God, why him? Yes, he was strong, charismatic, and good-looking. But he was fifteen years older than her and, oh yes; lest she forget, her CO! What was it with her and the lunatic fringe?
He returned the smile with a wicked smirk. "No harm, no foul, Sam," he muttered before greeting General Hammond. "Mission successful, sir," he offered. "The good folks are dishing out the cure as we speak."
"Good," General Hammond replied, coughing uneasily and adjusting his collar. Sam vaguely remembered hearing that he'd also been afflicted with the caveman virus and shivered involuntarily, recalling the officer who had fallen out of the window to his death not fifteen yards from where she stood now. The other had survived his injuries, but was paralyzed from the waist down - likely permanently.
She hadn't known the two young men very well - both being what Colonel O'Neill pejoratively dubbed 'jarheads' and very recent transfers to this base - but it was such a senseless loss.
The Colonel's slim fingers clasped her shoulder in a brief comforting gesture before he addressed himself to the General once more. "Sir; about Matthews ..."
General Hammond's own eyes shifted over to the site of the tragedy. "I've notified Matthews' family," he said gruffly. "The memorial will be held the day after tomorrow at Arlington."
"I'd like to be there, sir," O'Neill pressed, nodding to Colonel Makepeace. "Pay my respects."
The Marine Colonel looked surprised but then returned the nod. Times like these tended to transcend petty inter-service rivalries.
"Of course, Colonel," Hammond said.
"I'll go as well, sir," Sam said, wishing she'd gotten to know the young man. She'd been pissed when he'd hit on her a couple weeks ago, and had ignored his stumbling apologies after Colonel Makepeace had read him the riot act. She'd dismissed him as 'just another jarhead'.
"If civilians can be present, I'll be there, General," Daniel said.
"And I also, General Hammond," Teal'c, the final member of SG-1, added stoically. "I wish to pay my respects to the young warrior."
Despite his alien heritage, sometimes Teal'c was the most human person Sam had ever known. She hadn't known him for very long, but she'd learned he wasn't just a stoic scary Jaffa. She'd witnessed his stunned male reaction to her in that stupid blue dress and his guilt over Daniel's recent kidnapping. Hell, she'd seen him defy his god because he believed in Colonel O'Neill! That took guts.
Makepeace cleared his throat. "Damn," he mumbled. "We'd ... ah ... we'd be honored," he said.
Hammond cleared his own throat, perhaps touched by the sentiment too. "Permission granted," he said.
Two days later:
Sam watched as the casket was covered over and Tom Matthews' family scattered to their grief. Her gaze shifted to Colonel O'Neill, whose eyes were hidden by shades but whose jaw was set. He'd been tense for several hours now; perhaps not surprisingly, but there seemed to be something ... personal about this tension.
Uncaring of protocol, she touched his arm gently. "Sir," she murmured.
"I'm ... okay, Sam," he said, the roughness of his voice giving the lie to his claim. "It's just ... no-one should have to outlive their kid."
"No, sir," she replied, not sure what to say in response to that stark declaration.
A young man, so similar in appearance to Matthews he had to be a brother, approached them, dressed in Marine Corps Class A's. "I ... wanted to thank you for being here today, sirs," he said to the Colonel and Sam. "I have to admit ... we weren't expecting high-ranking Air Force officers at a Marine Private's funeral."
The Colonel took off his sunglasses. "Tom Matthews - regardless of rank or service - was a good man," he said gruffly. "He was taken too soon."
"Yeah," the young man agreed. He shifted nervously. "I know you can't tell me exactly what happened, but ... was it quick?"
"It was," Sam said, glad she could give him the truth in this instance. "He died instantly."
"That's better, then." The young man shifted again. "Better that than a long painful death."
Beside her, Sam could feel the Colonel fidgeting. "Private; will it be all right if I ... talk to your mother?"
"Uh ... yes, sir!"
"Thank you." The Colonel headed over to Matthews' mother, his long-legged stride allowing him to reach her quickly.
Sam saw him visibly brace himself before touching the mother's shoulder gently and removing his sunglasses. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but it evidently reached the grieving mother, for she clasped his hand tightly in what looked like her own gesture of comfort.
