DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World
Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no
infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other
characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE: THEORY AND PRACTICE
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
EMAIL: rowan_d1@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://www.beautyinshadows.net
RATING: Teen
CATEGORIES: Angst, Alternate Reality RippleFic, Sam/Pete
ARCHIVE: Yes, just let me know.
SUMMARY: "She's having trouble shaking the images. Ghosts
beneath her eyelids." - This story is the second in my RippleFic
series and follows the story of the Alternate Carter from the
first story, "Immediate Perception". Written for the LJ RippleFic
where I have claimed Sam/Pete.
Many thanks to AnnaK and Teddy E for the betas!
"Theory and Practice"
by
Rowan Darkstar (rowan_d1@yahoo.com)
Copyright (c) 2006
There's an abrasion on the front of her ankle, just above the top
of her foot, where the thin skin bends and stretches.
Samantha Carter has been shot, stabbed, burned, tortured, sliced,
left to die. She's tasted a symbiote burrowing its way through
the back of her throat, walked on a broken leg, stood frozen and
blinded in the deadly beam of an ash'rak's assassination weapon.
A small abrasion on her ankle is nothing to compare. Less than
two inches long, half an inch wide. A pebbly stretch of paper
thin scabs.
But it hurts, and it aches, and she can't shake the notion that
this abrasion is a persistent flame melting the walls of her icy
fortress.
*****
She's been back on Earth--no, correction--back on *her* Earth,
for nine days.
Pete met her on the steps of their porch. He knew she was five
days later than scheduled to return. He knew she wasn't hurt,
she had phoned him from the infirmary while she waited through
the tedium of the post mission physicals.
But he didn't know what had happened. And she couldn't tell him.
She wrapped her arms around his body, dug her fingers into the
thick muscles sheeting his shoulder blades, pressed her breasts
to his chest and clung to him for a good five minutes. Five
minutes. It didn't sound like much as a phrase in her head, but
in real time, seconds ticking by as a man and woman balanced on
the wood boards and the wind ruffled their hair and heat passed
and surged between them and they inhaled and exhaled in wordless
communion; five full minutes felt like an eternity.
She's unnerved to realize she could have stayed much longer.
She met seventeen versions of herself. Martouf. Janet. She's
having trouble shaking the images. Ghosts beneath her eyelids.
*****
"Hey, Sam, you look like you could use a break, you want to grab
some lunch? Teal'c's coming up, too, in a minute."
She turns from her microscope, sees Daniel's gentle smile where
he lounges in her doorway. His glasses are crooked and she feels
warmer. She takes a step his direction, and the snug laces and
scrunched leather of her boot grate across her raw ankle. Her
stomach tenses, her thighs sting in sympathy. "No, thanks,
Daniel, you go ahead," she says, tone as sweet as she can manage.
Daniel's done nothing wrong. "I'm just gonna get some more work
done here."
He shrugs. "You sure?"
Another smile, as genuine as she can summon. She's become too
polished at shining him on. She feels a pang of guilt, because
these are her friends, she loves them. "Yeah, I'm sure. It's
almost the weekend. I'd like to actually avoid this place for
once."
The familiar banter draws him in, and he smiles and chuckles as
he turns away. "Yeah, we just keep sayin' that. One of these
days it might actually work." He's out of sight before his last
words reach her ears.
Her smile lingers for a moment, but she can't make it last.
Her ankle nags, and that rawness just feels so damned open and
defenseless and no amount of bandages seems to protect.
******
She can't understand why so few of the Carters she encountered
even knew of Pete, let alone called him *home*. All of them from
realities theorized to be relatively close to her own.
She obsesses over the concepts of forks in the road, choices
made, and paths not taken. Tiny inconsistencies that snowball
and alter the universe around her.
A butterfly flaps its wings...
Her father's late for the airport.
Daniel goes on the lab tour instead of sticking with the team.
The Colonel tests the new vest insert on P3X-666.
Janet takes the day shift, instead of the night.
Pete takes her hand when she's about to cry.
*****
All along, she's known that a single, random event...one
choice...one night...one cosmic connection shifted her world less
than a year ago.
She would never have taken Pete seriously, never moved him from
the category of 'lovely man I'm dating' to someone she would say
'yes' to, if one single night hadn't happened the way it did.
And, put in those terms, what seemed at first like an anomaly
starts to seem quite logical.
*****
"You sure you don't want to go grab some ice cream? The corner
place is open 'til 11 Saturday nights."
They've been dating three months. He knows her favorite ice
cream, her late night cravings.
"No, I'm fine." She shakes her head. "Still too full from
dinner."
