Naquadah Tipped Warheads & Banana Smoothies ~ Over 16s ~ 9 of 11
Details, disclaimers and Part One here
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Part Five here
Part Six here
Part Seven here
Part Eight here
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
August 31st 2007 - Colorado Springs
It was a long but uneventful journey back. I tossed my stuff in the corner of the bedroom, hit the shower and went to bed straight after.
I slept without waking - unusual for me these days - normally I have to use the bathroom at least once during the night.
I was woken by that strange spasm across my stomach. It’s so peculiar; not like anything I’ve experienced before. When I eventually did head towards the bathroom, I noticed something in the dim mirror so went to check it out in the larger, better-lit bedroom closet mirror.
No, I wasn’t mistaken.
An odd dark line has appeared on the bump. It stretches up the middle from my pubic hairline almost to my navel, which is an odd popped-out shape these days.
A line. Right along where Pryce touched me.
I stared at it for a long time.
Daniel once told me about how you sprung him from the SGC after the second Abydos mission. He remembers feeling utterly alone and you hauled him back to your house, fed him pizza and got him drunk on one bottle of Bud. You were his only friend. You talked about Charlie. You said that although you could sometimes make yourself forget about him, you could never forgive yourself.
That’s kinda how I feel.
And this stain on my skin will remind me.
I’ve been branded.
Marked as the whore I am.
C
August 31st 2007 - Colorado Springs
I don’t if I’m going to carry on with this, I really don’t.
C
September 9th 2007 - My house, Colorado Springs - late.
Yeah, I’m back.
I’m turning into a proper Henry Longfellow, aren’t I?
A lot has happened.
I’ll start on the Monday when I returned to work at the SGC.
Carolyn practically pounced on me before I’d got one toe in the door. I was not in the mood for a physical and I told her that in no uncertain terms, but she said that if I didn’t comply, she *would* sign the UFD papers. Bitch. That’s all I need; an Unfit For Duty stamp in my medical records.
But in actual fact, after the exam, I felt better.
My BP and the protein in my pee are under control. I’ve still got to rest more, watch my salt intake, rest more, minimize stress... oh, and rest more. But I’m out of the danger zone indicative of pre-eclampsia. Do you know about that? Very simply, it is a set of symptoms that are exacerbated by high blood pressure and can seriously affect the mother’s health and then the baby’s. We could both die. So not good.
The spasms that I’m feeling off and on are practice contractions called Braxton Hicks and although it’s a little early to feel them so strongly, apparently it’s a good sign. I just need to alert the med center when they start to become regular.
The line on my stomach is called a linea nigra and is the result of pregnancy hormones that increase production of skin pigments, that’s all. So not a brand from David Pryce, it’s something quite common and normal that will fade quickly after delivery. Apparently.
However, I still think of it as a mark of unfaithfulness. When I look at myself in a mirror I see the line and I’m cast straight back into that kitchen.
But I said I wouldn’t dwell.
Daniel and Cameron returned on the Wednesday. They did indeed recover an Alkesh, right where Bricksdale thought it was; in orbit around the moon. The cloaking device is some sort of super-shield which also emits a unique energy signature. My team at Area 51 - correction - someone else’s team at Area 51, are so intrigued by the frequency harmonics, they are convinced it’s something more. A homing beacon? A resonating key to unlock... something? I’ve asked to take a look at all the data and the cannibalized parts, but that may take a while.
And I’m running out of time.
I’ve asked to work right up until the baby is born and to have six months maternity leave afterwards.
It seems a lot, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll busier than I’ve ever been.
If I can’t stay faithful to you, at least I can do that for your child.
Be right back, I need to pee.
****
So Daniel came round on the Thursday after he had rested, told me about the Alkesh and told me more about the worrying emergence of the Ori - they are definitely supplanting the Goa’uld as the enemy of the moment. When I made him coffee he didn’t take his eyes off me and kept asking me what was wrong.
Damn him. He knew something was off and he wouldn’t let it lie.
