Beauty In The Broken
Abrasion
"Are you sure that you don't want to come with Cassie and me to Wyoming?"
Sam exhaled slowly, glaring through the darkness at her bedroom ceiling. Despite her exhaustion, sleep had eluded her. Again.
She'd picked up on the first ring, praying that it would be the SGC. How Janet had known that she'd be awake at—Sam turned her head to look at the clock on her nightstand—one-eighteen in the morning wasn't too much of a mystery—anyone with eyes and two functioning brain cells could see that she hadn't slept in days. But this was the fourth time in twenty-four hours that Janet had called to extend this invitation to Sam to drive up with her and Cassie to Laramie to spend Christmas Day with the expansive Fraiser family. Sam couldn't decide if that was annoying or endearing.
Regardless, she'd given the same answer each time. The same answer she gave now. "I need to be here, Janet."
A little groan eked its way across the line, followed by a sigh. "So that you're here when they come home."
"Yeah."
"I'm pretty sure that the Colonel wouldn't want you to be alone right now, Sam."
In this, Janet was right. Jack would want her to be with people for the holidays. But then—Jack had intended on himself and Jake—and Daniel and Teal'c—being those people. They'd made plans—laying out new traditions within this life they were forging. Jack's plan had been to spend yesterday—no—now the day before yesterday— taking his family into the forest to cut down a tree, then hauling it back home to decorate it. He'd promised to be home in plenty of time.
It had been more than a day since Sam had stood next to the General in the control room, staring at the activity in the 'Gateroom. More than a day since they'd been declared late. Thirty-two hours. And hell yes, Sam was counting.
So, no. Jack wouldn't be happy that she was alone on Christmas. He was probably kicking himself in the ass for screwing whatever had been screwed up so much that he'd hadn't been able to 'Gate home. If he were here, he'd tell her to get her butt into the Excursion and drive up to Wyoming to spend the next few days surrounded by the Fraiser family—all five sisters with their kids and husbands and chaos. He'd make some stupid joke about estrogen and bossiness and pie. And then he'd smile down at her with that intimate heat of his and tease Sam that, if she paid attention, she might pick up a thing or two about cooking.
In all honesty, she knew that being around the Fraiser throng would be good for her. It would get her out of her own head, force her out of her worry, out of the dark, despondent fear that draped like a hot, dense blanket upon her. But Sam had promised to wait to celebrate until he'd returned, and damn it, that's what she was going to do.
Even when waiting sucked.
Besides. Going away to be with people—giving up this vigil—seemed like running away. Weakness. Surrender. And that wasn't acceptable. That fact had been drilled into her first by her father, and then by her CO.
They were both military—born and bred. Sam had spent many birthdays, Easters, Thanksgivings, and Christmasses in one city while her father was in another, on a different continent altogether—or somewhere nebulous and classified and secretive. And then there had been the tense, sparse holidays after her mother had died and Mark had fled. Her father had tried—but nothing they'd done had seemed right. Eventually, they'd stopped doing anything other than exchanging a few small gifts. And then—they hadn't even bothered with that.
Four years before, Jack had been the one to suggest that the team gather for Christmas dinner. They'd eaten, played games, and then watched a stupid movie. Daniel had fallen asleep on the sofa as Sam had helped the Colonel clean the kitchen and put away the leftovers. While Teal'c had been investigating some of the decorations on the tree, Jack had pulled her aside and handed her a small package. She'd carefully unwrapped it to find a framed picture of the team. Off-world, sitting around a campfire, they'd posed for one of the Marines in SG-4 to snap a photo. Easy. Friendly. Jack had been sitting next to her on a log, with Daniel and Teal'c flanking them. She'd put it on the wall amidst the family pictures she kept there. Her found family, along with her fractured one.
It had been the first gift she'd been given in nearly a decade. The least she could do was make good on her side of their deal.
"I promised him I'd wait, Janet." Sam raked her fingers through her hair. "He's already lost so much time with Jake while I was in Carlsbad."
"That was only a few months. And it was for the best. You both needed to heal. You know that." A slight squeak on the other end of the line, and then the sound of a drawer closing and something rasping against something else. A nail file? "Besides, Sam. You can't turn back time."
In this, Janet was exactly right. She couldn't. But if she could—she would. Sam could still hear the pain in her husband's voice as he'd explained his childhood. As he'd spoken of being abandoned by his mother, and neglected by his father. Of his missing sister and the guilt he still carried. Of the child he'd buried and the wife he'd lost. More guilt. More pain. More self-recrimination and regret.
So, if she had to wait a few days to give him a second chance at a first Christmas? Damn it—she'd wait.
She just had to keep believing that he'd make it home to celebrate it.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes, Janet."
"Damn it, Sam" Janet's tone was more forceful. "I am certain that your husband wouldn't want you to spend the holiday alone at home staring at the walls and worrying."
"Is that why you're calling me in the middle of the night?"
"Well, that, and the fact that I just finished packing."
"I thought for sure you'd have left by now."
