Beauty In The Broken
Faceting
Laundry. So very, very much laundry.
Sam lowered the lid of the washer and placed the basket on top before closing the accordion doors to the closet. She needed to just bite the bullet and finish her basement so that the washer and dryer could go down there. It had been her intention to do so when she'd bought the little house, but somehow, intergalactic turmoil always seemed to pop up and waylay the project.
A larger laundry room would mean that she wouldn't have to do the wash so often, since there would be more room for sorting bins and hampers. Yet another thing she hadn't even considered about the turn her life had taken. She'd gone from haphazardly doing laundry as-needed for one person to suddenly being in charge of clean clothing for three. Not that it was her job, per se. Jack jumped in and did it as often as she did—it was just the situation that bemused her.
Four months ago, none of this would have even crossed her mind.
With a wry smile, she picked up a pile of hand towels and made her way into the kitchen. It was dim. Cozy, with the kitchen lights off and only a single lamp lighting the great room. Quieter than it had been in days. Heather had lit a fire, and the place felt warmer with the flames casting shadows that danced around the room.
"Hey, Sam."
"Are they still gone?"
"Yeah. My guess is that Mark convinced Jack to go somewhere for ice cream."
"Ah." That made sense. The Carter family penchant for ice cream was legendary.
They'd gone out for dinner—some kid-friendly chain restaurant that Mark and Heather had suggested. Huge burgers and chicken fingers and so many french fries that Sam could feel her arteries clogging. She'd sat between Jake's high chair and Heather, watching across the table as Mark and Jack had juggled the Carter littles. As Mark and Jack had established a friendly camaraderie.
It was odd to see her brother and her husband becoming something more than casual adversaries. Mark had shifted in a way, angling in Jack's direction as if he'd found an older brother he'd never known. As if Sam had married in order to secure him a new friend.
And Jack's defenses had lowered—even if they hadn't fallen away completely. The two men had found common ground over the past few days—and whether that ground was their mutual care for Sam, or fatherhood, or the knowledge they now shared of the state of the Universe at large didn't really matter. Sam was filled with a budding sense of satisfaction about the evolving relationship.
She didn't have to lie anymore. Not to Mark about her job, nor to Heather about rings or babies. Most notably, she didn't have to lie about her own feelings anymore. Not to her leadership, or to her brother, or to Janet. Or herself. She felt free for the first time in years.
On the drive home from the restaurant, Macy and Lucas had enthusiastically pointed out each house in Sam's neighborhood that had already been decorated for Christmas, oohing and aahing at the icicle lights and animatronic reindeer and bright bulbs hanging from trees and eaves.
Heather had developed a headache during dinner, and so Jack had suggested that he drop her off at home and take the kids to find more displays. At the last minute, Sam had hopped out of the Excursion, too, making a quick excuse about being there in case Heather needed something. Neither man had seemed to mind—Mark had simply taken her place up front, and they'd driven away.
Looking up and over the island, Sam could see Heather sitting sideways on the sofa. With a few deft moves, Sam placed clean hand towels on the oven handle and at the kitchen sink, stowing the rest of the pile in the drawer with the hot pads near the stove. Then, with a last check on the dishwasher cycle, she padded around the island towards the great room.
"How are you doing?" She sat, mirroring her sister-in-law's pose on the couch, with her back against the arm rest and her toes pointed towards the middle. "Are you feeling better?"
"It's been a crazy week." Heather smiled over at Sam. "I think that my head just needed a break."
"Understandable." Sam nodded. "We've uploaded a lot of information into it this week."
"For a while there, I thought my brain had been broken."
"It's a lot to take in all at once." Sam wriggled her toes on the softness of the cushion, watching as the pressure of her toes changed the sheen of the upholstery fabric. "I've had years to adjust to it all. You've had a few days."
Heather looked down at her hand, turning it back and forth so that Sam could see the object sparkling between her fingers. She'd been playing with her engagement ring. The one whose twin sat in the kintsugi cup on Sam's nightstand.
"I have the feeling that there's more to it all." Heather bit her lip, watching the ring sparkle as she slid it on and off her finger. "You haven't even skimmed the surface of what you've seen. What you've experienced."
She was right. But Heather's comment didn't require an answer. Sam just tucked her feet up under her and waited.
"Has it all been traumatic?" Clear, green eyes studied Sam's face. Not out of morbid curiosity, but rather, out of concern. "I mean—I can't even imagine what it must have been like to sit there and watch yourself die."
"Samantha wasn't me."
"No. But still." Heather bit her lip, looking off to the side, where the fire flickered behind the grate. "I saw the video. It was—eerie."
"It was."
"And before that, you had to work with her, help her return to her own reality. I just—I can't even fathom how that must have messed with your mind."
