Jack anxiously awaited her arrival as his prepared dinner lost its warmth, eventually turning cold. Methodically, he wrapped the meal and stored it in the fridge before going to the living room to attempt some TV distraction. There was no response despite trying to reach her by phone, and Jack, not wanting to push, let it be. The clock ticked past midnight, and he was roused from his sofa-induced slumber by the unmistakable sound of the garage door. He had dozed off unintentionally. Turning off the TV, he groggily rose to his feet.
Sam entered without acknowledging the disturbance she caused. A glance at her revealed the reason for her nonchalance – she was drunk.
"Colonel," she slurred, dropping her keys haphazardly on the floor, missing their usual spot.
Jack held his breath, realizing the evening had taken an unexpected turn.
"Fuck," he muttered.
Sam cast a glance in his direction before unsteadily heading toward the kitchen. Jack stood frozen in the hallway, unsure of how to react. The pungent scent of alcohol invoked unwelcome memories, tempting him to reach for a bottle himself. Covering his mouth with his hand, he tried to steady himself and think of all his AA meetings. The kitchen continued to produce indistinct sounds, holding Jack in place. Summoning his courage, he took tentative steps and reached the entrance, finding her rummaging through the fridge.
"What are you searching for?" he inquired slowly.
Sam swayed as she withdrew her head from the fridge, meeting his gaze with nearly closed eyes.
"Booze," she mumbled.
Jack sighed heavily.
"All right, let's go. You've had enough of that already," he decided, taking her hand, inadvertently pulling her along.
She ended up in his arms without him fully realizing it.
"You're completely wasted," he remarked, attempting to guide her out of the kitchen.
Sam sniffled.
"I intend to get much more," she declared, trying to break free.
However, his grasp proved more robust, and he nearly dragged her towards her bedroom.
"Come on, Major, time for bed," he insisted.
"Bed? Why are you coming too?" she laughed, the scent of alcohol hitting him full force.
Jack swallowed hard, gently placing her on the bed.
Sam let herself fall against the several pillows, arms open.
"Guess not," she muttered, suddenly sounding more coherent.
Jack looked at her, surprised by the change.
"Do you need help getting into bed?" he asked cautiously.
Suddenly, Sam closed her eyes.
"Go away, Jack," she said in a tense voice.
Jack shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"I can't just abandon you like this," he confessed, feeling concerned. Jack found himself torn between the overpowering scent of alcohol and her distressing condition, unsure which was impacting him more profoundly.
Sam covered her eyes with one arm, tears beginning to flow.
"You left me in the Gulf... so LEAVE NOW!" she yelled.
Startled by her outburst, Jack took a couple of steps back.
"Call… me if you need anything," he stammered, leaving her alone and gently closing the door.
His heart pounded heavily, and he suddenly heard her crying. Jack's hand instinctively reached for her doorknob, but he hesitated. His presence wasn't welcome right now, so he leaned against her door, listening to her cries. Uncertain about what to do, he realized that whatever he was doing seemed to hurt her, and that was the last thing he wanted. Perhaps it was time for him to leave. He sank to the floor, remaining there, attentive to her tears. Eventually, the sobs ceased, and Jack drifted into sleep.
Jack eventually stirred in the middle of the night, noting the absence of troubling sounds from her bedroom. He rose and silently went to his room, leaving the door ajar. The following day, he rose early, showered, and headed to the kitchen, only to find it exactly as he had left it the previous day. It was a workday, but there was no sign of her. Puzzled, he retraced his steps to her bedroom door and, without making a sound, opened it slightly to peek inside. She was fast asleep. Jack closed the door quietly.
Realizing the urgency, he contemplated calling her department to inform them of her illness. However, he was confronted with the challenge of not knowing which department she worked in or whom to contact, as she had never shared that information with him. Despite the uncertainty, he felt compelled to try. Concerned for her well-being and aware of the potential consequences for her if she failed to report to work, he picked up his phone and dialed the Pentagon.
