Sam opened her eyes and looked at the clock. It blinked 8:06 at her, and she lay there for about 10 seconds before the reality of her situation sunk in fully.
"Aw hell…" Sam jumped out of bed and started pulling on clothes as fast as possible. Late once already this week, that time luck had saved her and she’d got away with it, but she got the feeling she wouldn’t be that lucky again.
Running for the door, she grabbed a nutri-grain bar from the cupboard and her bag from next to the settee where she had left it when she came in exhausted the night before. Hastily she put in her stuff – books and the such like – before heading for the door.
"Sorry Dad!" she called. "I’m late, not time for a decent breakfast, I’ll be nagged about it later, I haven’t got time for that right now." She shut the door behind her and hurried off down the road. There was no guarantee her father was even at home, let alone heard her excuse, so she felt there was no need to wait for a reply.
She ran into school ten minutes later, flustered but feeling slightly relieved. After all, she’d actually made it on time for once, a rare enough occasion in itself. She walked into the classroom quickly and at once realised something was wrong. Her teacher glared at her, and she retreated to her seat up the corner, head down, eyes from anyone else.
It turned out that her teacher was yelling for general lateness, and Sam’s walking in halfway through was the last straw. When she had finished yelling at the class she had turned on Sam, and despite all protests to the contrary she insisted Sam was late, and gave her a late mark. Sam fumed, after all, she had actually been on time!
She turned to her so-called friends, or otherwise known as the group of people she imposed herself on in the mornings. They hardly managed being civil to her most of the time, resorting to the childish retorts and petty teasing that in her better moods Sam wrote off as friendly, and in her worse moods – malicious.
This morning they were in a non-talking, my-life-is-way-worse-than-yours-so-what-are-you-moaning-about kind of mood. Despite Sam’s most cheery ‘good morning’ she got a grunt in response, which especially considering the circumstances Sam felt was less than great.
She switched off from reality and let her mind wander. First lesson…physics. The only decent lesson that day, geography, languages and PE not being top of her Christmas wish list. Not that she wasn’t good at them, she was in the top 3 in the year in geography, the most fluent linguist in her class and better than half the lads at football. The problem, really, was the teachers. Oh yeah, and who she had classes with. That didn’t help much either.
Physics, however, was much better. For that she had Mrs Hutton, who was so great that the fact she had to put up with her class didn’t matter quite so much. They would talk about the latest scientific discoveries whilst her rowdy classmates pretended to be working, and they’d have debates and discussions that broadened her horizons – what felt to Sam as the only thing that made school worthwhile.
The bell rang pulling her out of her reverie and back to reality. ‘Class dismissed’ and they all left, no-one bothering to wait for her, Sam noticed bitterly. Not that they ever did, but she’d hoped, maybe just once…
She reached the lab before anyone else, despite being the last to leave the form room. Sometimes she felt like the only one in her school who actually wanted to be there. Lonely, that. Nothing in common with anyone, and it’s hard not to be lonely really. She wished her Dad would get himself reassigned, if only they could move on. Maybe it would be better at the next school. Maybe not.
She walked in, and if it was possible for her heart to sink anymore than it already had, it did just then. Sitting in Mrs Hutton’s usual seat was another teacher. And not just any other teacher, oh no, it had to be Mrs Smith. Mrs Smith was the kind of teacher that made young children fake headaches and stomach pains to stay away from. And even at High School some of the kids would still try it if they knew in advance that they’d have to last an hour in a class with her.
Mrs Smith had short, black hair that sat tight on her head in small curls in a mostly haphazard fashion, one that always made her look like she hadn’t quite got around to it that morning. She had small beady grey eyes that penetrated your soul when she looked at you and made you want to admit you were guilty even when you didn’t even know what had gone wrong. Unlike most teachers – who have eyes in the back of their head – Mrs Smith instead seemed to be able to use the two in the front of her head in such a manner that she could see in every direction at the same time. Her darting eyes missed nothing, and her watch was relentless. A class under her care felt like animals in a cage before she even opened her mouth. And although Sam didn’t believe in such nonsense, others said she was evil.