Sam looked down at her own hands. She'd spent too long this morning staring at her fingernails. Over the past few months, her nails had grown. Longer than she'd worn them in years—maybe longer than they'd been since high school. She'd kept them serviceable and short for her entire adult life—not even considering any alternatives.
But when Jack had slid her wedding ring home, she'd looked down and seen Samantha's hand instead of her own. Doctor Carter O'Neill's nails had been long. Painted with some sort of gloss that had shone in the lights of the surgery theater where she'd died. As Sam had sat with her body, she'd been fascinated by those hands.
So like the ones she looked at now. And while logically, it made sense to clip her nails back to their usual length to return to work, for whatever reason, Sam had hesitated. It was stupid. There was no reason for her to hold on to this. She wasn't Doctor Samantha Carter-O'Neill. But at this moment, as Sam raised Samantha's child, as she'd stepped away from weekly missions through the 'Gate, as she had taken Jack as her husband, their lives seemed to be converging rather than running parallel.
"She was horrified at the thought of being military." Sam laid an arm across the cushioned back of the sofa. "She was kind of snotty about it, too. At first, I thought that she looked down on me—like she was disappointed that someone like her could choose to be in the Air Force."
"Someone like her?"
"Like us? I don't know how to put it. Curious. Driven. Educated. Whatever makes a Sam Carter a 'Sam Carter'." Sam lifted a brow. "All those things that Mark was blathering about at dinner that night."
"Back when he was hoping you'd want to date Pete." Heather chuckled. "The poor guy never stood a chance."
"I'm not proud of that."
"I know, Samalot." Heather raked her fingers through her hair, leaning to rest her head on her hand. "If we'd known how things were, we never would have presumed to meddle."
"He's nice. And kinda cute." Sam looked over at the fireplace. "If things had been different—"
"If you weren't already hopelessly in love with someone else—" Heather's lips curled upwards, and she poked Sam's foot with her toe. "Someone that you couldn't admit to loving. Someone with whom you shared a child in a strange, freaky, cosmic fluke."
"Yeah." Crinkling her nose, Sam returned her attention to her sister-in-law. "That."
"How was it for you? To work with her? To be given her baby? I think that's the part that blows my mind the most."
"Besides looking up at her and seeing my own face?" Sam bit her top lip as she considered. "We were so much alike in so many ways. But we were also very, very different."
"The military stuff?"
"Not just that. Her reality was subtly divergent from ours. Her mother hadn't died. Her brother Mark had followed their father into the Air Force. Her father succumbed to cancer. Daniel Jackson had never joined their program, so they didn't get the headstart that we did with 'Gate addresses. They'd never met Teal'c. Never gone to his home world." She hesitated, finding the most apt explanation. "Whatever events have led to our reality being exactly as it is have also made those of us who inhabit this reality far more capable of fighting back against the enemies we've encountered. In essence, my choices—my history—may have been what has saved our reality."
Heather's eyes widened, her lips pursing into a tight "o".
Sam grimaced. "I said as much to her. That my being in the military might have made the difference."
"That probably hit her hard." Heather toyed with her hair, flipping it this way and that. "I can't imagine that went over well."
"It made her defensive." Sam pressed her lips together. "It put her on edge."
"How would you have taken that?"
"I probably would have been defensive, too." Sam looked down, picking at a spot on her jeans with her fingernail. Ketchup, probably. Jake hadn't been particularly neat at dinner. "But ultimately, it's not possible to know which event in our respective timelines was the point where things split. I've thought about it, and I think it must have been Mom's death, but it's impossible to know for certain."
Heather slid her ring back over her knuckle. She studied it before speaking again. "That was when Mark started resenting your dad."
"And when I started trying to please him."
Keen green eyes tilted a look at Sam. "And yet somehow, both of you Sam Carters found your way to Jack O'Neill."
"Samantha was so devastated to see him. The Colonel. My Jack. When she came through the mirror, Samantha wasn't expecting to find him alive and well on this side. It had to have hurt—seeing him so soon after having lost her husband. They'd just celebrated their wedding anniversary when the Goa'uld attacked her world. She didn't even know she was pregnant." Sam chewed a little at her bottom lip before continuing. "She was grieving her husband, and thought that it might be the same between her and Colonel O'Neill as it had been between her and her own Jack."
"But she eventually figured it out."
Sam grimaced, weighing her response. "Jack, Daniel, and Teal'c went to her side and helped her contact our allies for help. I couldn't go because I couldn't inhabit her reality just like she couldn't share mine because of the complications I told you about. When it was all done, and my team was ready to come back through the mirror, she was saying her goodbyes, and she kissed him."
Heather's expression spurred Sam on.