After enduring prolonged waits and interacting with several individuals, he finally spoke to someone familiar with Major Samantha Carter. Jack informed Captain Edwards that Major Carter had fallen ill due to something she ate at dinner and couldn't make it to work that day. When questioned about his identity, Jack presented himself as a family friend—Jack O'Neill, a retired Colonel from the USAF. He advised that they could reach him at her home phone if further contact were required. After ending the call, he saw Sam peering at him, her hand shading her eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" she questioned, using the sofa for support.
Jack swallowed, meeting her gaze. She was clad only in her dark purple underwear, seemingly oblivious to her state.
"You're in no condition to go to work," he stated sternly.
As she started to retort, he pointed his phone toward her.
"And you just proved me right," he added.
Sam glanced down, realizing her nearly naked state, her face reddening. Hastily, she retreated to her bedroom, slamming the door shut. Jack sighed heavily and returned to the kitchen, deciding to start preparing breakfast.
Jack calmly enjoyed his breakfast in solitude, finishing up with the dishes when she finally emerged. She was now dressed in a T-shirt and jeans with aviator sunglasses. Suppressing a smile, Jack understood the reason for the shades; he, too, kept his house dark when nursing a hangover. He leisurely poured her a mug of coffee, placing it on the island for her. Sam accepted it silently, and Jack left her alone, heading to the deck to soak in the beautiful summer day.
He intended to spend the day relaxing with no AA meeting on his agenda, although one might be necessary after what happened last night. Having inspected her car to ensure it remained unscathed after her drunken arrival home, he observed that she hadn't parked it inside the garage. It was left outside, likely because she was too intoxicated to take the risk.
The morning unfolded undisturbed, with Jack unaware of Sam's activities inside the house. They needed to talk, but he didn't want to press it. However, a sudden series of crashes interrupted his tranquility. Jumping into action, he hurriedly went inside, calling for Sam as he searched room by room. The crashes ceased, but she was nowhere to be found. Confused, Jack looked around until he heard a noise from her office. Rushing back, he discovered her exiting it and holding a baseball bat, her face red and sweaty.
"Where were you?" he questioned, puzzled.
She dropped the bat and passed him without acknowledging his presence.
"Sam?" he called again, following her.
He noticed the dust covering her clothes and hair, indicating some activity while she was washing her hands in the kitchen. Jack inquired about the noise and her whereabouts, but Sam brushed him off, stating it was none of his business.
Unsatisfied with her response, Jack persisted, blocking her exit from the kitchen. Suddenly, she threw a powerful punch at his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. Stunned, Jack clutched his jaw, looking up at her in disbelief.
"This is my house, and I do whatever the hell I want! I don't owe you any explanation, and you can leave whenever you want. That's the door," she said coldly, pointing to the front door.
Jack remained on the floor, his hand on his aching jaw, watching her storm off to the living room.
"Why did you punch me?" he asked cautiously, trying to assess if anything was broken.
Seemingly unfazed, Sam retorted that he was blocking her way into her house as she headed to the living room, leaving Jack puzzled. Slowly getting up, he cautiously followed her.
"Okay, you're mad at me. Do you want me to leave? Is that it?" he asked, keeping a respectful distance.
Sam covered her face with both hands, a pained expression on her face.
"Do whatever you want, Jack. I honestly don't know what I'm doing anymore. So..." she trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished.
Jack sat on the sofa, still maintaining some distance.
"I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry," he apologized.
Sam removed her hands, revealing a pained smile.
"You don't even know why you're apologizing," she said with a strained voice.
"I've hurt you somehow," he deduced.
Sam took a deep breath, biting her lip, attempting to regain control of her emotions.
Sensing her struggle, Jack admitted, "I have loved you, Sam, since the first day we met, but I don't deserve you."
Sam looked at him, pale as a ghost.
"What?" she asked.
Jack sensed he was on the right track. What she had said last night, inebriated in her bed, was the root of the problem. He had left her in the Gulf and returned to Sara.
