling. . . .

XXXXXX

Jack pulled off his safety goggles as his son and girlfriend burst into his lab. "Hey, Kids. What's up?"

"Dad!"

"Mr. O'Neill!" they both spoke at once.

"Slow down! One at a time! Charlie what's the. . ."

"They took her, Dad!"

Jack's brow furrowed in confusion. "Took who?"

"Sam, Mr. O'Neill!"

Jack felt a nearly overwhelming sense of nausea. "Who took her?" he barked, stripping off his rubber gloves as he came around the bench.

"Some Army guys," Charlie gulped, trying to catch his breath.

"'Army guys?' That's all you got?" Charlie looked even more scared than when he and Allison blew into the room. He had to calm down; shouting at the kids wasn't going to do anyone any good. "I'm sorry," Jack managed, wishing the blood would stop pounding in his ears. "What else did you see?"

"Not much," Allison added. "Charlie and I were in the diner, waiting for Sam to come take our order, and when she didn't show up, I looked out the window and saw two guys in Army uniforms pushing her into a van." Her eyes were filled with tears, some of which were escaping down her cheeks, her bottom lip quivering.

"You did the right thing by coming here," Jack soothed, wrapping his arm around Allison's shoulders, giving her a quick hug. He released her and Allison moved to Charlie's side, practically cleaved to him.

"Did you tell anyone at the diner what you saw? Did you get a license plate?"

Charlie's uncertainty was back. "I said something to Jill, probably cried something like, 'they're taking her!', but that was it. They took off pretty quick. I'm sorry, Dad but I didn't think to get a license plate number."

Jack reached over and ruffled his son's hair. "It's okay, Kiddo. We'll find her. What color was the van?"

Charlie and Allison exchanged glances. "Dark, right, Charlie? Black or dark blue or something?"

"Yeah. I'd say black. I tried Sam's cell, but it was in her purse. I could hear it ringing in the back room."

Jack ran his hands through his short hair, locking his fingers on the top of his head. "We need to call the cops. I should have thought of it sooner," he mumbled to himself as he reached for his phone dialing 911.

XXXXXX

Sam's vision swam as she barely opened her eyes. She had the mother of all headaches, and everything seemed way too bright.

She heard a female voice off to her left. "I think she's coming around." A woman? She thought. They switched personnel? Is Samuels still here? Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard him stand and realized he was walking toward her.

"It's about time." That pompous voice made her skin crawl.

"If she'd responded to the first dose, she probably wouldn't have been out so long," Sam heard the woman say. She'd hoped the naquadah in her system would dilute the drug's effects, allowing her to be somewhat cognizant of where they were taking her. Apparently it had, but they'd noticed. Sam didn't remember the second dose, so she must have been pretty groggy when they'd given it to her.

"Now there's a good girl," Samuels said, roughly pulling her upright. Sam blinked against the harsh light, running her tongue around her dry mouth.

"Where. . . ." she croaked, trying to swallow against the dryness. Samuels nodded at the woman who handed her a glass of tepid water. It tasted metallic, but she didn't care. It was wet. "Thank you," she managed, glancing up at the woman, hoping with her she might find a modicum of sympathy. She was wrong. If her severe posture and hairstyle were anything to go by, this woman didn't have an ounce of softness to her. Her brown hair was pulled so tight, it tugged the corners of her eyes towards her ears, making her look almost Asian. She appeared to be more muscular than Samuels, but that probably wouldn't be difficult, Sam reasoned.

"Where am I?" Sam tried again.

"I don't think you really expect me to answer that after all the trouble we went to bringing you here."

"It doesn't hurt to ask," she answered flippantly. Samuels walked back around the metal table which was the only furniture in the room, save the chair and cot she'd woken up on.

He took a seat, reaching for a manilla folder resting in front of him. "Lieutenant Meecham, please bring our guest a chair so she's more comfortable while we conduct our interview."

"Interview," Sam snorted. "You're very good at euphemisms, Samuels"

"That's the second time you've referred to me by name. How is it you know me?"

"Your reputation precedes you. Actually," she said, testing her legs by walking over to the table, "how could I miss it? It's on your uniform."

Samuels looked down at his right breast pocket. "So it is. But you recognized me before you read my nameplate."

"If you say so." Meecham carried in a chair, setting it down with a heavy "clank" that resounded throughout the room.

"Please, have a seat Ms. Carter," Samuels directed, opening the file. "We'd just like to clear up a few discrepancies. Apparently we have some conflicting information."

"Is this a 'service' you provide all Americans, or did I just win the lottery?"

Samuels mouth turned up in a grim parody of a smile. "Legal citizens of the United States have nothing to worry about." He let her think about that as he took his time perusing the papers in the folder. From her vantage point, Sam couldn't read the type-written sheets, but she could see several, along with a photo and a disc of some kind.