"She had to find out for herself. She had to know that Jack wasn't the same man that she'd lost." Sam went back to picking at her jeans. "Jack came here afterwards, and we talked about it. It was awkward, and horrible, and I felt so, so foolish for allowing it to eat at me like it did."
"Did you already know?"
"Know what?"
Heather leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. "That you loved him."
This answer was easy, and immediate. "Yes."
"What did he say about it?"
Sam turned her face towards the fire. "He said that he understood why she'd needed to do it. And that if it were me who had just lost my husband—and then found him again—that he hoped that the other Jack would have helped me grieve."
"He's a remarkable man."
He really was. Sam looked down at her hand, again, at the rings he'd put there. At the sparkle of sapphire and diamond in the wavery light of the fire.
"How long has it been?" The question was nearly as quiet as the crackle in the hearth. The soft whoosh of the flames muted, and subtle.
"How long has what been?"
"Since you knew. Since you knew how you felt about him."
When had it been? When had she fallen? She'd never really thought about the particulars. She'd spent so many years denying that it was even happening that it was impossible to pinpoint when she'd become certain.
Still—when had admiration turned to something more? Had it been when he'd kept her alive in the mines during Daniel's sarcophagus addiction? When she'd pulled him out of the cryo-tank in Hathor's palace? When he'd carried her out of the giant pyramid?
No. It hadn't been an all-of-a-sudden thing. It had been the little things. A gradual becoming. The way he always mixed up words just because it made her smile. The many times he'd snagged her favorite flavor of jello before she'd made it to the commissary. How he always packed an extra pair of socks or sweatshirt because she somehow always ended up needing them. The hundreds of tiny ways that he took care of her. How he made her feel safe. And wanted. And needed.
Not sudden. It had happened over time.
It had been nights lying on their backs in the grass of P3X-234 staring up at the stars as they'd waited for the Earth 'Gate to be replaced. It had been the instant ease with which they'd always fallen into step beside each other. How many times he'd merely stood and waited as she'd checked out yet another piece of alien tech. The trust he placed in her skills and abilities. The way he listened—really listened to her. The way he heard her.
The way she felt when she was with him. As if she were important. Valued. Precious.
What if it's amazing? He'd asked it quietly, standing with her in the baby store. And so far—once she'd ceded her pride and her desire to control everything—it had been.
"I've loved him for a long time, Heather." Her eyes drowsed closed, remembering. "I couldn't help it."
"It seems like he couldn't help it, either."
"It wasn't just us, you know." Sam flattened her palm against her thigh, roughing her hand a little against the denim of her jeans. "And not just Samantha and her Jack."
Heather's expression was priceless—eyes wide, mouth agape. "There's another Sam and Jack O'Neill out there?"
"There was. In another alternate reality. Just like there are other yous, and Marks, and probably some Lucases and Macys." Sam smoothed a bit of hair back behind her ear. "Daniel first went through the quantum mirror years ago and found another Earth that was being attacked by the Goa'uld. Jack was a general in that reality, and he and that reality's Samantha were engaged."
"Was she military?"
"No." Sam looked back down at her hand and the rings there. "She wasn't."
"And their Earth?"
Sam indicated the end result with a little shake of her head.
Heather regarded her for several long, long moments. It was quiet, but for the distant hum of the washer in its hall closet and the sounds of the flames licking at the logs in the fireplace.
"Does it worry you?"
Frowning, Sam stared back at her sister-in-law. "Does what worry me?"
Parsing her words carefully, Heather organized her thoughts before laying them out. She twined a long, auburn curl between two fingers, smoothed it, and then twined it again. "Your position in the Air Force—and on this team—is a huge factor in what seems to keep this planet safe from alien incursion."
Sam pressed her eyes closed just for a moment—biting her lips shut before answering. "I've thought about it."
"And now, you're taking yourself off the front line." Soft, Heather's voice barely rose above the crackling of the fire. "You're with Jack, now. Just like all those other versions of you."
Sam knew where Heather was going, so she got there first. "Whose realities weren't safe."
Heather didn't respond to that. She didn't need to. She simply waited, her fingers working on that single lock of hair.
"What are we supposed to do?" Sam asked the question she'd hardly even allowed herself to contemplate. "We have Jake to raise. And there are other considerations. Other issues."
"Sam—the two of you have never dated. You've never stayed up late talking about inane things, or gone to the movies together, or just spent time getting to know each other on a purely personal level."
"That's not entirely true. Some might say that we know each other better than most couples. We've lived practically every day together for four years. We've been through things that other people never have to even contemplate. He's literally saved my life on more occasions than I can even count—and I've saved his. We are connected on the deepest levels."
"Except the normal ones."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You and Jack got married so quickly—amidst traumatic, exceptional circumstances. You have to know that's not normal."
