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 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. ***** rowan_d1@yahoo.com