She strips off the uniform in the locker room, amused and repelled at the scent sticking to her skin. It's a combination of sweat, tears and more than a little arousal. Not that it's the first time or the last, and she's not surprised at all.
After all, they pulled off a big one this time. Outflew a squad of Death Gliders; helped take down a huge honking MotherShip and royally piqued Anubis off. And probably saved a planet from destroying themselves.
And don't even get her started on understanding Daniel's return. Logically it made perfect sense. But on a personal level.
Death isn't a stranger to anyone around here. Life, however, can toss some strange curves that make the daytime talk shows look absolutely normal.
The hot shower breaks some of the tension from the muscles; dust from two worlds spiralling down the drain as she stands under the steaming hot water and curses her father for bringing her up with such strong personal walls.
Hammond's given them all two weeks off. Daniel's deep in contemplation in his makeshift quarters, rereading his old journals to catch up on his own life. Good thing he's a prolific writer. Teal'c relaxing/mediating - although that seems to be becoming an issue for him. Jack's.
Jack's nowhere to be found, strangely enough.
Which, given her present condition, is probably a Good Thing.
The civvies feel almost strange on her skin; the leather jacket sliding easily over her light blouse as she grabs her helmet and heads for the elevator. She doesn't need to see a scale to know she's lost more weight and knows that her father will be sending threats via the General to make her eat more if he sees her in this state.
In fact, she's ravenous. And not for MRE's, no matter how much they've improved over the years.
O'Malley's isn't that far from here. Good steaks, good food.
And they've probably forgotten about that entire thing with Teal'c and Daniel by now. Besides, they paid for the jukebox. And the pool table. And the chairs.
The parking lot is blessedly full; plenty of cars from base personnel and civilians who just want a good meal. Carefully parking her motorcycle beside the other bikes in the special section she winces as she pulls her helmet off. Yes, time for another haircut.
"One, please." She looks around the room quickly before speaking. No Stargate personnel; no Janet or General or nosy airmen who want to score points by attempting to make nice with Major Carter.
The booth is small and comfortable and far enough from the live band that she can still think, but close enough to the bar that by the time her steak dinner has arrived (medium rare and somewhat bloody, thank you very much) she's on her third beer and feeling no pain.
And two containers of sour cream for the baked potato. Her father would be proud.
In fact, she's so intent on devouring every scrap of food on her plate that she doesn't notice the man sliding into the booth to sit next to her; a pitcher of beer in one hand and a full mug in the other.
"Damn, Carter. Remind me to never be around you if we run out of food in the field." He smiles widely, taking a deep swallow from his glass. "You'd eat me up in no time."
They both freeze, her fork halfway to her mouth with a thick piece of steak hanging off the tines.
"That's not. I mean." He looks at the pitcher. "I told them to give me lite beer, really."
She chuckles, breaking the tension.
"So. how do you think Jonas is going to make out?" He reaches over to filch a french fry, dipping it in the steak sauce.
"I think that if he can avoid the urge to zat them all on an hourly basis, he'll be fine." She finishes off the steak with a flourish, launching a final attack on the baked potato.
"Why a potato and fries, Carter?" His fingers sneak another one, popping it into his mouth.
"I was hungry. And not for anything really healthy like a salad, for once." Her mind begins to go There as she notes the way his fingers work in unison and it takes an accidental nip on her inner lip to bring her back to reality.
"Think too much of me rubbed off on him?" Jack takes another deep swig of the beer, reaching over to top off her glass without asking.
"I think it can only be a good thing." She mumbles between bites. "At least it'll keep them from setting off any more bombs for the time being."
"True." Waving over the waitress he shakes the near-empty pitcher. "And a plate of nachos, please."
"Didn't take you for a nacho person, Colonel." Placing the fork down she stares at the empty plate. "I don't think I've eaten that much since we had those armbands on."
"Shush." He glances around. "Let's not remind them of it, 'kay?" Rubbing the tip of his nose Jack frowns. "Is it a good thing or a bad thing when you can't feel your nose?"
"Depends." Before he can react she reaches over, gently tapping the afore-mentioned nose. "Can you feel that?"
His heart begins to race as her fingers drum on his skin. Grabbing her hand his eyes meet hers, sparking a rush of heat.
"Oh, yeah." With a grin he puts her hand back on the well-varnished wooden table, patting it as he withdraws. "Guess I better have another beer." Lifting the near-empty pitcher in the air he waves at the waitress. "I hope you're drinking more of this than I am."
"Oh, probably." Sloshing the remains of her own beer around the bottom of her glass she empties it in a single swallow. "Although I think we'll be taking alternative transportation home tonight."
A fresh jug appears, an inch of fresh foam on the top. Daintily refilling Carter's glass first he tops his own off. "So, glad to be home?"
Suddenly she looks up, a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes dart around, taking in the usual drunks at the bar; both civilian and military; the usual single guys seeking out someone for the evening; the couples snuggling in booths not unlike the one that she and her CO are in right now.
"You know. it doesn't feel like home." Holding up her glass she looks at the distorted images through the amber liquid. "No place really feels like home these days."
"Whoa." Pursing his lips O'Neill nods. "I hear you there, Carter. Kinda deep, though." A thin ribbon of foam runs along his upper lip, tempting her.