"Nothing about my life is normal." Chiding gently, Sam's voice carried a hint of defensiveness. "As you now know."
"But doesn't that make you wonder?"
"Wonder what?"
"If normalcy is even possible for you."
It wasn't as if she'd never thought about it. Sam craned her head back, looking up at the ceiling. This is what had spurred her to decide to not quit the military, hadn't it? The epiphany she'd had while listening to Heather, Lucy, Brady and Mark as they'd commiserated with each other over the mundanities of parenthood—hell—of adulthood. She'd known that a regular life wasn't for her. Still—she'd been hoping to be the exception rather than the rule.
"Sam, I'm not trying to start anything."
"I know."
"I just worry about you."
"I know that, too."
"I'm only going to say this once, and then I'm done lecturing." Heather sat upright, pushing away from the arm of the sofa. Crossing her legs in front of her, she caught Sam's gaze. "I might not have as many degrees or as much education as you do, but I'm older than you—and a little more experienced in this stuff."
"Only two years older—"
"Just listen, Sam." She swallowed, obviously searching for the right words. "Marriage is hard. Mark and I dated for two years before we even got engaged. We thought we were so ready. We did all the right things. Talked to friends, family, counselors, and clergy. We read the books and talked things through. But there have been times when I've wanted out. Times when I was sure that the magic was gone and that we weren't going to make it. Moments when I didn't want to make it."
"I've never thought it would be easy." But, even to Sam, the protestation felt hollow, and weak.
"You and Jack have seen things—experienced things—that no other human on this planet has seen or experienced. Your—can we call it a courtship?—has been extraordinary and exciting. It's easy to fall for someone under those circumstances." Heather paused, the set of her body meaningful. "But what about the boring times? What about when the kids are sick and puking all over, and you haven't showered in three days, and you both stink. What about when he's been deployed in some other galaxy for three weeks and you've been stuck home with a kid who's talking back, or failing geometry, or won't potty train? What about when you're bored? Or when money is tight and the car breaks down, and the water heater leaks all over the basement?"
Sam merely listened, watching her sister-in-law work through what she had to say.
"Eventually, Sam, this will all become the norm. You'll both gain some weight, and fart in bed, and he'll snore so loudly that you can't sleep and you'll start to resent him. The sex will become mediocre, or boring, or nonexistent. The time will come when you don't even like him, let alone love him. I promise you that there will come a moment when you'll look at him and wonder why the hell you married him."
She couldn't respond. Her voice—her breath—caught in her throat.
"And it's those times when you have to remember that marriage—all relationships, really—are in constant flux. You're a scientist—you understand about waves, right? Marriage is a huge wave pattern. You're going to have moments of pure bliss, where you look at him and are so in love that you can't breathe. And then there will be times when you can't stand the sight or sound of him. What you need to remember is that the high times won't last, and the low times shouldn't persist. Most of the time, you should be somewhere in the middle. It's when the low points outweigh the high ones that you need to start to worry. Or work harder, or extend more grace. Or, if it's really bad—get out."
"We aren't horny teenagers, Heather." Sam smiled, despite herself. "We both know that things won't be perfect."
"That's true. But you're also both coming into this with years of pent-up angst just barely behind you. Your highs—and your lows—are going to be exponentially more profound than those of us plebes. And with his past—and yours—I just don't want to see you both get to a hard spot and doubt that you ever loved each other in the first place."
"We won't."
Heather unfolded her legs, turning so that she could stand. She stretched a little, her attention on Sam. "I hope not."
"Like I said, Heather. We aren't kids. We're both mature adults." Sam reached out and took Heather's hand, dragging her closer. "And this is the right thing for us."
For the barest of beats, Heather simply studied Sam's face. Then, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head. Motherly, really, more than sisterly. Straightening, she drummed up a grin as she brushed Sam's hair back into place. "Well, you two are both remarkable people. And remarkable together. I think that you'll be just fine."
"We will." Sam nodded. "I think we will."
"However. Our flight leaves very early in the morning. Since we've way overstayed our welcome, I'd better go get as much packing done as I can before the kids get home."
"Do you need any help?"
"No. I've got it." Heather squeezed Sam's fingers before letting them go. "I'm so glad that Jack brought us here. For the wedding. And for everything else."
"I'll let you know as soon as we have the test results."
"I know you will." Heather's eyes seemed brighter—wiser—greener for her concern, her care, and her wisdom. "Good night, Sam."
"Good night, Heather."
For a long time, Sam sat alone and simply stared at the flames, thinking about waves, and grace, and extraordinary circumstances.
And how they were all powerful forces of change.
—-OOOOOOO—-
"Major Carter." Harriman jumped up as soon as Sam entered the control room. "Or is it Major O'Neill?"