She knew the Colonel had demons. What they were, she had no idea, but she knew that they haunted him, belying the wry, sarcastic façade he put up. He'd been in Special Forces for a long time, had seen things, done things, that would give anyone nightmares. Yet there seemed to be something ... personal about his current grief.
But he was an intensely private man. He would never bare his soul to her - a junior officer and someone so much younger. Who did he go to for comfort? Did he have parents, a wife, a family? Even after all these weeks serving under him, she didn't know.
Several weeks later:
"Receiving SG-1's IDC!" the technician called. "It's Colonel O'Neill!"
Sam sighed slightly, recalling the look on the Colonel's face when he'd walked out of the hospital with the replica of his dead son. How was he going to be able to handle the second loss of his child?
"No-one should have to outlive their kid." Colonel O'Neill's gruffly spoken words from the day of Tom Matthews' funeral hit Sam anew and she shivered slightly, now understanding the deep grief that had driven him that day.
"Open it up," General Hammond instructed.
The iris retracted and Colonel O'Neill stepped through the event horizon and onto the ramp. His entire posture shouted of weariness, both physical and mental, yet he seemed to have shed some of the deep sorrow.
"Welcome back, Colonel," Hammond said through the mic. "Report to the Infirmary - we'll debrief in two hours."
The Colonel flipped a casual salute in acknowledgment of General Hammond's words then turned and headed out of the embarkation room.
Sam slipped out of the control room and went to the locker room, where she had a feeling the Colonel would have gone. She paused at the door, recalling steam, firm muscles, soft lips, then set her jaw and walked into the locker room. "Colonel," she said lightly.
"Hey, Carter." The man sounded weary but he gave her a small grin.
"Rough day."
"Yeah." He turned and regarded her with a piercing stare. "You can ask me about him, you know."
"Oh." Sam pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth. "I didn't think you'd want anyone ... intruding."
"You're not intruding, Carter; I offered." He shrugged slightly. "I'm just surprised the Space Monkey held out this long - you and he are thick as thieves."
Space Monkey? The Colonel had some weird names for people, but that one took the cake! "Yes, we are, sir," Sam acknowledged. "But you and he were friends first - he respects you more than you know." She cleared her throat, wondering why she felt so uncomfortable around him. Yes, he was good looking, but so were Daniel and Teal'c, and she didn't feel this way around them! "So ... the entity ... was it a good likeness?"
"Damned good," the Colonel said gruffly. "I still don't know how I'm going to explain it to Sara."
Sara? Oh, his wife! "I'm sure we can get her some clearance, sir," Sam offered. "And ... uh ... I'll come with you. If you'd like."
The Colonel didn't smile, but his chocolate eyes warmed up. "I'd appreciate that, Carter," he said. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not the best at expressing myself."
That was true. Jack O'Neill could talk well enough about professional matters - or the Simpsons - but anything personal sent him into a complete tailspin. "You, sir?" Sam said lightly, sensing his need to distance himself. "Why, you're a silver-tongued devil!"
The Colonel's lips twisted into something resembling his familiar smirk. "Brat," he said, looping an arm around her neck and delivering a very gentle noogie.
Sam giggled, twisting free of his loose grasp. "I do my best, sir," she said. "Anyway, you'd better report to the Infirmary - Doctor Fraiser will have the SFs after you."
"Ah yes ... the tiny queen of giant needles." The Colonel gave a sigh then bent his head confidentially to Sam's. "Between you and me, Carter, that woman's far scarier than any snakehead we've come across."
"My lips are sealed, Colonel," Sam said, giggling once more at the thought of rough tough Jack O'Neill being afraid of the diminutive Janet Fraiser.
The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Oy! I shoulda never told you," he grumbled. Then he brushed his lips quickly over Sam's cheek. "Thanks, Carter," he added. "For ..."
"I know," Sam replied, stunned at the sudden caress. "And you're welcome."
The Colonel left the locker room swiftly and Sam's fingers fluttered upward to touch her cheek in an adolescent gesture.
Oh boy, Sam; are you in trouble!