"Okay."
"Unless...did you want to go out?'
"No, no, I'm fine right here."
She smiles softly, almost shyly. "Okay." She shifts on Pete's
couch, tucks a foot beneath her, glances across the room. "We
could watch another video, if you want. You can pick something
this ti--"
"Sam."
"Hmmm?"
His voice is soft. Tender. Her stomach burns a little and she
pulls a throw pillow onto her lap. It's been a hard week. Jaffa
everywhere, and her jaw is still stiff from the blunt end of a
staff weapon. "You know, we don't have to do anything," he's
saying, "I mean...it seems like you feel...*obligated* to be
entertaining, or...make sure it's an interesting date for me.
Aren't we a little beyond that?"
"What? Yeah. I mean, no, I just..." She sighs, closes her eyes
and sucks on her lower lip. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Just be you, okay? If you're tired, we take it easy.
We don't have to do anything. We can just...*talk*. Or not
talk."
"Yeah."
"Or you can nap." He smiles, and it's a little contagious. But
the comfort slips through her fingers before she can close her
fist.
She whispers, "Yeah."
He holds out a hand to her, poised on the edge of the couch.
"Come here a second," he says.
She takes his hand and lets him lead her to the patio doors
opening onto his balcony. "You seen the moon tonight?" He
points over the buildings across the courtyard. An overbright,
white-grey moon glimmers against a midnight sky. She's surprised
by the clear view over this busier, brightly lit city. She has
grown accustomed to the gentler skies of Colorado Springs and
doesn't expect this much from Denver.
"Wow," she says honestly, "that's really bright."
A satisfied smile steals across his lips and she feels a fleeting
wave of warmth at his pleasure. She wants him to be happy. He's
starting to mean something to her. Something...real.
They watch the moon for a long moment in silence. He asks,
"Have you been there?"
She catches her breath, starts to give her automatic "I can't
talk about work" reply, but the truthful answer doesn't really
reveal a damn thing and she's too tired to live in a box tonight.
Someone warm is holding her hand and it's a simple question for a
woman who grew up wanting to be an astronaut. "No, actually,"
she says. "Bizarre, isn't it? All the places I've been...all
the OTHER moons I've been on. But that one? That one's still
just for wishes."
"Maybe it should be," he says, and there's something serious and
understanding in his voice that makes her turn and meet his gaze
in the shadowy light.
They stay there a long time without speaking.
He reaches up and brushes lightly calloused fingers along her
cheekbone. "Samantha?"
"Hmmm?" She's a little beyond words. She's tired and there's
moonlight on his fingers and her jaw still aches. She tries to
keep up the act, be sociable and sweet and charming, but she's so
tired and he's so warm...
"Hey...I'm here."
"What?" she whispers, squinting across at him, struggling to
grasp the concept, follow the thread.
"Come here," he says, moving closer into her space.
Her reply is reflexive. "Pete, I'm sorry, I'm just, I don't
think I'm up for--"
"What--hey, you think sex? You think I'm talking about sex?"
She exhales, moves her lips to speak, but can't really catch the
words.
"You're not just here for sex, Sam. I mean--are you?" There's
something of a joke in his voice, but there's some kind of
question, too, and it makes her ache. She's not sure she's cut
out for this. She's not sure she remembers how to be this
person. "I mean...God, I hope you're not.
Because...as...*amazing* as sex with you is, Lady, I know I, for
one, am asking you up here for a whole lot more than sex, at this
point."
She nods, reassuring as best she can. "God, yes, of course. I
mean...*yes*, Pete, there's more to..." She closes her eyes and
trails off, frustrated with the fog in her thoughts and she's so
much more than tired and astrophysics is so clear and this moment
such a cloud.
His whisper is soft like the edges of the furniture in the
shadows. "Sam...it's okay to just...feel...whatever it is you're
feeling. Something hurts. You probably can't tell me what it
is, I get that--"
"No, it's not--I haven't--"
"Sam. Just...let me be here. You're allowed that. You're
allowed someone to just...hold you. Even if you're just tired.
You know?"
She feels the lines drawing across her forehead. She's lost her
words.
His fingers comb through her hair. Gentle. Like Cassie's hands
that first year they brought her to Earth. Sam can almost feel
the weight of the young girl in her lap, the texture of her
braids, the rubber of the swing behind her own thighs.
"Come here," Pete whispers. "Come here."
His arms slip around her, across her ribcage. Strong hands
smooth the wide muscles of her back, soothing the aches she
hasn't let herself feel. Gently, by increments like liquid
caresses, she sinks into his touch, into the moment.