"Carter still works, Sergeant." With a little smile, Sam glanced up at the overhead monitors before scanning the rest of the array. Nothing jumped out as problematic.
And even if it had, Sam was no longer required to fix it. That felt weird.
"Are you looking for General Hammond?"
"I'm not, actually." Sam stepped back from the desk and gazed down at the 'Gate. It was quiet in the 'Gateroom, with only a few token guards standing at their posts. "I was looking for Siler."
Rocking forward on the balls of his feet, Harriman squinted a little as he thought. "I'm not sure he's come in yet. He's not supposed to report for another hour. He was here late last night."
"Oh?"
"We had some communication issues between the 'Gate and the dialing sequencer. Siler finally figured out that there were some loose breakers in the main box."
Nodding, Sam looked down at her watch. Loose breakers were a common enough issue. Nothing to be worried about. Still, she couldn't deny that she was disappointed that Sergeant Siler would be delayed.
Walter peered up at her. "Did you need him for something specific?"
Shaking her head, Sam looked at the sergeant. "No. Not really. I was just hoping to talk to him about the Antarctic device."
A system updated on one of the monitors, and Harriman leaned over to check on it. He tapped a few keys on the keyboard before asking, "Is that what you'll be working on?"
"Among other things."
"Well, he'll be more than happy to talk to you about it. He's been jabbering about practically nothing else for weeks." He shoved at his glasses with the tip of his forefinger. "Ever since—well, you know—ever since they brought it back. And you weren't—here."
He was trying to be subtle—something Sam had been expecting. She'd been gone for a long time—and much had changed in the interim. And naturally, there had been talk on base about her and the Colonel. Some innuendo and supposition, of course, but a lot of the gossip was essentially true. Janet had filled her in on the most popular rumors, and Sam had tried to prepare herself for the inevitable awkward looks and questions.
"It's okay to lay it out there, Walter." Carter crossed her arms across her body, looking down at the scuffed concrete floor. "I know that there's been talk."
Harriman's cheeks colored. "None of it's my business, Ma'am."
"Maybe not." Sam smiled at him. Other than Siler, Harriman was probably her most valuable ally in the Mountain. He was a bastion of imperturbable efficiency, and Sam truly valued him. "But I'd still like to think that you feel comfortable enough with me to ask me what you want to know."
"With you, maybe." Walter ran a palm over his balding head. He flicked a look at her—as if to gauge her. "But with the Colonel? Not so much."
She breathed out a little chuckle. "That's probably a wise position."
"Anyway, Ma'am." Harriman rocked forward a little on the toes of his boots. "Siler won't be in for another hour, so it looks like you've got some time on your hands."
She'd planned on getting to the mountain early. Sam had been nervous about dropping Jake off at Francie's, but he'd happily toddled through her door, making a beeline for the pile of toys on the living room floor where Francie's own child was playing. Sam had handed the diaper bag over with a twinge. It was the first time she'd left him for an extended period of time with anyone other than Janet. She'd been expecting tears, or at least a whimper.
The little twit had given her neither. He'd squealed and waved as he'd watched her leave.
So, she'd climbed back into her SUV and headed to work. It felt silly to take two cars to what was essentially the same office, but, until they were more comfortable with this new way of life, it had seemed prudent. It simply wasn't possible to predict how things would go.
Besides—Jack had taken Mark and his family to the airport before Sam had left the house. While he'd been able to manage military transport to the Springs for the wedding, there hadn't been a convenient one back to San Diego. Sam had found tickets for the family on an early morning commercial flight, and they'd said their goodbyes before dawn.
So now, Sam had more than an hour to kill before she could talk to Siler, and even more than that before she was supposed to take a video call from her new CO in Groom Lake. She'd been hoping to get a rundown from Siler on the device before she spoke with the team leader in Nevada.
"If it helps, the power source is still in your lab." Walter offered. "And we've been sticking other things in there, as well."
"What other things?"
"Just stuff. Some paperwork. Some funky stuff that people have found off-world. Some other—well, just stuff." Walter peeped up at her. "You've been gone a while, Ma'am. And with things how they were—I guess people missed you."
Sam bit back a smile, taking a step backwards towards the door. "Well, then, I'd better go to my lab."
"Yes, Ma'am."
With a last glance, she turned, aiming for the exit, but Harriman's voice had her pivoting back around.
"Major Carter?"
"Yes, Sergeant?"
"Congratulations, Ma'am." His expression has relaxed into something less subordinate, and more friendly. "About the wedding and all. I'm really, really happy for you."
She was oddly touched by that.
"Thank you."
"I was always kind of rooting for you two."
And because she had no clue how to respond, she merely nodded, ducking her head as she turned to leave.
—-OOOOOOO—-
"Are we up?"