Today, it seemed she had a black cloud over her head the size of South Dakota. Three minutes into the lesson she ordered silence, and two minutes further on she declared to the class that anyone breaking the silence would be outside the classroom for the rest of the lesson and would be back at break.
Sam felt a black cloud of her own forming as she listened to Mrs Smith rant. She knew that this would be seen by those lads behind her as an opportunity to show her up, and with this teacher there weren’t exactly many second chances.
Sure enough, 15 minutes later Sam found herself outside the classroom cursing that there had ever been a notion in the minds of Mr and Mrs Greenaway that a child would be nice. If Craig ever tried that again she swore she’d break his scrawny little neck. Just then, the door opened and Sam turned, expecting her reprimanding teacher to come through it. Instead it was the closest thing she felt she had to a real friend at this school, and he didn’t look too happy.
"You know" he said, "I really hate her." Then he grinned at Sam, who grinned back despite her foul mood. Robert had an infectious smile at the best of times, and the sheer stupidity of her situation didn’t help her struggle for composure.
"What did you do?" she asked softly, not wanting her only ally to turn against her now.
"Hmmph. Apparently I was conspiring to cheat in our work. I don’t suppose my terribly unconvincing alibi will save me either."
"What’s that then?"
"Only the fact that I’d finished 10 minutes ago." He grinned again, and Sam felt a little better. When Mrs Smith came out at the end of the lesson she was almost civil to them, and as she told them the break time detention was not strictly necessary Sam’s mood improved a little more. ‘Maybe life isn’t so bad after all’ she thought.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Major Samantha Carter, PhD Astrophysics and 2IC of SG1 lent back in her chair, surveying her latest discovery.
"Wow." Wiping the dust off the book with her hand she read the writing on the outside. "My Diary. I’d forgotten all about this." Just then she heard a noise behind her and turned around swiftly, years of airforce training tensing her for the fight she knew would not come.
"You always talk to yourself, Carter?" The familiar low tones of one Colonel Jack O’Neill floated through the door and Sam let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
"You shouldn’t do that, sir. Really. You almost gave me a heart attack!" Jack smiled.
"With all you’ve been through, Carter, I think not. However, I am quite interested in this diary you’ve found." Sam grinned at him.
"Oh, sir, there’s definitely no need for that. I had a very boring childhood you know."
"That I doubt. Come on, Carter, let your poor old Colonel have a little fun, eh? And anyway, if there’s nothing interesting in there, you won’t mind reading it to me, will you?" Sam blushed slightly, and Jack gasped in mock horror. "What’s this? Are you telling me there’s interesting stuff in there? Gosh, Carter, and I thought I’d heard from a reliable source that you had a boring childhood?"
"I did sir. Very boring, plain, and quite depressing. My diary was mostly my moaning book, what a terrible life I had and all that. I’m not sure you want to hear that really."
"Aw, go on Carter. Just one day?"
"Alright, you win! But first day only, and don’t say I didn’t warn you. My final offer."
"Done! Take it away, Anne Frank." Sam smiled at his lame joke and opened the book at the start. They both read together.
31st October
Dear Diary,
Halloween today, plenty of witches about, that’s for sure. Mrs Smith, oh grief, how much I hate her you wouldn’t believe. You know, she sent me out of class today for throwing paper aeroplanes. Paper aeroplanes!?!?! I don’t even have the first clue how to make a paper aeroplane! Stupid Craig Greenaway. I know what I’d like to do to him, but it’s sooo mean and terribly painful it would take me too long to explain. It definitely involves heavy-duty pliers and various parts of his anatomy though.
However, this is nothing compared to what I would like to do to Mrs Ashton. Stupid form tutor. I’m not sure she’s so much a witch as something else that rhymes with it. You know, I got a late mark today for no reason – I was actually there on time for once! Still, I’ll get my own back before I leave, I swear.