"I was supposed to be off hours ago. But SG-2 'Gated through early this morning with an injured team member. I couldn't leave until he was stable." She sounded tired, but resigned. "The question is why you picked up on the first ring."
Damned if she hadn't hit that nail on the head. Sam grimaced into the darkness. "I couldn't sleep."
"Still? Or again?"
The question made little sense—except that, for Sam, it did. "Again. I sleep just fine when he's home."
Janet's answer was a sound that was at once sardonic and disbelieving. A snort compounded by a low hum. "I'll bet you do."
Worrying at the short hair at her temple with her fingertips, Sam smiled into the phone. "Okay. You're right. Jack wouldn't want this."
"Then go to California. Mark offered to have you stay with them for the holidays, didn't he?"
"Carlsbad is more than a full day's drive, Janet. Two days with Jake. It's even a full day to fly, once you factor in all the rigamarole. And there's no way we could get a flight this late." Sam kicked her feet free of her comforter and turned onto her side. She could smell Jack on the pillow next to her, and she resisted the urge to move closer and bury her face in the bedding. Covering her face with her palm, she grimaced. "That makes even less sense than four hours up to Wyoming."
"Three and a half if you drive really fast." Janet paused, rolling over, or perhaps sitting up. In the background, the shushing of fabric—another random squeak—filled the background. "But you don't even want to be that far away from base."
"No."
The air between them fell quiet until Janet made a helpless little sound in the back of her throat. "It's Christmas, Sam."
"My first Christmas with Jake. My first Christmas with Jack—at least—with Jack." Her voice cracked, damn it. She paused, allowing herself to regroup. "I need to be here."
Janet was gently persistent. "You should come with us. You shouldn't be alone on Christmas Day."
"I'm not alone. I have Jake."
"Sam." Frustration—just a touch of it—echoed across the line. "I'm really not happy about you being on your own."
"I just can't leave." Sam shook her head, pressing her fingers over her eyes. "Not like this."
"Did they scrub the rescue completely?"
"Yeah." Using one arm to push herself upright, Sam sat up, crossing her legs underneath her. "Sergeant Siler is outfitting a drone to see about doing aerial recon, but—"
"But there are no guarantees."
"And the UAV won't be ready until the day after tomorrow."
They'd tried to send the rescue teams just after Sam had left the mountain thirty-ish hours ago. General Hammond had called her as she'd been putting Jake to bed to let her know that they'd dialed the 'Gate and had sent the MALP through. Only—the MALP had failed to arrive on the other side. They'd lost track of it as it was supposed to have rematerialized in the other 'Gate. It had simply—disappeared.
The two teams geared up for the rescue mission had been told to stand down. Hammond wouldn't send any SG teams through until they'd figured what was going on. Sam had listened to all of the reasoning behind the decision not to send the teams—had understood it. Hell, she'd even agreed with it. Scientifically—and strategically—it was a sound move.
But that didn't make her worry—her pain—any less profound. And it certainly hadn't helped her sleep, knowing precisely nothing about where the team was and what was happening to them. She'd been the one to figure out how to get them home on countless missions—what a fat bit of irony that she wasn't there to help them on this one.
She leaned forward, tugging the hem of her pajama bottoms over her toes. Squinching her eyes shut, she hugged her legs with her free arm, resting her forehead on her upbeat knees. "Janet. I'm just so scared."
"I know, honey."
"What if something horrible has happened? What if they've been injured, or captured?"
"You've always known this was a risk, Sam."
The pajamas were Jack's. She'd felt weak pulling them on that evening. Just as she'd felt foolish the previous morning for pulling on one of the flannel shirts he'd left draped over the back of the closet door. She'd justified it by watching how Jake had rubbed his face against the soft fabric as she'd rocked him at nap time. By how he'd traced the lines on the fabric with one chubby finger and said 'dada' over and over. He missed Jack, too—only he didn't understand why his daddy hadn't come home.
"I have. I do. " She spoke past the ache that had settled in her throat. "It doesn't mean that I have to like it."
"Sam—I think you should come—"
"Please don't ask me again, Janet."
For the longest time, they both sat in silence until finally, Janet sighed again. "Do you need me to call in a prescription for something that will help you sleep?"
"No."
"I'm going to be checking in on you, Sweetie."
"I'm sure you are." A thick tendril of resignation wove through her words. "And I appreciate it, Janet. I hope you know that."
"I do." Kinder now, gentler. More quiet shushing as Janet settled deeper into her bedding. A click as she turned off her bedside lamp. "And I hope you know that I'm just concerned about you."
"I do." Despite it all, Sam smiled into her receiver. "I'll be okay. I promise."
"Okay." Janet sighed again. "Bye."
"Bye."
—OOOOOOO—
He'd finally worn himself out.
Sam had spent what seemed like hours holding Jake's fingers as he'd trundled himself around the nearly-deserted park. She'd packed him up in his stroller after his lunch, dressing him in the little coat she'd bought him a few weeks before. The kid grew like that proverbial weed she'd always heard about—entirely too quickly for Sam's liking. She'd already packed away all the baby clothing that Samantha had brought through the mirror. None of it fit anymore, but it felt wrong for Sam to dispose of it.