And I couldn’t *lie*. Not to him; he’s been too good a friend to me and too faithful to you for me to deceive him.
I told him. Every sordid detail.
I fully expected him to purse his lips together in that way he does and just leave, but... he didn’t.
He asked me if I was going to cry and I said no; there would be no more tears - I had cried an apocalyptic deluge over you (and me) and I had done what I had done and it was time to just get on with it.
He was silent for a moment and then…
.. and then..
asked me to marry him.
He offered me an open marriage, secure for the child and me but he stipulated that I would be free to pursue another relationship whenever I wanted.
To say I was astonished was an understatement, so I obviously asked for an explanation. It seems he has thought about me every day since I told him I was pregnant, and he nearly asked me before, the day we visited the special needs school, but the hope that you would be back stopped him. He’s not surprised that someone has shown an interest in me and brushed aside away my protestations of being repulsively whale-like. Apparently, with some remote communities, not only is it a turn on, it’s actually a requirement to be so well and truly stuffed *before* marriage. A sort-of ‘Hey, look at me, look how fertile I am’ statement. Not so remote it seems, if Pryce is anything to go by. Above all, Daniel just wants us to be safe.
I asked him outright: “Would you have sex with me?”
I’ll admit he did blink a *lot* before he squeaked out: “What... now?”
I smiled. For such an intelligent man, he can be incredibly naïve. “No, I mean, being in a marriage *with* sex.”
I thought he was going to fall off the sofa! “A marriage *with* sex?” he said, “Isn’t that kinda unusual?”
My *look* sobered him and he thought for a moment. “Well, I hadn’t… if you wanted it, yes. But that’s not a condition. I’d never ever force it, Sam.”
He’s amazing. “You’d do that for me? You’d give up the chance of finding happiness for yourself?”
He was resolute. “For you and the baby, and for Jack.”
What could I say? Life as the wife of Daniel Jackson would never be dull, we’re very similar in many ways, we’ve always understood each other (unlike you and I), I know he would make an excellent father and I do love him…. but not in the way he merits. He deserves the chance to find love, for *himself*.
I told him that. And that the answer was no, but I will never ever forget what he just offered.
The goodbye hug was one of the tenderest I’ve ever had the fortune to experience. He held me close (difficult these days) and told me in no uncertain terms that I should *not* feel guilty over a relative stranger taking advantage of my hormone-crazed physiology - it was Pryce at fault, not me.
And if he ever met this guy he would stick a staff weapon so far up his... well, you get the idea.
It didn’t help diminish my remorse, however, but like I said, I’ll have to live with it.
I need to pee again (sorry).
****
The very next morning, the US Mail brought me a timely reminder.
A letter, expensive paper, the address handwritten.
It was from *him* and I don’t mean Daniel.
I’ve scanned it in as text because after I’d done that, I shredded the hard copy..
Dear Samantha,
If you’re reading this I guess I’m relieved that you haven’t tossed it in the trash, which is probably where I belong. I’m sure you think that and I would honestly agree with you.
This letter is by way of a profuse and heartfelt apology for my despicable behavior towards you at Frank and Wendy Mitchell’s home. Although I cannot apologize for the fact that I was strongly attracted to you, I am horrified that I made sexual advances when you had made it clear several times that you were not available.
Since you left, I have been thinking constantly about what I did, disgusted that I took advantage of a vulnerable pregnant woman. However, I am not writing to alleviate my guilty conscience, that’s for me to swallow.
If you want to toss this now, that’s fine by me; I’d understand.
However, if you read on, I hope that you might understand that it was not you that made this mistake, it was all my fault.
During my third year at Harvard Law School, I met a girl, a history student in her final year. Sam, I loved her so much. All I wanted to do then was get my law degree, maybe move back close to my mom and start up a regular small town America law practice, get hitched and have a couple of kids. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I was over the moon! We moved into a little apartment above a Chinese food store and I took a night shift job there to pay the rent while continuing my studies. It was incredibly hard work, but life was so sweet with Hillary.