"You told me more than once that you love me. Back when we met and recently. And I never told you back like you wanted to hear. But there were reasons why I didn't do it, Sam. In the Gulf, I was married, and I couldn't do that to Sara. I'm not like that. Now, I'm still recovering from my alcohol problem, and I have nothing to offer you. You can do much better than me," he admitted in a low voice.
Sam swallowed hard.
"So, you've decided I don't deserve you? All by yourself?" she questioned.
Jack looked down.
"You have your whole life ahead of you. I'm retired, washed out," he said, shrugging his shoulders.
Sam ran a hand through her hair.
"Seriously? Are you testing my patience, Jack? Do you want me to hit you again?" she asked earnestly.
Jack instantly moved back, putting more distance between them.
"No," he said slowly.
Sam placed both hands on her knees, trying to calm down.
"Okay. We won't speak about what happened last night for now. I'll just apologize for getting drunk and letting you see that. I'm very sorry. Subject closed," she declared determinedly.
Jack shook his head.
"I don't think the subject is closed at all. First, because you were drunk and drove your car back home. I thought you were smarter than that," he said.
Sam blushed ten shades of red.
"It was stupid, I know," she admitted almost in a whisper.
Jack raised his eyebrows.
"Stupid? You could have killed someone, Sam! It was completely irresponsible!" he admonished.
Sam clenched her jaw. It hit too close to home. Her mother's life had been taken by a drunk driver in a car accident, and now she had almost repeated the same mistake. She should have perished yesterday alone and crashed against a tree or a post. The thought had crossed her intoxicated mind, but in the end, her courage faltered, and she drove slowly back home. Unharmed and without harming anyone. She was eternally grateful for that.
"We aren't doing this," she said, giving him a warning look.
Ignoring her warning look, he moved closer to the sofa, grabbing her hand.
"Yes, we are. You took me out of that hole I was in, so I'm not letting you sink into one just because you're stubborn. So, we are talking about this," he insisted.
Sam gritted her teeth, but Jack refused to back down. He remembered the time she had once placed him in his bathtub, filthy and drunk, so he wasn't about to give her a free pass. They needed to talk about this, about them, eventually.
"Fine, whatever. You want to talk, Jack? We can talk," she said defiantly.
Jack took a deep breath. It was always complicated when she assumed this posture, but he had to keep and measure up.
"I hurt you," Jack began, initiating the discussion.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Since the Gulf," he continued.
"Yes," she confirmed.
Jack swallowed, his suspicions proving true.
"But even though you still love me," he pressed on.
"Yes," she said defiantly.
Jack sighed heavily.
"But why, Sam? There was nothing between us, not even a kiss," he said, trying to understand. Sam shook her head and looked down.
"I didn't go to war looking for love, Jack, but it found me. What was I supposed to do? Ignore it?" she asked.
Jack wet his dry lips.
"Maybe you should have. It was the wisest thing to do. We were together in that base for just a very brief period before you were hit. I fought against it, Sam. I had to," he admitted.
She lifted her head and looked at him, slowly retreating her hand.
"Well, I didn't, but I know you did, and I don't blame you. Well, part of me blames you. Part of me wanted you to let go of your wife and stay with me, but that part never got anything in life, so it's the losing part. I'm used to it by now," she said, pain evident in her eyes, the same pain she had tried to hide the previous day in her bed. A pain she had attempted to drown with alcohol in a bar full of strangers. A pain that almost led her to crash her car against a tree.
"I also wanted to go with you but couldn't, Sam. I'm a man who gives all he has to one woman only, and at that time, it was Sara. To be truthful, I partially cheated on her when I came back because when I was in bed with her, it was your face I saw," he admitted.
Sam felt a shiver run down her body.
"Okay, fine, I have to accept that somehow. That's is on me. You were married and returned to your wife; it was the right thing to do. But that was then. What about now?" Sam asked, her heartbeat racing.
Jack yearned to express his desire to revisit the love that had touched them in the desert sands of the Gulf to see if that love was finally within reach. However, he swallowed the impulse and took a deep breath, meeting her pained gaze.