They'd started off with the swings, but he'd bored of those after a few pushes. Sam had parked the stroller near the playground and let Jake toddle around under his own power, offering her fingers when he needed more stability. Wood chips, sand, and some funky rubber surface that the city had installed recently under the jungle gym had challenged his nascent locomotion skills, which in turn had helped him work off some excess energy.
She'd learned that he could stay upright on the slide if she lifted him into position and let him go—as long as she hurried down to catch him at the end. He also enjoyed it when she held him in place on some fiberglass animals mounted on giant springs. When he wiggled, the animal bounced back and forth with him. His excited squeals had filled the quiet.
But above all, he just liked to wander. Up and down the walking path, checking out trees and bushes and lamp posts. Touching—smelling—tasting everything. Exploring the world. Sam had just let him. It wasn't as if she had anywhere else to be—nobody expecting her. If anyone needed to contact her, her phone sat ready in her coat pocket, the ringer volume on high.
After exhausting all of the options the playground had to offer, Jake had finally turned whiny, reaching up to Sam and clasping and unclasping his chunky little fists. "Mama. Ma ba. Uh. Uh."
So, she'd lifted him into her arms and snuggled him close, settling back on the park bench in the afternoon chill until he'd finally found his thumb, curled his index finger around his nose, and hummed himself to sleep.
She should probably go home. Jake napped better in his own crib, and Sam could use some quiet time to work. She needed to delve more deeply into the theory she'd started exploring about the power module, and General Bermudez at Groom Lake had asked her to revise various portions of her report about the handheld naquadah evaluation devices.
A year ago, she'd have welcomed the tasks. In fact, during most of her adult life, she'd volunteered for holiday shifts, working over Thanksgiving and Christmas to allow other people time with their families. Now? She had a family. She'd expected to be celebrating, not working.
Now? Working helped keep the fear at bay. Focusing on one problem helped her not focus on another. Keep busy. Keep busy. Keep her mind so occupied with the minutiae that she couldn't obsess about the what-ifs.
But the silence in the house—the emptiness there—had seemed overwhelming to a soul already in turmoil. Everywhere, reminders of what the day should have been, but wasn't, tore through her. She'd needed to get away from it. The boxes of ornaments, the tree stand she'd bought last weekend, gifts wrapped and tagged in closets and under the spare bed. Three stockings hanging from the mantel—still empty. A ham—far too large for the three of them—still packaged in the fridge and ready to be stuck in the oven. She'd slapped a sticky note with a recipe for a simple glaze that Janet had given her on the door to her spice cupboard.
All of it. Just waiting. Just like Sam and Jake.
Above them, the skies had turned ugly. Christmas morning had dawned crystal clear, but as the day had worn on, clouds had started to gather. The wind had turned chilly, and Sam was grateful for Jake's little body pressed heavily against hers. His heat gently infusing itself into her form. Warmth, when she felt so, so cold.
The baby sighed, snuggling closer as he drifted further into sleep. Sam had tugged a hat down over his head when they'd ventured out, but he'd yanked it off a dozen times, and now his hair stuck up in random tufts. It was probably time for a haircut. It was taking longer and longer each morning to tame the child's cowlicks. All of Sam's efforts this morning had been ruined first by the hat and then further by the stiff breeze working its way through the park. His coiffure more-than-slightly resembled that of a recalcitrant chicken.
So very, very much like his father. Sam pressed her forehead to Jake's crown, breathing him in, trying not to wonder for the thousandth time where that father was. Her stomach lurched, and she had to force her mind away from the topic to quell the rise of bile in the back of her throat.
Think about something else. Anything else.
Crystal cells. Similar to—what? She'd seen the pattern before, but couldn't pinpoint quite where. Not Tok'ra crystals, not Goa'uld. Similar in structure to Asgard technology—but yet, not.
Was it really a power source? No evidence to the contrary. Maybe a trip to Antarctica to see the weapon? Jacob would be an issue.
Trace elements of other elements in the device. Test results—still waiting on those. Maybe she could tweak the hand-held scanners to test for the specific crystalline structure rather than naquadah. It would just require a reconfiguration of the program cell—
"Sam?"
Startled, Sam looked up, immediately finding the source of the voice. Dark curls tumbled down over the woman's shoulders, pretty—no makeup. Granola. Mommy Brigade. Two kids sat in a dual stroller, one school-aged, while the other was slightly older than Jake. It didn't take much for Sam to remember them. Hellions. Brielle and Logan.
Following closely behind the woman, a man hauled a tricycle by its handlebar. Short and slim, he carried himself like a runner—no—a gymnast—athletic and fit. He put the tricycle on the sidewalk and wandered a little ways away to survey the playground—more protective than curious—tucking his hands into the pockets of his hoodie as he raised a cautious eye overhead.
