The Brightness in Her Smile
by ALC Punk!

"Hey."

The voice definitely cascades across her mind like wine across a palate. Sam thinks this is a bad idea. Thinking always gets her in trouble.

"Sam?"

He's moved closer, peering at her, she can feel his gaze. Not like before when there was nothing, nothing, nothing, and pain.

"So, uh..."

She thinks they've all gotten good at not communicating. She thinks they'll continue at it.

The bed sheets are slightly scratchy on her skin, but she doesn't want to move. Not just yet (silk would feel better, but cotton-blends are probably less of a risk for her skin in the long run).

"Jack and Teal'c came by earlier, said that you needed cheering up."

He's trying so hard to sound cheerful.

She wonders how bad it is, that they have to have this enforced cheer. As if reality might fall into tiny pieces around them if they let it go.

Breath blows across her face, and she can taste the ten-day-old coffee on his breath and wonders if wrinkling her nose is allowed. The donut is still there.

"So, um..."

"Daniel."

"Hey."

"Go brush your teeth."

Shuffling, his feet moving against the floor, and she can hear a muscle pop in his back. Not as relaxed as you want me to think you are, are you, Dr. Jackson?

"Sam--"

"I'm fine."

The dismissal is almost enough, but she can hear him stop at the door. "Sam, I--"

"Teeth."

The scent of the donut lingers for several minutes until it dissipates, overwhelmed by the starch and concrete and antiseptic smells of the SGC infirmary.

-=-

She doesn't have to ask him to know he's guilty.

Maybe not as much as he assumes, but that's neither here or there. And Sam doesn't see why she's supposed to be the one to absolve him of blame.

"Carter."

So hesitant, and she wonders if he'd run if she told him to go. "Sir," too many years of training are ingrained into her, though. She can't quite buck that authority. None of the words that parade across the surface of her mind seem appropriate.

"I..."

His hands run over his face, and she can hear them scrape on his stubble. He hasn't shaved. From the scent of stale sweat, he hasn't showered, either.

"Spit it out, sir."

The silence stretches. And Sam wonders if Janet knows that the autoclave has a crack in one seal that makes it whistle softly when not in use. She feels no compunction to fill the silence. She might once have. But that was then.

"I'm sorry, Carter."

Such magical words. Three days ago, she would have accepted them. Moved on and just assumed in the absolute fairness of the universe.

Sam Carter's a little wiser now.

"Okay." No sir. One habit broken.

Silence again. He doesn't know what to say. That's all right. She doesn't know what she wants to hear.

"I should..."

Shoes squeaking on the floor, making little clicking noises the closer Janet gets. And Sam wonders if Janet wears the heels to be taller or because she likes them.

"Colonel."

"Hey, Doc."

Hesitancy, uncertainty on both their sides, and Sam wonders if that's ironic or merely just another sign of the evolving times.

"I'm here to check Sam."

"So, I should go."

"Yes, sir."

His shoes don't squeak as he walks away, and he pauses in the door for a moment as if there's something else he wants to say, but doesn't say it.

"You should..." Janet stops.

"What, Janet?"

A waft of the floral scent Janet likes to wear washes away the Colonel's sweat. Sam remembers that Cassie bought it for her. "Do you know what it did to him?"

Sam can hear tears in her voice, something that might be anger. Something else that might be guilt. She figures there's more than enough guilt to go around for all of them. "No, Janet. Do tell."

"Damnit, Sam. He's barely gotten used to you being alive, can't you--"

"No." Sam closes her eyes. "If that's all?"

"Fine." The clicks as Janet stalks away are harsh and jarring.

-=-

His step is calm, methodical, careful. At some level, he's always expecting an enemy. Even here, where he should be safe. Sam thinks it's almost ironic.

"Major Carter."

And his voice. She could bask in his voice for ages, until there was nothing left but water in the wide wide world. She thinks the drugs Janet are giving her might be a little bit too much.

Fingers slide across her cheek.

Instinctively, she reaches out, and his other hand wraps around hers. Tactile sense. Warm skin folding over hers, and she thinks this is what the others missed. "Hey, Teal'c." She pretends her voice isn't breaking.

Sam continues to pretend as he slips his arms under her, lifting and shifting until she's cradled against his shoulder, one hand gently stroking her back. There aren't tears soaking the shirt beneath her cheek, the softness speaking of many washes.

"You are wounded."

It's something she knows, something that she isn't going to be able to hide from forever.

"And yet, you are still exactly who you should be."

There shouldn't be comfort in such simple words.

"Major Samantha Carter."

Sam chokes on a sob and tightens her grip on Teal's shirt.

"And you will survive this, as you have survived previous injuries."

The supreme confidence in his words is too much, and she breaks in his arms, too tired to stop resisting the bitter tears that soak his shirt.

"No, I won't," she eventually manages, voice raw from suppressing her sobs.

"I have faith that you will, Samantha Carter."

At least one of them does.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!