The video link blinked to life, and Sam had only to make a slight adjustment to the angle of the camera on her end to bring everything into focus.
The webcam was new—she'd used them on other computing stations, but never on her own. There had really never been a need until now. She'd spent the hour since she'd left the control room futzing with the system to make sure that this video conference went as smoothly as possible. Good first impressions, and all that.
"Colonel Torres." She straightened on her stool, squaring her shoulders. "First let me say that it's an honor—"
"Major Carter—or is it O'Neill?" Colonel Torres's deep voice bit through the feed. "What are you calling yourself?"
Somewhat taken aback, she forced her expression into impassivity. "I'll be using Carter, Sir."
"Whatever."
Sam had met Colonel Torres once. He worked directly under the auspices of General Bermudez. He'd been head of the research team that Sam had briefed after the situation they'd had the year before—when the alien race had taken a foothold in the SGC. He'd seemed professional—if not a little dismissive of her. Not terribly unusual for an old-school military man. His team had worked efficiently and smoothly under his tight command. She'd been impressed.
She'd cataloged the alien tech, written several reports outlining her hypotheses regarding how it at all worked, and then handed it over with a request to be kept up to date on further research. She hadn't heard anything since, but she'd chalked that up to her own workload, and not any failure on his part.
"I'd like to express how happy I am to be working with you and your team. I'm—"
But again, Torres interrupted her. "How are you coming on with your analysis of the Antarctic artifact?"
Okay. Right to business. Sam scooted closer to her lab table, reaching out to center the papers she'd compiled. It wasn't much—nowhere near what she normally would have had to present—but between Samantha's documentation and Sam's own cursory examination, she'd gathered a basic understanding. Enough to jump off from, at least.
"Well, Sir, the device does appear to be a power core. Probably Ancient in design. Crystalline in structure—engineered and not naturally occurring."
"We already knew that." Torres picked a pen up off his desk, turning it over in his hand. "Have you learned anything new about it? What it's made of? How it works? How to recharge it?"
"No, Sir." Shaking her head, Sam resisted the urge to look over at where the device still hung—suspended from the wire cage that Siler and Doctor Lee had fashioned for it in her absence. "Today's my first day back, so I haven't had an opportunity to do more than an initial, cursory examination."
"What happened to the Sam Carter I kept hearing about? The one that sent truckloads of data about every new doohickey that got dragged through the event horizon?"
"Once I've had the opportunity to make a thorough examination—"
"You've had the thing for months, haven't you?"
"I've been on leave for that long, Colonel."
"Major." Torres rolled his eyes a little, leaning in towards the camera on his side. "Let's just dispense with the small talk."
Warily, Sam folded her hands in her lap. "Excuse me?"
"Now, I understand that you're this genius superstar and that the top brass all seem to believe that you're the only one that can figure out all this crap that your people keep dragging through the 'Gate—"
"That's not—"
"Let me finish, Major." He hadn't raised his voice, but his tone allowed for no argument. "You and I both know that this assignment is a gift to you. There is no logical reason to have created this opportunity other than to retain you in the Air Force, and to keep you out of trouble."
"Sir, that's not necessarily accurate."
"Look." Torres paused, scrubbing his face with his hand. "First, I was told that you'd be joining my team. Then, I was informed that you'd be in charge of research and development on all aspects of the Ancient weapon. And now I'm being told that you'll be permitted to remain in the Springs, regardless of how that's going to hamper the efficiency with which we—my Groom Lake team—can function."
Sam pressed her lips together and waited. There was no way she was going to try to defend herself. Nothing really for which to do so, anyway.
"Add to all of that the fact that you've been on leave due to a mental breakdown, and then you up and married your CO." He snorted, leaning back in his chair as he glared—not at the camera on his side—but at her image on his monitor. "It's hard not to come away with the idea that paths have been paved to make your life a hell of a lot easier than it probably should be right now."
Sam's heart sank, her throat growing tight. She should have expected this. Should have prepared herself for it better. She'd anticipated this from the people in the Mountain, but not from Area 51. The teams there had usually treated her with a great deal of deference.
The sick thing was that he was right. Militaristically speaking, he was absolutely correct. Strings had been pulled—ways smoothed over—so that she could be exactly where she was doing exactly what she was doing. It would have been dishonest and hypocritical of her to pretend otherwise.
On the other hand—she had done nothing wrong. What had happened to her had been beyond her control. Whatever breaches of protocol or military code had taken place while she was not functioning within her own capacities. Even so, she'd been prepared to accept whatever fate her leadership had seen fit to mete out. The fact that she and Jack were strategically vital to planetary defense had only given the higher-ups the latitude necessary to make a few allowances.