The woman spoke again. "It was Sam, right? I'm terrible with names. But I made up a mnemonic device when we first met. Military. Uncle Sam. Sam. That's you, right?"
"And you're low-lying placentas." Oh, for the love. Sam felt the color rise in her cheeks. With a wry smile, she rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from."
"Oh, it came from me." The woman laughed outright. "I'm an over-sharer. I probably hit you with that one right off the bat."
She had. Obviously, the tidbit had made a lasting impression.
"Allison, right?" Sam tilted a look up at the woman, blinking in the wind. "Allison Fletcher. You're in finance and trying for number three."
"You have a great memory." Allison rounded to the front of her stroller and started unbuckling her son. "Something that I can't boast, obviously, since I needed to reckon back to World War Two to remember your name. Even then, I've got your first, but not your last."
"Carter." The answer came so quickly that Sam had to remind herself that things had changed. "Actually, it's O'Neill, now."
Allison watched as Logan hopped out of the stroller and darted off towards the playground before leveling a questioning look at Sam. "You got married?"
"Recently."
"The silver fox from that day." Allison's eyebrow rose as her hands worked at loosening the buckles securing her daughter. "Your little boy's dad, right?"
Sam brushed her lips against the top of Jake's head. "Yes."
"Hey. Sam, was it?" The husband had aimed himself back towards the park bench, his smile as genuine as Allison's. "What's this about foxes?"
"Silver fox, actually. And he's Sam's husband. Which is new, apparently. They weren't hitched the last time she and I met." With a practiced efficiency, Allison finished with the stroller buckle, threading her daughter's arms back through the straps. The little girl pulled free from her confines as soon as she could, hopping out of the stroller and aiming for the tricycle. Allison stepped backwards to help steady the child on the trike. "Speaking of which, this is my spousal unit. I'm pretty sure I mentioned him when we met before."
"You did." Sam nodded at the man. It only took a moment to dig his name out of the previous conversation. "Nice to meet you, Brian."
"Likewise. And who's this?" Bending slightly, Brian peeked at the baby on Sam's lap.
"This is Jake. We've been here for a while, and he's pretty much worn himself out. He fell asleep about ten minutes ago."
"Our little terrors are hyped up on sugar and Christmas." Brian cast a look over his shoulder towards where Logan was making his way up the slide ladder. "A combination that's more destructive and far more addictive than crack. We brought them out here to work off some excess energy before the whole fam-damily arrives for dinner. With any luck, they'll collapse into bed tonight and sleep until New Year's."
"That's something that they don't tell you in the baby books." Allison snorted. "Your entire job as a parent is to get your kids tired so that they go to bed early."
With a quick nod towards the sleeping Jake, Brian pushed the stroller out of the way and stepped closer to the bench. "Seems like Sam has already figured that out."
Despite herself, Sam grinned. "He should be in bed. He won't nap well here, and he's going to be cranky the rest of the day."
"Even better." Allie slumped down onto the bench next to Sam. "He'll be so awful that you'll be able to feed him dinner early and plunk him into bed before dusk. That way, you can do a little adult celebration with your husband without interruption."
Oh, if only.
Sam looked away, focusing on Logan, as he climbed up the slide's ladder. Blinking against the wind, she pressed her lips together and forced herself to keep smiling. If only.
"Is everything okay?"
Sam nodded. "Yes. Sorry. Just a little tired myself."
"That is a constant when you're a mom with young children."
"So I'm learning."
Folding his arms across his body, Brian tilted forward on his toes. "So, Sam. Tell me about yourself. How long have you lived in the neighborhood?"
She actually had to think about it. "Four years."
"And you moved here from—" his posture, more than his tone, urged her to answer.
"Washington DC."
"And the fox thing?"
Sam wrinkled her nose, biting back a smile. "Jack is a little older that I am."
Making a little gesture towards his hair, Brian squinted at Sam. "So—'silver' as in 'gray'."
"But 'foxy' as in 'damn, that man's fine'." This from Allie, who was fighting with her hair. The wind wasn't helping.
"Should I be jealous?" Easy teasing. Eyes narrowed, he poked his wife in the thigh. "It's not too late to scare them away."
"Don't you dare. Sam's the newest member of the Mommy Brigade. And Francie raves about her, so don't even think about it, Brian." Pulling a scrunchie off her wrist, Allison worked at drawing her hair back into a ponytail before standing and taking a few steps towards the playground. "I'm going to go corral Brielle. I'll be right back."
Brian watched as his wife jogged towards the end of the play area, where their younger child was pedaling hell-bent-for-leather towards the opposite side of the park. Throwing a quick glance in Sam's direction, he braced his fingertips at his waist. "So? Tell me about yourself."
Sam angled a look at him. He was about her age. Handsome, in a pretty-boy way. Clean-shaven, sharply cut hair. Wiry. Energetic, but exuding calm. Someone who didn't work with his hands, but still knew how to use them. Instinct told her that he was a useful sort. Driven. Intelligent. "There's not much to tell. I'm not very interesting."