Shaking her head to banish evil thoughts she looks around the room again. "It's just that. the base, my house, the gym. it all just doesn't feel like I belong in any of them."
"Well, you are kinda special." He chuckles as he refills both their glasses. "I mean, not many have been through what you've been through."
"Both of us." She replies, with more than a little weariness in her voice. "And after all that, after all the fighting and killing and destruction." Her eyes dart almost angrily to one of the couples dancing. "No one here knows. Can never know."
"Oh, man. I never thought of you as a sad drunk." The smile is forced and almost painful as he reaches over, placing his hand over hers in a pronounced risk. "It's not just us. There's plenty of people who can't talk about what they do, you know."
"I know." She tips the glass almost vertically, pulling the last few drops down to her mouth. "Heard enough of that from Dad growing up." Pushing it over towards him she gestures for a refill. "Doesn't make it easier when you belong nowhere."
He tops off both their mugs, careful not to waste a drop. "You belong, Sam. At the Mountain, if anywhere."
"Really?" Her eyes meet his, flashing a warning. "You know how they look at me sometimes; whisper about me in the mess."
"I always figured they were talking about my haircut." Jack rubs the top of his head with a wide grin. "That barber."
"You know what I'm talking about." She's trying hard not to sniffle because once it starts she knows it won't stop. Retreating to her drink she drags her fingernails across the table.
"You should see what they say about Teal'c." He responds with more than a trace of weariness. "Some of them still won't sit at the same table. Of course, that's probably because by the time he fills his tray there's no room, but." His fingers begin to move over the back of her hand. "We all get it to some degree. All the SG teams; all of us."
"It just never feels like home anymore." She repeats, finishing the beer. "No place does."
Suddenly the waitress is standing in front of them, a weary smile on her face. "Closing up, folks - can I call you a cab?"
"Ah." Jack looks at his watch. "Whoa. Time flies when you're. whatever." He looks at the woman beside him as she rubs her bloodshot eyes. "Make it one cab and we'll be back in the morning for our rides."
"You got it." Taking the offered credit card she disappears.
Picking up the motorcycle helmet he tucks it under his arm, gesturing for Sam to put her jacket on. "At least we're not running out of here or being carried out by the cops."
"That was quite the experience." She laughs, pulling it on. "I never thought I'd see the day that Daniel got into a fistfight."
"Well, not unless you make fun of his glasses." Nodding at the waitress at the front door he retrieves his credit card and flags down the waiting cab. "Good to have him back."
"Yes, it is." She slids down along the back seat to make room for him, her helmet safe in her lap."
He mumbles his address to the driver, not wanting to meet her eyes. His mind is fuzzy and muddled, but not THAT muddled that he's not just a bit terrified.
But it's not a night to leave her alone. He knows that feeling and he knows what can happen if you dwell too much on it. Been there, almost done that.
The ride is silent, the driver touching his fingers to the brim of his baseball cap as the pair stumble out of his taxi at O'Neill's house. The Colonel's always been a good tipper and no cabbie wants to piss off any military business, not when it makes up over half of their take.
Although, as he pulls away from the curb, he realises that this is perhaps the first time he's driven the Colonel home with a female friend. Good gossip for the taxi stand.
He fumbles with the key, more from nervousness than intoxication. For at this moment he's more sober than he's ever been in his entire life. Opening the door he walks through, dropping his jacket on the familiar armchair and heading for the kitchen. Without seeing her he knows she's placed her helmet atop his jacket and has slumped into the sofa. He knows her that well.
"Bedroom's that way Carter." He pours himself a glass of water. "No point in overpaying the cabbie to go to two houses."
"Agreed." She gets up from the couch, staggering slightly. "Whoa." Putting one hand on the wall she steadies herself. "Don't worry - Carters don't throw up in bed."
"I hope not." He still can't look at her, his heart pounding so loud that he wonders why the neighbours aren't calling in an earthquake report. "Otherwise you'll be doing laundry. I leave it for the housekeeper."
She would ask about that if she could, but all she feels is the weariness and exhaustion and tiredness in her bones, spiralling out from her soul and wrapping her in a thick cloud. The bed is warm and soft and inviting and as she pulls off her shoes and falls onto the bedspread a part of her grumbles that if she were just a little more sober.
Her eyes are closed but she can't sleep. She senses the lights have been turned off and that he's in the room with her but her arms are too heavy and her legs are too heavy and her eyelashes are too heavy.
"Carter." The bed shifts under her as a weight settles in beside her. "I don't do couches and my knees are too old for the floor." A weary sigh. "Besides, I'm too drunk to do anything and if anyone's going to throw up on this bed, it might as well be me."
She chuckles, lying on her side away from him. Her pulse is racing but she's feeling more relaxed than ever.
"There's no place like home." The mumbled words drift by her ear.
"I wish." Sam stutters over the words. "I wish I knew what that felt like."
A shift in the mattress and an arm appears out of the darkness; wrapping itself around her waist with a firm possession that sends a shudder through her body. A soft breath at the back of her neck shuts her mind down completely.
"This. is home." Not so much a question as a statement. Nodding, she relaxes totally against him and begins to let sleep overtake her.
"Yes." Her whispered response follows them both into slumber. "I'm home."
-------------------------------------the end--------------------------------------
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 ]