Or so I thought.
When she told me she was pregnant, my joy was complete; I arranged to drop out of college and take a clerical job to support my wife and expected child. I came home the day I sent in the withdrawal paperwork and found her sitting next to two boxes full of her stuff.
She was leaving, she said.
Daddy was waiting for her outside, she said.
What about the baby, I said
There’s no more baby, she said.
Sam, she killed our child. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pro-choice if the situation is right but she didn’t even consult me about an abortion. There’s something else that you don’t know about me - I’m adopted. My mom tried to help me find my birth parents after my dad died but I found out that my birth mom was already dead and my birth dad unknown. Basically, my wife had killed the only other person that would have been genetically related to me. I still don’t know why she did it.
I got served with divorce papers just three days later, so it was obvious that it was all planned. I went back to my college tutors, retracted my withdrawal forms, and nearly killed myself studying to graduate suma cum laude. One of the first cases I researched as an associate was a lawsuit brought against the construction company that Hillary’s father owned. I ensured I helped to destroy his business, to destroy him and his daughter. And they never knew it was me.
I’ve never been able to trust any other woman, because I knew what they were capable of and what I was capable of doing to them in return. Whenever anyone gets close, I always feel I have to test them to destruction.
You are the first woman to pass that test, and you didn’t bottle out of the baby situation. You can imagine how I feel about that.
Sam, you have my utmost respect and admiration for your loyalty and resolution.
Jack is one lucky man.
Enclosed with this letter is my business card. On the back are two numbers. One is my private office line and the other is my cell phone. If you ever, ever need a good lawyer (and I’m good) please don’t hesitate to call me. Any time, day or night. Pro bono, because I owe you for opening my eyes to the fact that there are still some faithful people left in the world.
I humbly beg your forgiveness, and I ensure you of my best attention if you ever require it,
David Pryce.
I haven’t replied yet. I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself, but I understand him a bit more.
And I kept the business card.
Carter
Part Two here
Part Three here
Part Four here
Part Five here
Part Six here
Part Seven here
Part Eight here
Dowload the mp3 podcast for this chapter by clicking (right click to save) here
August 31st 2007 - Colorado Springs
It was a long but uneventful journey back. I tossed my stuff in the corner of the bedroom, hit the shower and went to bed straight after.
I slept without waking - unusual for me these days - normally I have to use the bathroom at least once during the night.
I was woken by that strange spasm across my stomach. It’s so peculiar; not like anything I’ve experienced before. When I eventually did head towards the bathroom, I noticed something in the dim mirror so went to check it out in the larger, better-lit bedroom closet mirror.
No, I wasn’t mistaken.
An odd dark line has appeared on the bump. It stretches up the middle from my pubic hairline almost to my navel, which is an odd popped-out shape these days.
A line. Right along where Pryce touched me.
I stared at it for a long time.
Daniel once told me about how you sprung him from the SGC after the second Abydos mission. He remembers feeling utterly alone and you hauled him back to your house, fed him pizza and got him drunk on one bottle of Bud. You were his only friend. You talked about Charlie. You said that although you could sometimes make yourself forget about him, you could never forgive yourself.
That’s kinda how I feel.
And this stain on my skin will remind me.
I’ve been branded.
Marked as the whore I am.
C
August 31st 2007 - Colorado Springs
I don’t if I’m going to carry on with this, I really don’t.
C
September 9th 2007 - My house, Colorado Springs - late.
Yeah, I’m back.
I’m turning into a proper Henry Longfellow, aren’t I?
A lot has happened.
I’ll start on the Monday when I returned to work at the SGC.
Carolyn practically pounced on me before I’d got one toe in the door. I was not in the mood for a physical and I told her that in no uncertain terms, but she said that if I didn’t comply, she *would* sign the UFD papers. Bitch. That’s all I need; an Unfit For Duty stamp in my medical records.
But in actual fact, after the exam, I felt better.
