Defining Sam from A to Z: Happy Birthday, Abyssis!
For abyssinia4077, with affection, from all of us: Aelfgyfu, Annie, Beanpot, Courser, Eve11, Fig Newton, Gillian, Holdouttrout, Jenn, Julie, Kalquessa, Pepper, Random, Redbyrd, Rigel, Supplyship, Stargazercmc, Traycer, Uniquinum, and Zats_clear. 
(Extra thanks to Pepper, who encouraged me to make this happen, and to Aurora, who helped with keywords.)
You turn 26 today, Abyssis, and we know how much you adore Sam Carter. So we've all cobbled together to give you this collective birthday present of 26 ficlets: Defining Sam from A to Z. Consider it a love letter to you, about Sam, from all your LJ friends who are glad to have you as part of our lives. :)
Each ficlet was supposed to be between 100-200 words, but we're not all as good with numbers as Sam! These range from G to PG-13. Mostly gen, with a very light sprinkling of canon ship here and there. Spoilers range thoughout the series, including the first episode of S10 and casting spoilers for SGA S4.
Enjoy, sweetie. And thanks for making our corner of SG-1 fandom into a happier place.
ETA: I have included links, labeled "comment here," which will lead to the archived version of these ficlets on the authors' individual LJs. I will continue to update this post with these links as soon as I get them.
ETA2: This birthday gift has inspired an entire series: the Alphabet Soup anthologies.
A is for Answers
by beanpot
It took Sam a long time to be comfortable with the fact that not all questions had concrete answers. For so long, she had been wrapped in the world of science and military precision - a world where answers, while not always simple, were always solid. Even if she hated the answer and disagreed with it, it tended to be finite.
Then she joined SG-1 and was tossed into a whirlwind where the answers were extrapolations and essays. How does one acclimate the former First Prime of a crazy man into your team? What is your responsibility when naïve hubris results in the utter decimation of a planet?
She was still great at finding the answer and trusting her judgment, but the answers were reflective of her own soul and not a sterile environment. Late at night, she would sit at her desk with a hand wrapped around tea and discuss with Daniel the what ifs, the why nots, and the what abouts. There was happiness in sharing the search for answers.
B is for Boys
by kalquessa
Sam can't help it. It's completely inaccurate--and in Colonel O'Neill's case, inappropriate--but she sometimes thinks of them as her boys.
The thought mostly strikes her when she's in the infirmary. That's when they seem the most hers: when one of them is coming in every few hours to check on her, keep her company for a little while (Teal'c), eat her Jell-O (the Colonel), or sneak in test result print-outs when Janet has put a moratorium on work (Daniel). At one time, she would have bridled at the idea that anyone felt she needed looking-after. Now, it just makes her feel warm: her boys, taking care of her.
Except they're not hers, and they're not boys. Somehow, that doesn't keep her from thinking of them that way from time to time.
She doesn't even try to justify it to herself. She knows she can't. Teal'c is over a hundred years old. The Colonel, occasional tantrums notwithstanding, has more gray than brown in his hair these days. And she's pretty sure that the term "boy" cannot be applied to a person who has loved and lost enough for any three people and then ascended to a higher plane of existence. And none of them belong to her in any conventional sense.
So when she wakes from Fifth's illusion, exhausted and hurt in so many more ways than she'd thought possible, and finds herself lying on the ground and the three of them (she'll have to ask how they got Colonel O'Neill out of stasis later) leaning over each other to look at her, ask if she's all right, there's absolutely no good reason for her to think "Oh good, my boys are here." She takes comfort in the thought, anyway.
Comment here.
C is for "Carter Special"
by supplyship
The guys in ballistics were always cooking up something new to try against the Jaffa and goa'uld, whether it was offensive, like plasma weapons, or defensive, like improved vest inserts. And surprising to exactly no one at the SGC, Major Carter was their most willing guinea pig.