"We just stand here, Sam. For as long as you need. I'm right
here."
Tears she can't quite explain sting her eyes and she realizes
she's shaking. He doesn't acknowledge the shift, but his strong
arms tighten around her, steadying her.
The comfort hurts. She can't remember the last time she let
down. She can't quite say what it is tonight, but she thinks
maybe it's a hundred little things she's let slide.
Pete makes her feel. And she's resisting.
She breathes against his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin
heating her own breath.
She doesn't know how long they stay. But she knows his hold
doesn't waver. She knows nothing's ever felt like this. She
knows something of significance is transpiring. And for the
first time in too long she doesn't want the weekend to end. She
stops silently counting the hours until she can go back to her
lab.
She clings to the warmth.
*****
A butterfly flaps its wings. One simple phone call. "No, sorry,
Pete, I can't make it up tonight, really rough mission, think I'm
just going to sleep it off." Clouds over that full moon or a
more interesting video on the top of the pile, and maybe months
later she wouldn't have been saying, "Yes, I'll marry you."
She's grateful for the course of events in her universe. But she
can't help but be haunted by the infinite paths and variations.
She touched some of them in the flesh, and they touched her back.
*****
Her ankle hurts when the sheets shift against her skin. Her
stomach's tight and she knows she should have eaten dinner, but
she just...couldn't. She promised Pete she will eat a big
breakfast in the morning.
It's been nine days and she knows she should be back in the
moment, but there's a knot in her chest and she can't get it to
fade.
She's watching the streetlight through the sheer curtains and she
thinks of bright moons over Denver.
The warmth of Pete's body sidles up behind her, spoons tight
against her back, and the solidity is a welcome grounding, like
the warmth of a golden fire when she didn't realize she was cold.
She's half sorry she's been caught lying awake and half grateful
for his uncanny radar. He's groggy and only half-conscious, but
she knows he's been standing guard for a while, waiting for the
other shoe to fall.
"Did you lose someone?" he breathes into her ear.
"No one I hadn't already lost."
"What?"
She falls silent, and he knows she's already let her tongue slip.
He won't push it.
"I'm sorry, Pete, I just..."
He buries his nose in her hair, kisses the back of her neck.
"Baby, are you okay?"
She nods. "My ankle hurts." Her voice sounds too small in the
darkness.
"What? Your ankle? What happened?"
But she closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Nothing."
"You mean that scrape?"
She doesn't reply.
He holds her close.
He swears time and again he'll never leave no matter how insane
it all gets, and she's almost almost starting to believe this.
Almost.
"I uhmm....see, I had a chance to see some people I tried to let
go of a long time ago. I had them back for a moment. But I
couldn't keep them."
She knows this doesn't really explain anything. She also knows
she's pushing the bounds of what she's supposed to say. But Pete
has a little clearance. Enough to put his life in danger in the
larger scheme of things. And he's her husband, and she's allowed
to need this, she's *allowed* to.
Maybe all the variations have made her doubt a certain solidity.
Maybe her foundations are shaking a little. Maybe more than a
little.
Pete pulls her back hard against him, the curves and lines of his
body molding in perfect symmetry with her own. They've learned
long ago every dip and turn of fitting their bodies together.
They're a deeply comfortable match. They have found their
places.
"I'm sorry, Babe," he breathes, sleep in his words and in the
softness of his skin.
They're quiet. He nuzzles his face beneath the edges of her hair
and says, "You get to keep *me*."
She didn't know she was about to cry. She curls her fingers
around the corner of the pillow. "You promise?" And the tears
from nowhere are thick in her voice, and Pete is instantly so
much more awake.
"Heeeeyyyy... Hey, Baby, of course I promise." He reaches down
and lifts her left hand with his own, fingers her wedding ring
and touches her thumb to his gold band. "What do you think
*this* was about, hunh? Sam?"
She nods. But she's shaking and she's crying and everything
inside her that's felt hollow for weeks is tumbling and falling,
and she didn't even know any of this was there.
She's wrapped in his arms and he's pulled her over so her face is
buried in his chest, and he smells like her own herbal soap and
the dark hair tickles and cushions her cheek.
"God, Sam, what happened?"
They both know she can't answer, but the question is offered more
as a comfort than an inquiry.
She's lost too many beloved souls. She thinks she has a handle
on each one as she faces the pain, but the accumulative toll is
cracking her foundations. She can't stand the thought of...
She can't...
She slides her leg across his, burrows her foot beneath his
ankle, and shelters her own injured skin beneath the curve of his
lower calf where she knows she so perfectly fits.
She holds onto him in the darkness and waits for the ache to
fade.
*****
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