Oh, yes. That’s another thing. Dad’s just got another assignment, Colorado springs. Just this morning I wanted him to have to go so we’d move on again, but now it’s actually happening I’m not so sure. I mean, I’m only just resettled here, now I’ve got to move again? I just don’t know anymore.
Robert asked me today what all the moving was like. I told him that I didn’t know, but I think I do now. It’s lonely. After all, who do I keep when I move? My dad, who’s always away, Mark, who’s never around anyway, and you, my diary. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? ‘Girl’s best friend is book’. Sounds like an Oprah story.
I had a dream last night, you know. I dreamt I was older, and I had a husband and kids, and a job I loved, watching the stars. We lived in San Francisco and life was great. It felt great to be loved like that. I wish I felt like that in real life.
Still, I’m running out of time, I’ve got to sleep or else I might be ‘late’ again tomorrow. Sleep well, diary. I’ll try to. G’night, Sam.
Jack stopped reading. He looked across at Sam, who was still staring at the page, blinking back years of unshed tears.
"You really didn’t have a good time in school, did you?" Sam shook her head. "Who were all these people, Sam? Tell me about them." His voice was sympathetic, understanding and caring showing through. Sam felt safe with him, she knew, somehow he helped her to drive away all those feelings of loneliness that had come back with the diary. She had remembered life being hard at school, but her own words brought back to her the unspoken pain of all those years ago.
"Mrs Ashton was my form tutor, you know, teacher in charge of our class and all that. She hated me. I was too smart for her, and she’d take any chance to put me ‘in my place’ so to speak. To be honest, I didn’t like her much either. She was always quite cold towards me, that didn’t exactly make her my favourite person."
"Sound like my English teacher." Jack grinned. "She never liked me either, I was too smart for her in the other sense of the word." Sam smiled slightly, Jack’s jokes lifting her enough to continue.
"Mrs Smith was the terror of our school. She didn’t like average kids much, so you can imagine how she felt about me. She didn’t really dislike me more than any of the others, but I suppose it seems that ways when you’re 15. Everyone else was just your average school kid. That I had to put up with."
"What about your friends?" Sam laughed, a short hard forced laugh at Jack’s comment.
"Friends? Which ones would they be? The ones I left behind I think. The older you get the less likely people are to make friends with you. By 15 you’ve already got your friends. Nobody needed me. It was lonely, that’s for sure."
"I’m sorry, Sam."
"Don’t be. After all, if I’d had a better childhood I probably wouldn’t have joined the airforce."
"Pent up aggression and all that?"
"Something like that, I think. But if I’d never joined the airforce I wouldn’t be here now, having this conversation. And I certainly wouldn’t have met you."
"Yeah, well. Some might say that’s a good thing ya know." Sam smiled.
"You know I’m not one of them, sir." It was Jack’s turn to smile then, he’d been expecting the friendly teasing, the blunt retort from her. ‘Probably shows just how upset she is’ he thought.
"I could say the same you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I for one am glad you met me. SG-1 wouldn’t be the same without you, you know."
"Yeah, well. I’ve got a lot of sorting to do. I’d better get on with it."
"Erm, Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, do you want some help? I mean, I’ve got a report to do from the mission to P3X559, but nothing pressing. I can give you a hand fi you want."
"Thanks, sir. It’ll help I’m sure."
"Anytime, Carter."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Three hours and four boxes later, Sam and Jack had finished sorting. Four cardboard boxes, sealed with box tape, sat on the floor, all labelled in Sam’s neat handwriting, with the odd note in Jack’s untidy scrawl next to it.
They got up, ready to carry the boxes out to Sam’s car when Suddenly she spotted something on the table.
"Oh dear." she said to herself. Jack heard and turned around, and saw the book, still open to that first entry they’d read together earlier.
"I can undo one of these boxes if you like." he said. "I’m sure I saw the scissors around here somewhere." Sam stood, considering and weighing up whether it was really worth it or not.