She'd been using the P-90 for a couple of years, and it was great in the close-quarters hallways of a goa'uld mothership. But lately they'd seen a lot planetary action - wide open spaces with enemies coming at you from multiple sides. Sometimes a girl just needed a weapon with enough firepower to keep the enemy's head down. A larger capacity mag and ammo with greater penetration capability wouldn't hurt either. Jaffa armor was tough.
Colonel O'Neill was hanging out in her lab when the call came: "Major Carter, we've got something I think you're going to like," Doctor Rouske said. Sam could hear the pride and anticipation in the other woman's voice, so she promised to come up to the firing range, ASAP. Of course, as soon as the Colonel heard "firing range," he sat up straight with attention.
"What's up?" he asked, and she had to bite her lip to hide her grin. He was like a kid on Christmas morning whenever the prospect of blowing stuff up presented itself. When she told him that Ballistics was working on something for her, he was on his feet and leading the way to the range.
Dr. Rouske met them topside, at the outdoor range, and promptly handed them safety goggles and hearing protection before leading them down to the rest of her team. She picked up what looked like a highly-modified M4 assault carbine, but Sam wasn't sure. She glanced at the Colonel, and saw his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That looks...different," he said, turning to her with a grin. "And totally awesome!"
Rouske handed her the rifle and started running down the stats. "As you can see, we modified the M4 with a full-stock, rail integrated system, short barrel, and C-mag 100-round dual drum magazine. It has the Elcan red-dot optics package, tactical foregrip, improved flash suppressor, and a shortened quick-detachable M203 grenade launcher. Fully-automatic, 200 meters effective range, 800 rounds per minute." The scientist finally took a breath, and then grinned up at Sam. "Ready to try it out?"
Sam inspected the rifle - unloading and loading the mag clip, checking the sights, and getting a feel for the grips - before donning her safety gear, clearing the range, and stepping up to the targets: three jaffa-shapped bodies about 150 meters out. She emptied two clips, tried the grenade launcher ("fire in the hole!"), and turned the "jaffa" into shreds.
As she stepped back and laid the rifle back on the table, the Colonel came over and bumped her shoulder with his. "Lookin' good, Carter," he said with a smirk and a distinct note of pride in his voice.
Sam smiled a little dazedly at him, looked back down the rifle, and then raised her eyes to find the Ballistics team all staring at her expectantly. "I love it," she told them, letting them hear the wonder in her voice.
Doctor Rouske was positively beaming. "We call it 'The Carter Special'."
D is for Dakara
Dakara and Everything After, by aelfgyfu_mead
Sam settled on the sofa to watch her niece and nephew playing Frisbee the day after the funeral.
"Kids are resilient," her brother said from the doorway, a little defensively. "Of course, it's not as if they knew their grandfather that well...."
Mark trailed off at Sam's warning look and shrugged. "I suppose I should just be glad he ever came back at all." Mark didn't even know their father had nearly died of cancer years earlier, they'd been so estranged by then.
"I'm glad," Sam said, not sure she wanted to admit that if her father hadn't reconciled with Mark, she wouldn't be here now.
Mark seemed to know anyway. "Thanks for staying with us. It means a lot to the kids. They love their cool auntie."
Sam laughed. "Cool! Did you ever think I'd be cool?"
"After you started flying jets? Oh, yeah. Knew you'd be the crazy aunt who rides up on her motorcycle, who makes the parents look boring-- and mean, for not letting them ride the motorcycle."
Leaning against the door frame, Mark crossed his arms. "You're great with the kids, you know."
"Thanks!" Sam said with forced cheer, knowing where this was going. "But it's a lot easier to just swoop in and then zoom back out before they get tired of me."
Mark nodded. "You don't...do you ever...."
Sam turned to look at him steadily while she took another sip of coffee.
Mark sputtered some more before reaching the point: "Don't you feel your biological clock ticking?"
The question wasn't a surprise, but the wording was ludicrous. She laughed so hard she nearly sloshed coffee out of her mug. "Don't you feel that's a little clichéd?"