"I doubt that, Mrs. O'Neill." With a tilt of an eyebrow, Brian sat beside her on the bench. "Everybody's interesting. Everybody has a story."
That, at least, was accurate. Sam had some doozies. Only—all of them were classified. With a wry sidelong smile, she conceded his point. "True. But some stories can be told more easily than others."
"I'm guessing yours is one of the difficult ones."
She didn't need to speak. Brian gathered all he needed to from her silence.
He tugged at the sleeves of his coat, straightening them as he moved to his next topic of conversation. "If you've known Allie for more than three minutes, she's probably told you everything about us."
"She mostly talked about herself. She only mentioned you in passing."
His lips curled upwards in a rueful sort of smirk. "That's what I meant."
"C-sections, placenta issues, and the possibility of three alpha children." Sam recounted, narrowing her eyes slightly as she dragged the memories to the forefront. "And I doubt that she and I even spoke for three minutes. She doesn't waste any time."
"No." Brian sighed, but the response was loving. He obviously both knew and appreciated his wife's foibles. "She's a piece of work. A completely open book."
"But not a bad one."
"True." The man turned his gaze on Sam. "Even so, I don't really understand her. She's an enigma in some ways."
"Oh?"
"She's this big, exuberant, gorgeous ball of mystery to me. Keeps things exciting."
"That would stress me out."
"Hm." Brian's eyes narrowed as he considered that. "You like things to be more open."
"I like knowing where I stand."
"You don't deal well with uncertainty."
That was a gigantic understatement. Especially in light of her current circumstances. Even to herself, her tone sounded clipped when she responded. "Not really."
"I can understand that." He looked away—more out of her comfort than to see anything in particular. "So, what is it you do? If you do anything other than Mom stuff."
Start with the easy answers. She could do that. "I'm in the military. The Air Force."
"Stationed in the Mountain?"
"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Are you familiar with the installation?"
"Not really." Brian leaned back against the bench, turning enough to be able to see his companion and continually scan the park to find his children. "I'm a psychiatrist, but I play baseball in a community league. There's a team from Cheyenne Mountain."
Athletic. Sam had pegged that one correctly. As for the other thing— "Psychiatrist?"
"A lot of family therapy. Couples, children with ADHD or autism. Helping people deal with trauma or adversity." Brian angled himself towards her, resting his elbow on the bench behind him. "Just basic stuff."
"That's very important work."
"So's Cheyenne Mountain. That's NORAD, right?" Brian sent another quick look towards the playground, where Allison was helping Brielle into a swing. "A radar installation?"
"Yes."
Brian's expression shone with speculation. Skeptical, but polite. "Right."
"It's important radar."
"Asteroids. Satellites. Tracking Santa Claus once a year."
"Hey—that's a very valuable service."
"Yes, Yes it is." Chuckling, Brian brushed a speck of something off his trousers. "And what do you do there?"
"I'm a theoretical astrophysicist. I'm part of a team that analyzes deep space radar telemetry."
"Those are some big words." Brian's eyes widened as he coughed out a laugh. "You were stuck in school as long as I was."
"Maybe." Sam shifted, moving Jake's head to a more comfortable position. "Probably longer when you calculate in flight school and Officer Training School."
"So, you're an astrophysicist, a pilot, and an officer?"
"I'm a Major."
"And Allison says that you're newly married."
"A little more than a month ago." Shifting on the bench, she adjusted Jake on her lap. Damn, the kid was getting heavy. "Right after Thanksgiving."
"Congratulations."
"Thank you."
"And your husband?" Brian searched the playground and found his wife, walking quickly behind Brielle on the tricycle. Logan had found the larger of the two bouncy animals that Jake had been so taken with. "Is he around here somewhere?"
A sharp pain seared its way through Sam's form, and she had to take a moment before answering. There was that surge of nausea again, that lurch in her gut. "He's deployed at the moment."
"So, he's in the service as well."
"He is."
"An officer?"
"A Colonel."
Brian's expression turned speculative—as if he were trying to solve some long-dead mystery. "And something has gone wrong during his absence."
Sam pressed her lips together, tilting her head to press her cheek against Jake's crown. It took her entirely too long to respond. "Why do you say that?"
"Eye dilation. Tightness around your mouth and jaw. You lost some color in your cheeks." Brian's smile was kind. "And you're here at the park with your little boy on Christmas Day rather than celebrating with your brand new husband."
Precise. Analytical. Smart. Brian Fletcher was obviously more perceptive than your ordinary, random park bench companion. Excellent skills for a psychiatrist to possess, but a little disconcerting for the Average Joe on the other side of the bench.
Ridiculously, Sam suddenly remembered that she still hadn't set up that appointment with Dr. McKenzie. She'd meant to do it once she'd returned from Carlsbad, but there had been the mission with her father, and the meeting with the General. Then her frantic drive to Minnesota and a week spent in quiet, lazy bliss.