"If you've read my file, Sir." Sam carefully modulated her tone, keeping her face purposefully bland. "You'll know that my medical condition was just that. A medical condition. That situation has been resolved, and I have been given a clean bill of health."
"Just like that, huh?" Torres raised both hands, interlacing his fingers behind his head. "A few months by the beach and you're cured. Or was it the wedding that did it?"
"With all due respect, Colonel, that's not fair." She leveled a look into the camera. "I assure you that neither my personal life—nor my marital status—will affect my ability to perform the duties and functions to which I have been ordered. I will fulfill those obligations to the best of my ability."
"From Cheyenne Mountain."
"Yes. From this base. From this lab." Sam folded her hands on the table in front of her, leaning her elbows on her work space. "The Ancient weapon is intrinsically linked to a specific genetic profile. As of this moment, only three people on the planet have been confirmed to carry that profile. Maintaining proximity of the weapon and its components with its possible users is of strategic militaristic value."
"The chair is still in Antarctica."
"But other parts of it are here." She kept any hint of argument out of her tone. "The fact that Colonel O'Neill is also stationed here is important. This decision has been made on a strategic basis, and not a personal one."
"Whatever."
It was the second time he'd dismissed her like that. Sam glanced down at her hands—hoping to hide the frustration that she was certain was rife in her face. She hadn't been expecting to be welcomed with open arms by her new team—but a little less vitriol and distrust would have been nice.
"Sir, however else it may seem, I am committed to this work."
"Listen, Major. As I'm sure you've apprehended, I'm not enthusiastic about being saddled with you. Yes, you're a talented scientist and a decorated officer, and yes, I have been made aware of the very exigent circumstances of this transfer." He looked into the camera this time, his jaw tight, a vein protruding from his temple. "That doesn't mean that you don't come with a whole assload of baggage. I'm glad to have your talents and your abilities working on these issues—nobody can deny that you've got those in spades. It's the baggage that I'm not all that happy about."
For a long beat, Sam simply sat there, biting back half a dozen retorts. Finally, she forced a smile. "Understood, Colonel."
"So, why don't we do this again when you actually have something to report? Get to work and keep me informed on your progress. I'll have my assistant email you about timelines and schedules."
"Sounds good."
He leaned in towards the camera, his hand poised as if to turn it off. "Oh, and Major?"
"Yes, Sir."
"I have read your file. Thoroughly, I might add." His eyes narrowed. "The degree with which you've been allowed to flaunt your insubordination and ignore protocol will not fly with me. I don't give a damn who your husband is. You've been warned."
And with that, her screen went blank.
Sitting back on her stool, Sam stared at the blue screen of her monitor, struggling for control. She imagined the cup again, breathing slowly to push the water over the edge. She hadn't had to use that imagery since—
"Well, that sounds like it went well."
Sam looked over towards her door. She recognized the voice before she'd placed the silhouette. "Daniel."
"I heard you were back." He made his way through the door, stopping at the end of her table. "It's good to see you back in your natural habitat."
"I don't know about that." She turned the webcam off before clicking out of the program. "It feels both familiar and foreign at the same time."
He pointed towards the computer screen. "Was that your new CO?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a peach."
Sam winced. "He certainly wasn't what I was expecting."
Leaning over, Daniel balanced himself on his forearms, peering over at her through the lenses of his glasses. "Are you going to tell Jack about that?"
"In what capacity? As a senior military official, or—"
"As your husband, Sam." He glanced down at her hand, frowning a bit. "Speaking of which. Why aren't you wearing your rings?"
She'd thought about it that morning, dressing in her room while Jack had helped Mark put luggage into Jack's truck. She hadn't taken them off since the wedding except to shower or do dishes, and then she'd put the right back on.
But coming to work—the glittering stones would have felt like a shibboleth—a beacon—to wear. As if she were broadcasting her marriage, and the circumstances that led to it, to the base and all of its personnel. It had felt too public, somehow. Too broad a statement. Maybe she'd been afraid of answering all the questions. Or perhaps, she'd been trying to regain some of the equilibrium she'd lost.
So, in the end, she'd left them in the kintsugi cup. The shrine.
"It felt weird to wear them here."
"Too much?" Of course, Daniel understood. "I imagine that you're feeling a little conspicuous."
"A little."
He reached out and ran his finger along the crystal edge of the power source, studying its glow. "I remember when I first came back from Abydos. I felt like Gulliver in Lilliput. No—the other town. When he's small and everyone else is gigantic. That's how I felt."
"Out of place."
"Exactly. Out of place." He smiled a little, still looking at the alien device. "So, I get it."
"I just feel like everyone is going to stare at me. Talk about me. Janet's already told me some of the stuff that's going around."
"Like what?" Daniel straightened. "I haven't heard anything more nefarious than what's pretty much the truth."