His arms came apart into a shrug before he sank his hands into his pockets. "I really thought you and Pete...."
"And I thought so too," Sam said, yet again. "But it just...I'm sorry, Mark. He was a great guy, and...but I couldn't give him what he wanted."
"So you selflessly--" He cut himself off with a sudden shake of the head. "Sorry. I--"
"He couldn't give me what I wanted. Or needed. Not his fault. Maybe mine," Sam shrugged. "But...it turns out I don't really want a nice big house." With a sunny kitchen, she thought with only the smallest twinge, looking to the bit of open kitchen that she could see beyond Mark's dining room.
"Before Dad died, he asked me if I had what I wanted. And I said yes." She hesitated, but her brother was hurting too. He tried to hide his resentment, but he didn't understand why she had been with Dad when he hadn't even known Dad was sick. So she told the truth. "I said it so that he'd feel better, so that...so that disappointment wasn't the last thing I ever gave him."
Mark remained still, listening.
"But then I realized it's true. I love my job! I love my team! And you wouldn't believe...." she smiled and shook her head. She did hope she could tell him some day. She wanted her nieces to know and be proud.
She also wanted to see the look on Mark's face when he learned what "deep space radar telemetry" had really covered. That wasn't nice of her, but she didn't care.
Mark nodded again slowly. "You always did see something in science that I don't get. I wouldn't think studying the stars would be exciting."
"But it is." Her grin was genuine, and enough to spark a small one in him.
"No regrets, then?" he asked.
Sam thought of the extra years they'd been lucky enough to get with her father. Even with all the friends she'd lost, even with Daniel dying yet again, she had him back, and Teal'c, and the General. She'd seen Earth from a Glider and come home on the shuttle. She'd flown alien spacecraft. She'd been to other galaxies. She'd blown up a sun. She'd traveled in time. She'd met forms of life most people never even imagined. She'd saved the Earth several times--keeping Mark, his wife, and her nieces alive, even if they never knew it. And that, as Jack O'Neill would say, never got old.
"A few," she said honestly. "There's some things I wish I could have done differently." Kept Janet alive--and Dad. "But on the whole? No. I wouldn't trade what I have for anything."
E is for Entropic Cascade Failure
by eve11
It was unexplainable. The more Sam thought about it, spending quality time with her alternate self, the harder it was to ignore. It was more than just the longer hair, or the non-military career choice or the . . . well, frankly non-sensical marital choice . . . that set them apart. Physically, at the basic level of atoms and molecules, they were not the same person.
The sheer volume of random coincidences needed to preserve enough equivalent molecules to explain entropic cascade failure of the alternate's body in the presence of Sam's was patently, statistically and scientifically ridiculous. The human body was a matter-energy machine, constantly changing. They would have had to have lived in exactly the same places, eaten exactly the same food, with a similar enough metabolic rate and schedule over the course of a lifetime to keep the same molecules as they grew.
And yet, flying in the face of these staggering odds, her double still convulsed, her body tearing itself apart for no good reason other than that she was Sam Carter, and in this universe that role was already taken. If she thought too hard about it, Sam was sure that the notion would go past intriguing and straight to terrifying. She took solace in science, not souls.
Some people had God, some had Buddha, karma or the collective unconsciousness. Sam had Carl Sagan, and a revelation of five words.
"We are made of star-stuff."
She remembered staring up at pinprick flickers in the sky as a teenager, wondering which one her molecules had come from, and where they would go after she died. To this day she had no idea what the pastor had said at her mother's funeral. She didn't ask Samantha what she remembered in her timeline; after all, they did have a universe to save.
Comment here.
F is for Fifth
by surreallis
She thinks a lot about the day of his birth. The decision she made, the order she followed, all of the steps to his creation. And she wonders if it could have been different. If she'd saved him instead of casting him out of paradise, would he still be what he is? After everything he's done to them--to her--she still doesn't believe he's inherently evil.
