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Story Notes: Unspoken II: Author: Alli Snow (alli@ecis.com)

Category: Vignette

Rating: PG-13 for language, content

Spoilers: The Broca Divide, a little one for Solitudes

Archive: Heliopolis, yes. Sam and Jack, yes. Others, please ask. I'll say yes, I just wanna make you ask. : )

Disclaimer: Not. My. Universe... Yet.

Feedback: You'd better.

A companion vignette to - what else? - "Unspoken 1: Actions" (which previously was simply titled 'Unspoken', if that makes any sense) .


Sometimes I wonder exactly how much Captain Samantha Carter knows.

She's intelligent - THAT fact isn't under any scrutiny. She's quick, clever, well-read and well-taught. Hell, she's a scientist. More times than I care to remember she has left me in the dust during technical discussions.

But I don't wonder about her knowledge of English, of history, science or math, or most certainly the Stargate. What I DO ponder - and I do it often - is:

How much does she know of ME?

We've worked together for some time now, and worked closely. I'd like to think I know her well, that I can read between the lines when she talks, and that I can read her face when she looks at me. I'd like to think I know her expressions, her mannerisms, and her moods better than anyone who's not family.

But does the same hold true for her?

I have the same emotions as anybody, of course, but I school them; hide them. I used to hide behind a stony, immobile wall of silence and seriousness. Now I hide behind wit and a cynical smile. I've always considered both facades impenetrable.

But what if that's not true?

My relationship with Sam is like a game of cards. We keep our perfect poker faces, keep our cards hidden, throw in our chips, up the ante every time around. Any maybe one day one of us will fold, or maybe one of us will call and we'll have to put it all on the table.

But sometimes I wonder if Sam stacked the deck.

It's hard to tell. Sometimes she's so observant that it gives me the creeps. Other times she's as na´ve as a child.

Or is she? Or is she just acting?

It's so confusing, and frustrating, and maddening, that sometimes I even wonder why I let myself feel the way I do about her. But the honest answer is that she's worth all the internal turmoil.

Besides, it's not like I have a choice in the matter.

My hormones seem to have a mind of their own. They tell my rational, logical mind, "Hey, fuck you" and go on and do whatever the hell they damn well please.

Like right now. Here I am, sitting at a debriefing. Daniel is giving his version of what went on during our last mission, and all I can do is watch Sam, who's seated beside me, out of the corner of my eye and, well, fantasize.

The same old fantasy, comfortably erotic. The briefing comes to a close but for some reason Carter and I linger behind after everyone has left. It always ends with the two of us on the table, and this time it's most definitely not my sidearm. Maybe a little variation this time, I think. Maybe this time Hammond will wander by, see us, and have a heart attack... Despite myself, I smile.

It's not that I consider Sam an object. In fact, I believe I already touched on all of her gorgeous mental attributes. But she IS hot.

I imagine what her lips would feel like against mine. That curse here, the double-edged sword is, of course, that I don't HAVE to imagine. I can remember. Ditto for her arms around me, lust in her eyes, the weight of her body pressing down on me.

That one little virus-induced escapade has provided me with material for a lifetime of fantasy.

"Sir?"

I look up, and find that the room is empty. Almost. Sam Carter is leaning against the table with an impish smile on her face. I jump to my feet, and her smile widens to a full-fledged grin.

I rub and hand over my eyes, hoping to hide my embarrassment. "Sorry about that, Captain." Coming from me, that has a double meaning.

She shrugs. "You don't have to apologize to me, sir, but I don't think General Hammond's too happy about his favorite Colonel falling asleep at a briefing." There's a playful edge in her voice at the words 'favorite Colonel'.

I look at her closely, trying not to make it LOOK like I'm looking at her closely. Does she really think I fell asleep? Or does she know? Can she somehow tell?

How much DOES she know? I wonder again.

Then I meet her gaze dead-on, right in the eye, without fear of exposure of my dirty little secret thoughts that might not be so secret after all.

Drop the poker face.

She knows.

Sam smiles.

She's a little embarrassed, maybe, but flattered.

Maybe she even does it, too. Maybe she's more than a little affected by her own memories.

Silently, we walk out of the room, and I realize that I don't need to wonder how much she knows anymore.

And why would I want to know?

That's the mystery. That's the game.

That's the fun part.

I can wait.

She's worth it.



*****

END

Feedback is sooooo not an option.

~~~ Alli Snow ~~~
Devoted Mulder/Scully - Jack/Sam - Janeway/Chakotay shipper and all-around UST radar; Giants fan, kleptomaniac, schizophrenic willpowerless stalker chick.
"I just do what the little voices tell me to do."
"Some people say things they don't mean. Other people mean things they don't say."
http://www.geocities.com/rainrobinson/ AIM: RRalli00




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