Sam crossed her arms over her chest. "Are you implying I'm not?"

"I'm not sure you understand how this works," the Lieutenant Colonel said, folding his hands on top of her file. "I ask the questions, and you answer them, or you'll become a permanent guest of the U.S. government."

"Your threats don't scare me."

"Then you're not as smart as I've been told." Samuels leaned back in his chair, picking up the top sheet from his desk. "It says here Samantha Louise Carter died in 1982, a victim of a car accident, along with the rest of her family."

"Well then your information is wrong. In the first place, I'm obviously alive, and my middle name is Marie. So, rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"Then perhaps you can explain to me why there hasn't been any activity linked to your Social Security number until eleven months ago. You're going to tell me this waitressing job is the first employment you've had in. . ." he checked his paperwork, "twenty-two years?"

Sam actually had an excuse prepared in the eventuality she was picked-up. She'd expected the police to show up for identity theft, not the Army for threats of sedition. "I've been out of the country."

"Out of the country. . . ." he repeated.

"Yes. My whole family, actually. Except for my father, that is. It was actually the Army that suggested our deaths be faked, and moved us out of the country.

"And the service did this because. . . .?"

Sam stalled a moment by running her tongue over her lips. "My father was Special Ops, maybe he still is," she said hoping to God that Jacob Carter hadn't really been killed in the accident. It was her pet theory, that the Army had used the car crash to allow him to continue to work undercover.

Samuels made a note on the sheet in front of him. Again she couldn't make out the writing. "So, you and your mother and your brother have been living abroad all these years as a means of protecting you."

"That's right."

"And now you're back." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes. My mother and brother are still out of the country."

"What prompted you to return? Surely not the promise of lucrative employment?"

Sam was getting tired of his maligning her occupation. "My boyfriend lives here and I wanted to be with him." Before he could ask the circumstances of their meeting, Sam volunteered, "We met when he was on vacation."

"Which was where, exactly?" Samuels leaned back in his chair, twisting a pen between his fingers, staring at her. "Cut the bullshit, Ms. Carter. Or should that be Major Carter?"

Swallowing, Sam's mind raced, trying to school her features. "I'm sure I. . ."

"Oh, I know here you're a civilian, but what about where you come from?"

"I wasn't part of the military where I lived," she said, wondering what angle he was going to attack from next. He seemed to be hinting at something having to do with the Stargate, but he didn't come right out with it.

The Lieutenant Colonel pulled a photo from the file. It was a still image of her looking up into the security camera outside the 'gate room at Area 51. "Wow," Sam breathed. She looks a lot like me, doesn't she? Is that why I'm here? Because I look like this woman?"

The smile Samuels gave her was feral. "No, you're here because you are this woman. I don't know how you managed to get into a top secret facility, but being dead would help, wouldn't it? No record for twenty-two years, you wouldn't exist."

Sam remained silent. She didn't know what she could say, even if she chose to, with such damning evidence.

Leaning forward onto his forearms, linking his fingers, Samuels stared hard at her, waiting to catch any emotion she revealed. "What I don't understand is why you chose to resume your dead persona. Why not become someone else?"

Right about now, Sam was wondering the same thing. She could have hacked into the Social Security Administration's data base and given herself a new identification, but at the time she thought remaining "herself" would help her connect with her team mates if they'd made it to this reality. She probably could have changed her name and number once she'd realized her team hadn't followed her, but she didn't want to give up her identity. It was all she had left, and she stubbornly hung onto her one link to her home universe.

"No smart ass remarks, Major?"

"Why do you insist on calling me 'Major?' If you think I could get into this facility, which I don't even know where it is, don't you think I could steal a uniform?"

"I think the fact you made it into a restricted area, showing up on only one surveillance camera makes me realize you've had training. Regardless of how you came to that training, you're a threat to national security."

Sam barked out a laugh. "You've got to be kidding! I'm a waitress from Denver for crying out loud, who unfortunately bears a resemblance to some blurry black and white photo you have. Are you really going to hold me on that?"

"Oh, I've got plenty to hold you on, Ms. Carter," he said, standing and gathering up the papers and file from his desk.

"What, that's it? You're not even going to give me a chance to make you understand how this is all a mistake?"

"I have what I need," he said pausing by the door, rapping his knuckles twice on the metal. Sam's eyes darted around the room. If it was just Samuels, she could probably take him. It was obvious it had been some time since he'd been in the field. Meecham, however, was a different story. While they were probably evenly matched physically, she couldn't take on both of them. Meecham was eyeing her now, expecting her to make a move as Sam stood. Her hands were gripping the back of the chair, and she released them slowly, making a show of the action.

Samuels exited the room, turning back to the lieutenant. "Take her to the cell block." He took a few steps into the corridor, then craned his head backwards once more. "We'll be speaking again soon. Enjoy your stay."

A/N-I'm too impatient. Chapter 16 will be up shortly.