[She wonders if the colonel regrets his own part in the matter. If the fallout she endured is worth it to him. It's something they should talk about, but they never will. He had a right to give the order, it was his command, and she has no doubt that he still thinks it was the right decision. Their friendship though, so recently shaken by the loss of Daniel, suffered a mar to its smooth surface, and they would never be guileless again.]
Man created the Replicators to serve. The Replicators ate the forbidden fruit and became aware, and now they seek to cast Man from his palace of steel. She built him and now he follows in her wake, bent on deconstruction. She failed him as a goddess and now he'll rebuild her in his own image. But even at the end of time, angry and transformed, he only wants her unconditional love, entrance into heaven. She cannot love him, but she can offer him a quick dissolution. He just comes apart.
[God loves, man kills.]
All men want to be gods eventually.
He's more human than she thought.
Comment here.
G is for Gate
by sg_fignewton
It confounds everything she's ever thought she knew and understood about quantum physics. It coaxes her into contradictions and impossibilities, forcing her to reject the absolutes of mathematics and accept irrationality as a basic foundation. It dances along time and space, both a wave and a particle, laughing at her specialized knowledge and mocking the cool logic of numbers.
And she loves it. Because it also introduces her to wonders, both beautiful and terrible, that she never dreamed existed. It challenges her to think outside the box, and then discard the box entirely and build a brand new one. It teaches her to step sideways in space-time through blue-shifted light into infinite potential, to abandon the stolidity of human thought and open her mind to a galaxy of questions and theories and sometimes, even answers.
She knows that she's paid the price: in grief, and pain, and mental scars; in love, and loss, and a deeper, starker glimpse at the depths of her own psyche than anyone would ever want to see. But it's a price she's paid willingly, and she'll continue to pay, as long as that siren song beckons her to step into wonder and enchantment.
It's ten years, now, that she's been walking through the Gate.
And no matter how blasé she might appear on the outside, no matter how casual her routine habits seem, Sam knows that it will never, ever get old.
Comment here.
H is for Hand-to-hand
by kalquessa
Sam is guessing that the natives of P2J-494 need her alive if they want to sacrifice her to their sun god. At least, that's what she's hoping when she makes her escape attempt, and her captors' efforts to contain her seem to bear the theory out: four of them throw their spears aside in favor of simply grappling with her and even the ones who hold on to their weapons only brandish the blunt ends at her. So that levels the playing field, somewhat. True, there are seven of them and only one of her, but they are not wearing steel-toed boots, nor are any of them (barring a serious departure from standard human physiology) suffering from an apocalyptic case of PMS.
The man directly to her right goes down with a broken nose, the one to her right falls and hits his head pretty soundly when she kicks him in the kneecap. They've already relieved her of her P-90, zat, and knife, but one member of the party is obliging enough to try swinging the butt end of his spear at her head. She ducks, catches the spear shaft, and channels its momentum back up and around into the face of another man. The spear's owner has enough presence of mind not to let go of it entirely, but Sam still manages to use her end of it to redirect the thrust of another spear-end into someone else's solar plexus instead of her own.
Someone grabs her right wrist with both hands, and it's such a textbook set-up that she gives a small, involuntary laugh before flipping him onto his back, never letting go of her end of the spear. The next attack comes from behind her, a spear shaft across her throat, pulling her back into someone's chest. She doesn't bother releasing the spear-end to reach behind her, just turns her head and bites down as hard as she can on the first thing that feels like flesh while stamping her boot down where she thinks a foot should be. She tastes blood and the pressure against her throat drops away. She hears her attacker hit the ground behind her and turns to face the last man left standing, still holding one end of his spear.
They stand there for a very long moment, the spear's length between them, and he blinks. Sam grins at him, tasting salt and iron on her teeth. Her opponent seems to decide that discretion is the better part of valor. At any rate, he drops his end of the spear and runs in the direction of the village where the rest of the team is probably still tied to a post. Watching him make good his retreat, Sam is struck by the most absurd urge to burst into tears, and she decides that there should really be a regulation against going off-world while hormonal.