Sam leaned back on her stool, rebalancing. "That Jack and I have been carrying on a torrid affair for years. That Jake is actually our child. That he left Sara for me."
"Not true, not possible, and ridiculous." He numbered his responses off on his fingers, as if he were counting. "Sam, people are going to talk. You've got to let it slide off your back. You know the real story. You know how hard the two of you fought—everything. You can't let the gossip get to you."
"I'm trying." She hesitated, fiddling with her computer's mouse, situating it just right on the pad. "Walter said something odd to me."
"Harriman?" Daniel shoved at his glasses with his finger. "What did he say?"
"He congratulated me on the wedding." Sam stepped to the side, leaning her hip against the table top. "And then he said that he'd been rooting for us."
"What did he mean by that?"
"What do you think?" She raised a shoulder, crossing her arms. Protectively, or maybe from insecurity. "Did we broadcast it, Daniel? Was it that obvious?"
It took him a long time to answer, his expression morphing from surprise to consideration to resignation. "Maybe. If you knew where to look."
She simply watched him work it through. Sam knew that he'd be honest. She expected nothing less from one of her best friends.
"The chemistry was clear. The way you two would look at each other sometimes, the way you sat just a little closer than was necessary—it was—well, the chemistry was there." He thought for a moment. "But it was also apparent that you were professionals, officers, and focused on your mission. I never thought that you'd actually act on that chemistry."
Oh, lord. Sam swallowed, dipping her chin to look down towards her feet.
"You saw how surprised I was. On the Tel'tak, when you told me what had happened on the ice planet."
"Right. But—you weren't really all that shocked, were you?"
"Sam." He picked up a tool that someone had left on her table, turning it back and forth in his hands. After a bit, he put it back down. "You can't fixate on what people might say, or what they are saying. You've got to just pull up your big girl pants and soldier through."
"Big girl pants?" She couldn't help it—she giggled.
"Be brave. Suck it up. Be a duck."
"A duck?"
"One of my foster fathers always used to say that to me." Daniel's answering smile was genuine, and a little poignant. "He saw how I got bullied by other kids. Called names—whatever. Anyway, he told me one day about ducks. They have a special coating on their feathers that allows water to simply roll off their backs and drip to the ground, keeping the duck warm and safe from the elements."
"It's called preen oil."
"Regardless. He told me that I should pretend like I was a duck. When other kids made fun of me, I should picture their insults rolling off my back to land on the ground."
"Did it work?"
Chuckling, he stood and came around the table to stand next to Sam. "Not really. The next time that the kids came after me, I got so mad that I beat the crap out of Ricky Misiewicz."
"So much for that duck thing."
"Well, not necessarily." Daniel shrugged, rubbing at an errant pen mark on her table top with his index finger. "I told him I was going to hit him. I gave him the opportunity to duck."
"You're a formidable opponent, Daniel Jackson."
"Hey—it's not my fault that he didn't listen." He turned, bracing himself against the table as he faced her. "So? Are you going to talk to Jack about this new guy?"
To what end? So that Torres would be further aggravated by being called out by another Colonel? To create even more baggage? Or so that her husband would think that she wasn't capable of handling her own predicaments? "Probably not. It's my problem to solve. I'll figure it out."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Humming a little, Daniel pursed his lips together, squinting past her into the dimness of her lab. "SG-6 brought back some interesting surveys from a new planet they dialed while you were gone. They found a structure that looks to be of Ancient origin. The architecture is similar to that of the fortress on Earnest's planet."
"Oh?"
"General Hammond has asked that SG-1 take the mission. We're meeting this morning to hammer out the details."
"When?"
"We'd leave next week sometime. This week, we're just doing a meet and greet on M87-785."
"There and back?"
"Packing for overnight. Leave Wednesday morning and return sometime on Thursday." Daniel stepped away from the table, aiming for the desk just behind. He picked up a book there, read the spine, and then set it back down. "But you never know."
"True."
"Speaking of which," he glanced at his watch. "I have got to go. Briefing starts in ten."
Sam watched as he headed towards the door. He made it to the jamb before she called out to him. "Daniel?"
He pivoted, his silhouette dark in the light of the hallway. "Yeah, Sam?"
"That duck thing. The oil?"
"What about it?"
"Preen oil comes out of a gland in the duck's butt." She tilted her head. "You know that, right?"
But Daniel only paced backwards through the doorway, until his face was illuminated by the corridor lamps. He was smiling again. "Hey–you've pulled some pretty useful things out of your ass, right?"
For the first moment that morning, it felt like old times. As if she were back where she belonged. Chuckling, she dismissed him with a wave. "Get out of here."
He turned towards the elevators. "Be a duck, Sam!"
She was still laughing as his footsteps faded down the hall.