"Right now, Sam, I need to focus on my battle against addiction. If I can't maintain sobriety, I'm not beneficial to anyone, including you. Your actions yesterday were incredibly selfish, considering what I'm fighting against and showing up here completely intoxicated. Reeking of alcohol like a distillery? I have an AA meeting to attend today because of it," Jack spoke, his tone serious.
"But I don't hold you solely responsible. This is my struggle. If you choose to drown yourself in alcohol every night, that's your choice, though we both know it won't resolve anything, just like your pain medication didn't solve anything. Our addictions are ongoing battles," he continued, his gaze fixed on her pallid face.
"I understand..." Sam replied, swallowing back the bitterness that threatened to rise in her throat.
Jack felt a lump form in his throat as he witnessed the devastation on Sam's face, but he remained resolute.
"I hope you truly understand the gravity of what happened yesterday. You got behind the wheel while intoxicated. How incredibly irresponsible, Major! If you want to drink, call a taxi. Don't jeopardize other people's lives because of your problems," he admonished sharply.
Sam was torn between nausea, tears, and the urge to lash out at him again. Instead, she remained seated on the sofa, hands folded in her lap, overwhelmed.
"I won't allow myself to get drunk again. I'm deeply sorry you had to witness that. You're right about everything you've said. It won't happen again. I'm truly sorry," she murmured faintly before rising from the room, leaving behind Jack and two fractured hearts.
Once Sam had departed, Jack rested his head against the soft cushions of her sofa, gazing up at the ceiling and fighting the urge to run to the nearest supermarket and buy a six-pack. The dynamics between them were becoming increasingly complex, even as his journey toward sobriety showed signs of progress until now. After a few moments, he roused himself, retrieved his wallet and keys, and exited the house. He had an AA meeting to attend, and this time, he knew he truly needed to open up and seek the support of his fellow attendees.
Alone in her bedroom, Sam closed the door behind her and sank to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Every word he had spoken had cut deep, the truth of it all the hardest pill to swallow. Trying to numb her pain with alcohol was foolish enough, but driving home inebriated— that was beyond recklessness. She should have been caught by the police, arrested, and thrown into jail. It would have been a fitting punishment for her foolishness, her disgrace.
She didn't dare to cling to any hope of love, especially not with him. Despite his claims of loving her since their first encounter, Sam couldn't shake her deep distrust of those words. His actions spoke louder than his professed feelings, and ultimately, love wasn't the driving force behind his presence in her house. He was right. Both of them grappled with their addictions, battles that would persist indefinitely. While Sam had maintained stability in her recovery for years, his journey was beginning, and she had recklessly jeopardized it by confronting him in such a drunken state. It was time to gather herself and cease indulging in futile fantasies. He was here solely as a friend, focused on overcoming his drinking problem, and she needed to view him through that lens alone.
Turning her attention to her dresser, Sam hesitated before opening the last drawer, untouched for years. Inside lay several untouched notepads. She selected one, gently running her fingers over its cover before retreating to her bed. With pen in hand, she began to write on its empty pages.
"And here I am again, foolishly believing I had put these feelings to rest. Samantha Foolish Carter—perhaps that should have been my name, considering how often I throw myself into foolishness. I wonder what my father would say if I confessed my desire to add another name to the Carter lineage. Likely, I'd be promptly cut from the family will. But I digress. I'm BACK! And with a vengeance. Unfortunately, the subject remains the same: the once-dear, now-retired Colonel Jack O'Neill. He's living in my house, occupying the guest room just two steps away from me, yet it feels like he's still in Saudi Arabia while I'm in the States. The distance between us remains palpable. He's divorced, suffered the tragic loss of his son, battled alcohol addiction, and came here to rebuild his life. He's making remarkable progress with his AA meetings. I'm damn proud of him!