She heads for the Gate to call for back-up, but just as she comes in sight of it, she hears the Colonel's voice behind her.
"Carter!"
She turns to find him jogging up to her, Daniel and Teal'c right behind him. "Sir?" She makes it a question, since they're free and armed, but do not appear to have fought their way out.
Daniel draws up at the sight of her and says "God, Sam, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Colonel O'Neill gestures to the corner of his mouth and then at her. "Any of that blood yours?"
"What?" Sam scrubs at her mouth with a sleeve and it comes away wet with blood. "Oh." No wonder that last guy ran when she smiled at him. "No, sir, I don't think so."
"It would seem that we owe our release to your efforts, Major Carter." Teal'c gives her the slight nod and slighter smile that always make her feel like a third-grader who's just been given a gold star.
"One of your honor guard came running back into the village shouting that they had angered one of the ancient spirits of battle." Daniel grins at her. "He ordered that we should be released at once before the spirit returned to free her...um...well, I think 'consorts' would be the closest--"
"Glad you're okay!" says the Colonel, a little more loudly than necessary.
Comment here.
I is for I
Sam in the I, by zats_clear
Jonas Hanson. Who the hell thought he would be useful to the Stargate Program? After all the time I've put into this program, after everything that SOB put me through, and now I have to work with him?? Thank God, he can't be on my team. At least Colonel O'Neill put him straight on why I was on SG-1. Thank you, Colonel, for that little saving grace. Saving face, more like it. How could Jonas even think...
I am an intelligent, interesting woman. I am a good communicator, no, an excellent conversationalist. An asset to the team. I do not have to dumb down to get a date, dye my hair blonde, or put out after dinner and a movie. Ok, well, maybe I'm stretching it a little on the blonde thing, but you get my point. Darn it, now I'm talking to myself! This is what I get for stopping outside office doors. I should have just walked right in there...
and what? Looked like the jilted bride? I gave him back the ring. I did.
He cannot undermine me here. This is my house.
Damn. Five minutes until the guys get the showers. Better move.
Comment here.
J is for Jacob
by stargazercmc
Before now, Sam has divided her adult life neatly into two time frames: Life Before Dad Was Joined, and Life After Dad Was Joined. Life Before Dad Was Joined was a time of massive personal growth for Sam. She went to college. She got her degrees and joined the military. She became a pilot. She went to war. She got engaged. She had the strength to step away from a bad relationship before it got worse.
She did it without Dad's help.
Life After Dad Was Joined was a renaissance of the importance of family. Sam had grown used to being lonely, but she never realized just how unnatural the feeling was until she and her father rebuilt their relationship. Even his cancer diagnosis couldn't do what bringing Selmak into his life had done for them. They closed the gap between them, and somewhere in there, they stumbled their way back to Mark as well.
They did it together.
She sits on the end of Jack's dock with the stars blinking down at her and knows she has to find room for a third era: Life After Dad. She wonders what will define it. She wonders if it will be as lonely as Life Before Dad Was Joined. Somehow, she doesn't think so. If there's one thing that Life After Dad Was Joined did for her, it was to make her realize how different things could be.
She looks back towards the cabin where Jack, Teal'c and Daniel are laughing, deck of cards flipped all over the table. She sends a silent prayer of thanks to her father and heads inside. As she requests Teal'c deal her in for this hand, she knows she'll never be alone.
Comment here.
K is for Kelowna
by eve11
Even with security blocking their path, Sam saw the med-tech instruct Daniel in bandaging his own hand before ushering him away. After that, while the Kelownans postured, the Colonel impugned and Teal'c loomed, Sam sat on a hard chair outside a haphazard office, notebook on her knees, and did the math.