The wedding, followed by a month of such comfortable, bucolic joy that she barely even remembered how close she'd been to total devastation. And now? She was teetering again. Back on that precipice she'd seen in the dream when she'd been chasing Jack across rough terrain and through disparate realities.
"Sir?"
"Carter!"
Running. Running—her feet slick and free and bare. Stone to wood to concrete beneath her soles as she searched—
Frantic. Desperate.
Mist and memories, and a child running—laughing through it all—skipping towards danger with a ready, careless laugh.
Damn it, Sam. She looked away, blinking into the wind.
"Sam? Are you okay?"
"Yes." She nodded, but knew that it wasn't convincing. He'd see through the lie, so she admitted the truth. "No."
Brian crossed one leg over the other, pulling his gaze away from her and finding his family on the playground again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry. Allie is always telling me that I'm too pushy."
Jake stirred on Sam's lap, rubbing his forehead against Sam's shoulder as he searched sleepily for his thumb. Grateful for the distraction, Sam used the moment to gather herself back together. Find her words. "I'm just really not at liberty to talk about it."
"You'd have to kill me."
"Excuse me?"
"Isn't that the cliche? You could tell me, but then you'd have to kill me?"
She actually smiled at that. Sam could like Dr. Fletcher, despite his tendencies to ferret out her secrets. "Exactly."
"Well." Brian raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I've always been good at figuring people out. I like learning what makes people tick."
"Bombs." She sucked in a painful breath. It's what Jack would have said. Something Jack would have joked about. Battlefield humor—morbid and dark. "Bombs make people tick."
He let out a haggard snort—the sound loud in the otherwise quiet afternoon. "In your case? That might be true."
"You're more correct than you can possibly know."
A long silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable—just contemplative.
Sucking in a bracing kind of breath, Brian tilted his chin towards her. "Well, not to toot my own horn, but I'm not just your average shrink."
Sam threw a questioning look at him.
"I'm very good at what I do, Sam."
"What, dissecting strangers?"
"Figuring people out."
For a lengthy beat, Sam merely looked across the park, where Allison was still pushing Brielle in the swings. Some sick kind of curiosity made her actually ask the question that had popped into her head. "What have you figured out about me?"
Briefly, he simply sat mute—clearly considering his options—weighing whether or not it was a good idea to further this particular topic of conversation. Ultimately, something—her own expression, perhaps—her own earnestness—made him speak.
"You're a worrier. You don't make friends easily, and when people try to get close to you, you're suspicious of their motives. You've been hurt in your life, and you're skittish about letting people in. You're not sure where you fit in at the moment, and you're torn between being a bad-ass and a Mom." He looked at her, only barrelling onward when he seemed to believe she wanted him to do so. "You're a problem solver, but you think that you have to solve all of them. You're used to having a plan, but I think that a lot has changed for you lately. So much so that you're uncomfortable with the changes and they're making you uncertain about your life choices."
Sam narrowed her eyes a little, breathing out what might have been a chuckle. "You think you have me all sorted."
His shrug was pointedly casual. "You live with a lot of secrecy in your life, and that's only compounding the issues. A new marriage and new motherhood are two of the highest-stress changes that you can make in your life, and you've done them both in less than a year. You work in a secretive, demanding job, married to someone else with a secretive, demanding job. He's currently in some kind of distress, and you're alone. My guess is that your support system is either depleted at the moment, or nonexistent."
Sam closed her eyes, leaning in to breathe in the deep, familiar sweetness of the child in her arms. He grounded her. Kept her sane. Forced her to keep moving forward. She felt as if this little one could hold her together while the rest of the world tumbled in turmoil around her. "I have a support system."
"Out of state? Or otherwise occupied. Because otherwise you wouldn't be sitting all by yourself on a frigid park bench on the biggest holiday of the year."
"For the record, they all invited me to spend the holiday with them."
"And you said no. I'm fairly sure that you don't have any idea where your husband is at the moment, or whether he's okay." Brian's voice was only just loud enough to reach across the space between them. "You feel more than a little lost and scared, and you're afraid that if you go find some support, you'll miss out on helping find him. You won't be here if your husband needs you."
What the hell. She felt as if she were opaque—see-through—transparent. As if she were little more than smoke or glass. And here she'd been—thinking she was such a fortress.
Sam bit her lips together, glaring down at where her sneakers made bright white spots against the gray of the sidewalk. The weather had turned—the windy chill deepening into what might actually become snow later in the evening. Sam hugged Jake more tightly against her, drawing her own coat around his little body. "You are an astoundingly perceptive individual."
"And you are definitely interesting." Brian's voice softened, soothing across the way, expressing more than just genial platitudes. "I'm sorry that you're going through some difficult things right now. That sucks. Especially during the holidays."
For the first time, Sam met his gaze directly. She was struck by the sincerity in his expression. Not unkind. Not even nosy. He looked back at her with a gentle care that seemed beyond what one casual acquaintance might express to another on a park bench on a gloomy Christmas Day. A trick of his trade, perhaps. Or, at least a byproduct of it. "I just don't think that I'm very good company today."