"No." she said softly. "Don’t bother."
"Are you sure? It should really go in this one, I think, with all those photos." He refrained from mentioning the content of those photos, looking at the pictures of Sam’s mother had been hard enough on them both first time around, it wasn’t on the top of his Christmas wish list to go through that again. He understood how she felt, in a twisted way they reminded him of Charlie. How alike they were, both hiding these inner pains of lost loved ones, although she had held hers much longer. It was strange, that, he had always thought of himself as the strong one, though through adversity, when really it had been Sam, his second in command that had faced all that pain for so much longer.
"I’m alright. I think, to be honest, I need to read it, if you know what I mean? There’s a lot of stuff in there that I didn’t face then, hell, I couldn’t face then, I wouldn’t have known how, not with my life so unstable, in so many pieces. I don’t have that anymore, you know. Now I think I can start to settle all that unrest I felt. It’s only a start, but I think I can do it." Jack looked at her, admiring her courage and strength of resolve. Still, he knew what she had forgotten.
"Sam," he said, "You don’t have to do this-"
"Yes I do. It’s just all the stuff I was going to have to confront eventually, that’s why I wrote it down in the first place."
"Sam, you didn’t let me finish. I was going to say you didn’t have to do this alone." Sam looked up from the patch on the floor she had been finding so interesting in the last few minutes. She heard his words and understood both the obvious meaning and that of the less obvious meaning running under them. "You’re not alone anymore Sam." And she knew he was right.
THE END!!!!!
Story Notes: Email: Sarah74656@stargatesg-1.com
Status: Complete
Spoilers: None really, maybe a few minor general ones.
Archive: Heliopolis, Trek the Web, pleas put it on the SJA, and anyone else ask, I’m bound to say yes!
Season/Sequel info: Set sometime in the third season. There might be sequels, but that depends on whether or not everyone likes it!
Content Warnings: Not really, a few suggestions of adult
Author Comment: Note from the not-so-genius! This idea came to me in a little flash one evening, and so I started writing it, but never actually finished it. I happened to be on a coach trip to London the following day, so after large pestering from my fellow passengers I finished the story. Oh yes, and did I mention, this was the coach that left at midnight…. So this story is dedicated to a) all those who made me finish the story (if it’s that bad, blame them for making me write it so early) and b) my friends and enemies whose names I have cunning (or not so cunningly) hidden within this story. Thanks guys! I do like feedback, when I get messages telling me I'm wonderful (or not!) it seems to help me write better. Still, happy reading, hope you enjoy it!
Status: Complete
Spoilers: None really, maybe a few minor general ones.
Archive: Heliopolis, Trek the Web, pleas put it on the SJA, and anyone else ask, I’m bound to say yes!
Season/Sequel info: Set sometime in the third season. There might be sequels, but that depends on whether or not everyone likes it!
Content Warnings: Not really, a few suggestions of adult
Author Comment: Note from the not-so-genius! This idea came to me in a little flash one evening, and so I started writing it, but never actually finished it. I happened to be on a coach trip to London the following day, so after large pestering from my fellow passengers I finished the story. Oh yes, and did I mention, this was the coach that left at midnight…. So this story is dedicated to a) all those who made me finish the story (if it’s that bad, blame them for making me write it so early) and b) my friends and enemies whose names I have cunning (or not so cunningly) hidden within this story. Thanks guys! I do like feedback, when I get messages telling me I'm wonderful (or not!) it seems to help me write better. Still, happy reading, hope you enjoy it!
End Notes: Gosh, that was long, wasn't it? Did you like it? Huh? PLEASE let me know, I love getting feedback! Hope you enjoyed that, Sarah.
"Show me an Anthropologist that dresses like this and I'll eat this headdress" - Sam, Emancipation.
"Show me an Anthropologist that dresses like this and I'll eat this headdress" - Sam, Emancipation.
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc, are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plots are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended. ... [ read more ]