For a moment her world was a magnification of constituent pieces-- the paper bright white, blue lines washed out in the glare, black ink scrawled in trembling, hasty script. But the number reasserted itself, and numbers didn't lie.
Oh, Daniel, she thought briefly. Then she caught Tomis' gaze lingering on her before sliding away as he argued across the table with the Colonel, and a white-hot fury took hold inside her.
He knew. He knew, he was counting on the fact that they didn't, and by God, Daniel deserved better than that.
In two steps she was across the room, cauterizing the conversation with the slap of notebook hitting table. She saw the flash of hope sour in the Colonel's eyes as he read her face.
"Compassionate grounds," she said, unleashing the mute rage of that calculation on the Kelownan. "Or do I have to explain this to you?"
Comment here.
L is for Lonely
by annienau08
Looking back on her ten years with SG-1, Sam estimated that she had spent almost eighteen months of that time in the infirmary recovering from alien viruses, Tok'ra symbiotes, Kull warriors, Ori soldiers, or the occasional downloading of her consciousness into the computer mainframe. Not to mention the more mundane colds, flus and other Earth-based illnesses. But whatever the reason she was there, the one constant in those ten years was that never once had she woken up alone.
Whether slowly drifting in and out of consciousness or bolting upright in terror, there had always been a voice (Jack), a hand (Daniel), or simply a silent presence (Teal'c) to greet and soothe and reassure her that she was alive and safe; that she was home. And once awake she would smile through the pain, fight the urge to fall back asleep so she could listen to promises of cake (Jack), an intriguing new piece of technology (Daniel), or a marathon viewing of Star Wars (Teal'c) as soon as she was released from the clutches of Dr. Fraiser/Warner/Brightman/Lam.
But now when she wakes, groggy and in pain, she hears only unfamiliar voices. She flinches away from strange hands on her leg. She registers the emptiness in a room crowded with the bright, friendly, well-meaning people she has led for the better part of a year.
And when they are finally done and she is lying alone in an unfamiliar bed in a room that is too bright and too quiet and too alien, she keeps her eyes tightly closed and longs for home.
Comment here.
M is for Martouf
by rigel_7
For a moment it was like looking at an anaglyph image; two versions of the same man overlaid and mingled into one. But she could discern their edges, could see the trick being played on her eyes was of her own devising. She had to remind herself that they weren't the same, that he wasn't truly Martouf miraculously resurrected, but another person entirely.
He met her gaze, but his expression was oddly opaque and closed. She couldn't read anything into his reaction at all and that was discomfiting and oddly awash with a feeling that could only be described as bitter.
It was still there, buried under the mingled layers of Jolinar and self; the fleeting impressions of desire and the tangled web of emotion she felt for him. The sense memory of her skin was still twinned with both the weight of his body lowered to her own, and the warmth of his blood on her palms.
She was aware of them; the naquadah tingling through her veins, the impression unsought yet familiar. Lantash lay quiescent within, as silent as his companion. She wondered about their shared thoughts, wondered if they were as shaken to encounter a Samantha that hadn't left them, but had killed them instead.
There would be no absolution here.
Comment here.
N is for Naquadah
by stargazercrmc
She associates naquadah with Jolinar. Always with Jolinar.
She feels twinges of it in her system less often these days, and she wonders if this means her radar will work itself out of her system entirely. The last time she felt that pull was in McKay's lab when he was cataloging shipments of Goa'uld biochemicals for examination as potential weapons against the Wraith.
That tug stays with her long into the night as she lets the breeze outside on her office balcony dampen her skin. She isn't sure if it's an actual reaction or just the memory of one, but she closes her eyes and sees visions of sunsets, Martouf, war, hell. The hum of naquadah tremors low in her stomach, an unsteady rumble that she knows will fade eventually. But for now, she embraces the feeling and spends the evening recalling things that never happened.
Comment here.