He cocked his head to one side. "Is there something I can do to help?"
"No."
"Because I can—"
"Uh-oh. Frown alert!"
They'd missed her approach. Sam looked up in time to see Allison hop over the berm at the edge of the play area and shake sand off her shoes onto the sidewalk. The dark-haired woman passed a look between her new friend and her husband, frowning in disapproval.
"Come on, you two. What's with the serious faces?" Allie plunked herself down on her husband's lap, throwing an arm around his shoulder. He was used to it—that much was obvious by the automatic way he caught her around her waist and steadied her on his leg. "You're not digging around in Sam's head, are you, hon?"
He had the grace to appear sheepish about it. "Maybe just a little."
"Well, stop it." Allison planted a smooch on Brian's cheek as she waggled her head at Sam. "He's impossible. I swear he's the nosiest person on the planet. Don't let him analyze you, Sam. Not today. Nobody should have their life turned into a case study on Christmas."
"It's okay." Sam forced a smile. It was easier to fake it with Allison than it was with Brian. She stood, carefully holding Jake still so as not to jostle him awake. "I'd better get the baby out of the cold. We've been out here for a while."
"Oh—what time is it?" Pulling on her husband's hand, she turned his arm to look at the watch on his wrist. "Stinkadink. We need to bail. I've got to baste the turkey. Mom and Dad will be here in twenty minutes."
It all happened rapidly. Quick shouts towards the kids brought them running. Brian jogged over past the jungle gym to recover the abandoned tricycle for Logan to ride home as Allison secured Brielle into the stroller.
Sam balanced Jake on her forearm as she crouched to release the brakes on the stroller. Nodding a quick goodbye to Allie, she started down the walking path. She'd made it halfway across the park towards her house before she heard the footsteps rushing up behind her.
"Hey—Sam!" Allie was jogging towards her. In the distance behind her, Brian and the kids were disappearing past a long line of trees. "Wait up!"
"Did I forget something?"
"No." The scrunchie had come loose, and stray tendrils of Allison's dark hair were dancing in the heavy gusts of wind. She shook her head, tucking tangled curls behind her ear. "Nothing like that."
Okay. Sam swayed a little in place, hoping to keep Jake asleep until they'd reached the house.
"I just wanted to tell you that we're here if you need anything. I'm not the braniac savant that Brian is, but you seem kind of down. If you want to come to our place for dinner—or if you need anything, please feel free to ask. You're one of us, now. For all of our big hair, gossip, and addiction to fancy coffee, the Mommy Brigade is really a great group of people."
"Okay."
"And trust me. You really look like you could use some friends."
Sam's throat grew tight, and she had to force out her response. "Thank you."
"So, whatever's going on—you're not alone. You don't have to do it by yourself. Whatever it is—even if you can't talk about it—we're here for support. It's what neighbors—what friends—do." Allison reached out and touched Sam's forearm, squeezing gently. "Promise you'll call me if you need anything, okay?"
Jake whimpered a little, wriggling on Sam's arm as he worked on his thumb. She waited until he'd quieted again to answer. "I don't have your phone number."
Allison's lips curved in a brilliant smile. "Carrier pigeon? Smoke signals? No—Morse code. Pebbles on my window like in an old movie."
"Tin cans on strings?"
"Or, I could just come over later with a plate of leftovers and a list of pertinent phone numbers."
Her instant inclination was to decline, but Brian's words kept tumbling around in her head. Support system . . . depleted or nonexistent . . . alone and lost . . . high stress . . . torn between being a bad-ass and a Mom . . .
And the images that had flashed through her mind—nightmares she'd hoped were far behind her.
She couldn't go back. Not to where she'd been when Janet had pulled her car up in front of Mark's house in Carlsbad. She'd done what she'd had to do over three months ago to get her sanity back. She didn't want to have to do it all again.
"I would really appreciate that." It almost hurt—to accept help. To admit that maybe—just maybe—she couldn't do this all on her own. That perhaps it might be necessary and right to include other people into this crazy new life of hers. "Thank you."
—-OOOOOOO—-
"Have you eaten today?"
"Doing it right now, Janet."
Technically, it was still Christmas. For—Sam squinted through the darkness at the clock on her mantel—thirty-two more minutes.
"Did you cook?"
"No." Sam poked at the huge slab of turkey breast with her fork, tearing off a bite and dipping it into the gravy on the mashed potatoes. "A friend brought me a plate from their dinner."
"A friend?"
"I told you about the Mommy Brigade, right?" Sam raised the fork to her mouth.
Something squeaked in the background. A chair, maybe, or another piece of furniture. "The group of moms in your neighborhood. One of them is Jake's nanny."
"Francie is his caregiver.." Swallowing, she nudged at something else on the plate. Some kind of squash swimming in butter. "Anyway. Jake and I went to the park today—"
"Before or after it started snowing?"
"Before. We were there and another family came over and we hung out for a while."
"That's great, Sam. Friends are good."