Meanwhile, I've been harboring the illusion that perhaps there's still a chance for us until dear old Dad decides to visit and chat with Jack alone. And they chose to dot the i's and cross the t's about MY LIFE. Isn't that just swell? MY LIFE? How utterly absurd! Except it's not. Here I am, 32 years old, living in a house my father bought for me, with him and the man I love but who doesn't love me back, discussing MY LIFE! Since I couldn't unleash my anger on my father, I took it out on Jack. Who very clearly told me how stupid I had been for drinking and driving (totally right, by the way) and that his sobriety is his number one priority. Sam-0 / AA-1! How can I be mad about that score if that is what he came here to do? I can't, but I am because I still mean nothing to him. And now I find myself back in my bedroom, returning to the notepads, drowning my sorrow and hurt in words that will remain unread by anyone this time. These words are solely for me, serving as a stark reminder of how foolish, pathetic, and utterly stupid I can still be. I must score the lowest possible for someone supposed to be a genius.
NOTE TO SELF: He really doesn't love you! Repeat every night before falling asleep!"
Sam closed the notepad slowly, placing it on her nightstand. The tears had dried, leaving the house enveloped in total silence. Making her way to the bathroom, she avoided her reflection in the mirror, splashing her face with cold water. Exiting her room, she realized he had departed when she noticed his wallet and keys were gone. Grabbing her car keys, she inspected her car in broad daylight. With her heart pounding in her throat, she meticulously checked for any signs of damage but, to her surprise, found none. Relieved, she parked the car inside the garage and closed it before returning to the house.
She then called her department, briefly explaining that she was dealing with a food allergy and would stay home today but planned to return to the office tomorrow. With nothing better to occupy her time, she retreated to her hammock on the deck, donning her sunglasses as she attempted to quiet her mind. Despite her efforts, she found it impossible to silence her thoughts completely, but at least she was soaking up some sun and vitamin D.
As Jack entered the dimly lit room filled with fellow AA members, he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, heavier than usual. Taking a deep breath, he found his usual seat and waited for his turn to speak.
When his moment came, he stood up, his voice steady but tinged with pain.
"Last night," he began, "I faced one of the biggest tests of my sobriety journey." He recounted Sam's drunken arrival, the stench of alcohol clinging to her like a shroud, and the devastation it wrought upon him. "It was like a punch to the gut," he confessed, his voice cracking with emotion. "To see someone I care about, someone I love, succumbing to the same demons I'm fighting against... It nearly broke me."
As he spoke, he could feel the empathy and understanding radiating from his fellow members. They nodded in solidarity, murmuring words of encouragement and support.
"You're not alone, Jack," Tim, a father of twins who had recently joined the meetings, said softly. "We're here for you every step of the way."
Another member chimed in, offering words of wisdom gleaned from their struggles. "Remember, Jack, you can't control Sam's actions," they said gently. "But you can control how you react to them. Stay strong, brother. You've come too far to let this setback derail you."
Jack nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the pain.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for reminding me I'm not alone in this fight." And with renewed determination, he vowed to redouble his efforts and continue his journey towards sobriety, one day at a time.
When Jack returned to the house, he spotted Sam lying in the hammock, wearing sunglasses and appearing asleep. He entered quietly, mindful not to disturb her, and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. Sitting on the bed, he tried to calm his racing thoughts. He knew he needed to get his mind in order before confronting her again. The AA meeting had clarified, but he still needed to address the situation with Sam. They had to determine if he could continue staying in her house or if it would be best for him to find alternative accommodations. Even contemplating the idea tore another piece from his already wounded heart.
With a deep breath, Jack rose from the bed and approached Sam. He hoped she had calmed down and that they could have a rational discussion about their situation.
Sam wasn't asleep when he arrived. She heard him but chose to remain still. There was no point in moving, so she stayed put in the hammock, anticipating his approach. She knew he wanted to talk; he had likely gone to one of his AA meetings and poured his heart out, and now it was time to confront the issues between them. Very well, they would face it head-on. She was more than prepared.
As Jack stepped onto the deck, he hesitated before speaking.
"Hey, can we talk?" he asked.
Sam sighed inwardly. Sometimes, she despised being proven so painfully right.