O is for Odyssey
by redbyrd_sgfic, excerpted from the longer story
Sam kept a sharp eye on the debris field, though most of the fragments of the Korolev had long since passed her by following the Russian ship's explosive death throes. There was no sign of any motion amongst the drifting pieces of shattered machinery. Periodically, she'd scan all of the starfield in her arc of vision, looking for the telltale occlusions that would signal something moving, something close. Odyssey hadn't been destroyed, the last she'd seen. But she'd lost track of them in the fury of the battle. And if they had survived- where were they?
The battery indicator showed half-power, so she wasn't in danger of losing the radio yet, but who knew how long it would be before any rescue could arrive? She would continue to broadcast at intervals, she decided, until the battery was down to one-eighth power. Then she'd have to conserve power until she actually saw something moving. She knew there would be a rescue attempt though. Teal'c had left the Odyssey on a mission of his own, but he'd be back.
It was time to broadcast again. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Carter, come in please? Can anyone hear me? Please respond." She kept the quiver out of her voice and tried not to look at the red numbers ticking over on the clock inside the helmet. Over four hours. Surely if anyone had survived she would have heard by now? "If anyone can hear me, this is Lieutenant Colonel Carter. Please respond." She went over her options. To dial the supergate, she'd need to shut down the incoming wormhole. That had been a conundrum even with the resources of Odyssey - with just her, a few tools and her spacesuit, she was at a loss for ideas. Truly, her only chance lay in rescue. Where was Odyssey? She was in deep trouble if they took ten hours to get here, let alone ten years.
Read the long version- missing scenes for S10 Flesh and Blood.
Comment here.
P is for P-90
by holdouttrout
On good days, it's like an extension of her body. She doesn't even think about the connection, simply raises her arm and feels its solid weight just there.
PSX-224 is Sam's idea of paradise. Broad, rolling hills stretch in all directions, a hint of woodlands to the south, and some mountains to the east, but they are only a distant smudge on the horizon. There is no way SG-1 would normally take the time to explore what looks like a completely uninhabited planet, but the UAV returned two anomalous energy readings Sam thought they should check out.
Something has had Teal'c on edge, and even though she can't see anything warranting his suspicion, Sam keeps one eye on her surroundings at all times, one hand holding the electronic sensor and one hand wrapped around her P-90.
Her attention pays off. They don't see the Jaffa coming; neither are they caught entirely by surprise. Sam's first shot takes out the Jaffa just before he fires his staff weapon--a flick of her finger and a squeeze of the trigger--and then they are running for the 'gate as fast as their legs will carry them.
They make it.
She knows there are legends of weapons with their own wills, magical swords that wait for the chosen bearer to stumble across them, but it's difficult to be romantic about a mass-produced machine. Besides, she's always believed in making her own destiny.
Sam leans over Daniel, putting pressure on his leg, a mess of charred and damaged tissue under the bandages.
It's pouring outside their cave, which helps cover the sound of their breathing, of Daniel's gasps as he hovers just this side of unconscious. Outside, Sam can still hear the Jaffa calling to each other as they search for them.
Jack and Teal'c keep a wary eye out the opening--this place is pretty well hidden, but there's no guarantee the Jaffa won't somehow spot it. And there's no other way out. They have no other choice but to wait, hope the Jaffa get bored and leave sooner rather than later.
Her finger had slipped.
If she'd made her shot, they might have made the 'gate in front of the next patrol of Jaffa. Her finger had slipped over the safety--just for a split second--but it had cost them the element of surprise. They'd been spotted, and Daniel had been the one in the way.
She just hopes he'll make it.
Comment here.
Q is for Questions
by beanpot
For Sam, life was a forest of never ending questions. It all sprouted from her first question that demanded a real answer - "Why did she have to put on clothes when she went outside?"
The answer - "Because I said so"- wasn't enough and so she had asked another question. Than another and another, until her mother had slapped her hands on the counter in frustration and demanded, "Is there anything else you want to know?"