"Allie is sweet. She's a little—flighty, maybe—but harmless."
"Does she have kids?"
"Two. They're working on a third, I think." Sam took a tentative bite of the squash. Not bad. "Her husband is a shrink."
"Psychiatrist or family therapist?:
"The doctor kind." Sam laid her fork down and picked up the soda she'd cracked open as the microwave had worked on the plate. "We had an interesting conversation."
"Oh?"
Sam took a long drink, concentrating on the bubbles playing around her tongue before swallowing it down. "Am I a suspicious kind of person?"
"What?"
"He told me that I was a suspicious kind of person. That I'm a worrier, and a problem solver, and that I'm torn about my life's choices. He says that I seem conflicted about who I am. That I'm uncomfortable and feeling lost."
A deep sigh filled the line, followed by what could only be described as a grunted whimper. "Is any of that untrue?"
"No." Sam's laugh breathed of brutal honesty. "No. But I didn't think that it was quite so obvious. I didn't think that the entire world could see right through me that way."
"Maybe not the entire world."
"Do you?"
"Sweetie, I've been telling you for months that you might need to talk with Doctor McKenzie."
She swirled her fork in the squash, stirring the butter into the mash. "I know."
"We're all messed up in some way, Sam." That squeak again—it sounded like the mechanism of a recliner. "It's not just you."
"I know that, too."
Silence stretched between them—the kind that communicated without words. Janet was the one that broke it with an extended yawn. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."
"Me too."
"Are you going to go to bed? Or are you going to sit up and worry some more?"
"I'm going to finish this pie, and then I'm going to try to sleep." Sam poked at the huge slab of apple pie on the plate. "I'm going into the Mountain tomorrow to check on things. Allie says that she'll watch Jake for a few hours."
"See? Friends are good."
"Yes."
"Cassie and I will be home Wednesday, and I'll keep checking up on you in the meantime."
Sam smiled into the receiver, laying the utensil down to swipe at the heat rapidly building behind her eyes. Tears, damn it. Worry, exhaustion, fear—and something else. Gratitude for people in her life who gave a damn. "I love you, Janet. You know that, right?"
"Aw, sweetie. I love you, too." Janet's voice faltered a little before she gathered herself again. "Now, get some sleep or I'll kick your ass."
And later, Sam lay in bed and watched the snow drift down through the open drapes at her window. It wouldn't stick, but it was pretty right now. She'd given in—wearing Jack's pajamas and tucking his pillow against her body. His smell enveloped her, and if she closed her eyes and fought past the fear, she could almost feel him near her.
Absently, she toyed with his wedding ring—still hooked onto the chain with her dog tags. So many parallels—both in experiences and universes. Jack's ring on her dog tags—Samantha wearing her Jack's dog tags and ring as she'd died. Two husbands lost. Two lost fathers. Two wives left in limbo.
On the nightstand next to her, the gold veins in the kintsugi cup caught the glow from the nightlight in the hallway. Something beautiful out of the broken. She'd thought that the gold connecting the shattered pieces was analogous of itself—that the beauty was the result of the repair. But now, Sam thought it might be symbolic of something else.
Perhaps it wasn't possible to fix everything with obsessive work and solid planning.
Maybe it was people who brought the pieces back together. People who found the broken bits that life had knocked off of other people. People who glued other people's shattered lives back together. Late night calls. Much-needed hugs. Offers of help. Park bench reality checks. Pie. Pie and turkey and a list of numbers to call when things sucked. Simple kindnesses. Bits of humanity given freely.
She could breathe just a little more easily tonight. Not because her fear was gone. Not because the worry had abated. She was still terrified, still hurting, still close to the edge. Still determined to go back to work and do whatever was necessary to locate and rescue SG-1. None of that had changed.
It was just that tonight, she felt as if she'd finally figured out something that she'd misunderstood for her entire life. Something she'd never grasped in the solitary, fiercely independent existence she'd led. Expanding her circle—letting other people into her life—might be a good idea. Relationships weren't necessarily vulnerabilities. They could lead to strength.
She closed her eyes, working past the knot in her gut, the constant ache that was eating at her stomach, the frantic workings of her brain. Breathing deeply, she imagined the water in the cup—envisioned her exhale as it pushed the liquid over the edge. Imagined it again. And again.
Tomorrow, she'd go back to the Mountain. Brian had been right—she was a problem solver. She'd see about getting the UAV ready sooner—launched sooner—more information meant a faster rescue, right? She had some time while she wasn't accountable to Torres, or to Bermudez, or to the team at Groom Lake. She'd use that time to figure things out.
But tonight? She needed to rest. Needed to sleep. Needed to lie here, enveloped by her husband's clothing—his essence—his scent. Needed to clutch his ring in her palm and pretend it had been warmed by his skin. Needed to believe that some parallels weren't fate. That her reality could diverge from the others she'd seen. That, in finally allowing herself to be with Jack, she hadn't catalyzed his loss.
Tonight? She needed to believe that she'd bring Jack home.