My BP and the protein in my pee are under control. I’ve still got to rest more, watch my salt intake, rest more, minimize stress... oh, and rest more. But I’m out of the danger zone indicative of pre-eclampsia. Do you know about that? Very simply, it is a set of symptoms that are exacerbated by high blood pressure and can seriously affect the mother’s health and then the baby’s. We could both die. So not good.
The spasms that I’m feeling off and on are practice contractions called Braxton Hicks and although it’s a little early to feel them so strongly, apparently it’s a good sign. I just need to alert the med center when they start to become regular.
The line on my stomach is called a linea nigra and is the result of pregnancy hormones that increase production of skin pigments, that’s all. So not a brand from David Pryce, it’s something quite common and normal that will fade quickly after delivery. Apparently.
However, I still think of it as a mark of unfaithfulness. When I look at myself in a mirror I see the line and I’m cast straight back into that kitchen.
But I said I wouldn’t dwell.
Daniel and Cameron returned on the Wednesday. They did indeed recover an Alkesh, right where Bricksdale thought it was; in orbit around the moon. The cloaking device is some sort of super-shield which also emits a unique energy signature. My team at Area 51 - correction - someone else’s team at Area 51, are so intrigued by the frequency harmonics, they are convinced it’s something more. A homing beacon? A resonating key to unlock... something? I’ve asked to take a look at all the data and the cannibalized parts, but that may take a while.
And I’m running out of time.
I’ve asked to work right up until the baby is born and to have six months maternity leave afterwards.
It seems a lot, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll busier than I’ve ever been.
If I can’t stay faithful to you, at least I can do that for your child.
Be right back, I need to pee.
****
So Daniel came round on the Thursday after he had rested, told me about the Alkesh and told me more about the worrying emergence of the Ori - they are definitely supplanting the Goa’uld as the enemy of the moment. When I made him coffee he didn’t take his eyes off me and kept asking me what was wrong.
Damn him. He knew something was off and he wouldn’t let it lie.
And I couldn’t *lie*. Not to him; he’s been too good a friend to me and too faithful to you for me to deceive him.
I told him. Every sordid detail.
I fully expected him to purse his lips together in that way he does and just leave, but... he didn’t.
He asked me if I was going to cry and I said no; there would be no more tears - I had cried an apocalyptic deluge over you (and me) and I had done what I had done and it was time to just get on with it.
He was silent for a moment and then…
.. and then..
asked me to marry him.
He offered me an open marriage, secure for the child and me but he stipulated that I would be free to pursue another relationship whenever I wanted.
To say I was astonished was an understatement, so I obviously asked for an explanation. It seems he has thought about me every day since I told him I was pregnant, and he nearly asked me before, the day we visited the special needs school, but the hope that you would be back stopped him. He’s not surprised that someone has shown an interest in me and brushed aside away my protestations of being repulsively whale-like. Apparently, with some remote communities, not only is it a turn on, it’s actually a requirement to be so well and truly stuffed *before* marriage. A sort-of ‘Hey, look at me, look how fertile I am’ statement. Not so remote it seems, if Pryce is anything to go by. Above all, Daniel just wants us to be safe.
I asked him outright: “Would you have sex with me?”
I’ll admit he did blink a *lot* before he squeaked out: “What... now?”
I smiled. For such an intelligent man, he can be incredibly naïve. “No, I mean, being in a marriage *with* sex.”
I thought he was going to fall off the sofa! “A marriage *with* sex?” he said, “Isn’t that kinda unusual?”
My *look* sobered him and he thought for a moment. “Well, I hadn’t… if you wanted it, yes. But that’s not a condition. I’d never ever force it, Sam.”
He’s amazing. “You’d do that for me? You’d give up the chance of finding happiness for yourself?”
He was resolute. “For you and the baby, and for Jack.”
What could I say? Life as the wife of Daniel Jackson would never be dull, we’re very similar in many ways, we’ve always understood each other (unlike you and I), I know he would make an excellent father and I do love him…. but not in the way he merits. He deserves the chance to find love, for *himself*.
I told him that. And that the answer was no, but I will never ever forget what he just offered.
The goodbye hug was one of the tenderest I’ve ever had the fortune to experience. He held me close (difficult these days) and told me in no uncertain terms that I should *not* feel guilty over a relative stranger taking advantage of my hormone-crazed physiology - it was Pryce at fault, not me.
And if he ever met this guy he would stick a staff weapon so far up his... well, you get the idea.
It didn’t help diminish my remorse, however, but like I said, I’ll have to live with it.
I need to pee again (sorry).
****
The very next morning, the US Mail brought me a timely reminder.
A letter, expensive paper, the address handwritten.
It was from *him* and I don’t mean Daniel.
I’ve scanned it in as text because after I’d done that, I shredded the hard copy..
Dear Samantha,
If you’re reading this I guess I’m relieved that you haven’t tossed it in the trash, which is probably where I belong. I’m sure you think that and I would honestly agree with you.
This letter is by way of a profuse and heartfelt apology for my despicable behavior towards you at Frank and Wendy Mitchell’s home. Although I cannot apologize for the fact that I was strongly attracted to you, I am horrified that I made sexual advances when you had made it clear several times that you were not available.
Since you left, I have been thinking constantly about what I did, disgusted that I took advantage of a vulnerable pregnant woman. However, I am not writing to alleviate my guilty conscience, that’s for me to swallow.
If you want to toss this now, that’s fine by me; I’d understand.
However, if you read on, I hope that you might understand that it was not you that made this mistake, it was all my fault.
During my third year at Harvard Law School, I met a girl, a history student in her final year. Sam, I loved her so much. All I wanted to do then was get my law degree, maybe move back close to my mom and start up a regular small town America law practice, get hitched and have a couple of kids. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. I was over the moon! We moved into a little apartment above a Chinese food store and I took a night shift job there to pay the rent while continuing my studies. It was incredibly hard work, but life was so sweet with Hillary.
Or so I thought.
When she told me she was pregnant, my joy was complete; I arranged to drop out of college and take a clerical job to support my wife and expected child. I came home the day I sent in the withdrawal paperwork and found her sitting next to two boxes full of her stuff.
She was leaving, she said.
Daddy was waiting for her outside, she said.
What about the baby, I said
There’s no more baby, she said.
Sam, she killed our child. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pro-choice if the situation is right but she didn’t even consult me about an abortion. There’s something else that you don’t know about me - I’m adopted. My mom tried to help me find my birth parents after my dad died but I found out that my birth mom was already dead and my birth dad unknown. Basically, my wife had killed the only other person that would have been genetically related to me. I still don’t know why she did it.
I got served with divorce papers just three days later, so it was obvious that it was all planned. I went back to my college tutors, retracted my withdrawal forms, and nearly killed myself studying to graduate suma cum laude. One of the first cases I researched as an associate was a lawsuit brought against the construction company that Hillary’s father owned. I ensured I helped to destroy his business, to destroy him and his daughter. And they never knew it was me.
I’ve never been able to trust any other woman, because I knew what they were capable of and what I was capable of doing to them in return. Whenever anyone gets close, I always feel I have to test them to destruction.
You are the first woman to pass that test, and you didn’t bottle out of the baby situation. You can imagine how I feel about that.
Sam, you have my utmost respect and admiration for your loyalty and resolution.
Jack is one lucky man.
Enclosed with this letter is my business card. On the back are two numbers. One is my private office line and the other is my cell phone. If you ever, ever need a good lawyer (and I’m good) please don’t hesitate to call me. Any time, day or night. Pro bono, because I owe you for opening my eyes to the fact that there are still some faithful people left in the world.
I humbly beg your forgiveness, and I ensure you of my best attention if you ever require it,
David Pryce.
I haven’t replied yet. I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself, but I understand him a bit more.
And I kept the business card.
Carter