Well, yes. Why was the sky blue? Why was Mark different from her? Why did daddy go away so much? What made the TV work? Why was mommy so mad when Sam figured out how the TV worked?
As she grew up, the questions never stopped and the answers were never enough. She needed to always know more, and then more again.
Some people were amused by it, others frustrated, while her parents just accepted it and dragged their daughter to the junk yard so she could destroy and remake other people's junk.
Sam discovered she loved coming up with an answer no one else had thought of yet. But what she loved best was when people would come to her with questions and she could assure them that yes, she could fix this, she could make it work, they would be alright, no one would die this time.
R is for Replicarter
by randomfreshink
"So she...." Sam let the words trail and used a mean-anything gesture worthy of Daniel, which was appropriate since she was talking to him in the infirmary. And she wished she could let this go.
But how often did you end with your evil twin dead; your Id let loose on the universe taken out. And she still felt guilt for being the cause in the first place. For that seed of betrayal. And was she asking because she had to know--or because she wanted to feel even worse for what had been done. It felt as if she'd killed Daniel, and her stomach had turned when he'd debriefed the General, told them all what had happened.
Daniel just sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging, the only sign of impatience. He'd been through this before--many times. Blood test, DNA samples, scans and prodding, and more than anyone back from the dead should have to endure. SOP for SGC.
Then he tilted his head and he got that distant look in his eyes, and she knew his thoughts had taken a left turn somewhere. "Y'know, a number of creation myths have man created in their god's image." He frowned, and without his glasses, the expression left him looking younger than he should. "Of course, there are also a number of creation myths that involve a really big egg."
She thought about punching his arm, but her other self had already driven a sword through him. That was enough for any week, so she folded her arms, cocked a hip and waited.
The frown eased and a smile almost showed. "And then some hold that man created god in his own image."
"Are you trying to distract me?" she asked, irritated and intrigued because it was working.
Daniel folded his hands in his lap. "Image--the word implies reproduction. A copy of--the thing with a copy...when you take a rubbing, it magnifies the details. The flaws."
She nodded, but this didn't help. Her faults in RepliCarter--her arrogance, her needs, her ability to betray.
Reaching out, Daniel caught at her fingers, tugged them free and into his own. "It--not you. Do you think I wouldn't know the difference when most of my job is about authentication?"
"Are you calling me an artifact?"
"How about an original?"
She wrinkled her nose, and gripped his hand--and thank god he didn't so much as flinch. "How about I bust you outta here?" Pulling free, she turned away, but then glanced back, already starting to frame the question.
Holding up a hand, he did flinch then. "I know. I know--you want to know everything."
She thought about it, decided some parts of yourself really could stay in the dark. And she found a smile for him. "It's too bad you can't do a schematic worth anything--what I really want is to know what you found in her head."
"You already know that, Sam. But isn't it time you worked on the other side of it? RepliCarter would have known about forgiveness, too, if you'd had that for yourself."
The words knocked the breath out of her chest and she looked away, and suddenly wanted to leave him here and not take him home with her. She'd forgotten that Daniel could be a sharp weapon. But then she pulled in a breath and looked at him.
"You're a fine one to talk about that."
His cheeks colored and so did the tips of his ears, but he kept her stare and he nodded. "Yeah, it's why I can talk about it. Now get Jack to get me out of here."
Moving was good; action was always good. Thank god for the action, so you could stop everything else. But she knew she wasn't done with the image she'd been shown of herself. She wouldn't be done until she understood--that was her flaw, that she had to know. But maybe she could let go just a little of having to be so much damn better.
S is for Space
by splash_the_cat
After three hours, Sam breaks from calling out to any of the fleet that might have survived the battle. All she can hear now is the harsh rasp of her precious breaths; she keeps the Supergate in her peripheral vision so she doesn't get disoriented and panic. Fear is there, twined around her heart, slowly starting to squeeze, but beyond the rim of the gate and the wreckage of the Korolev she can see the stars.
When she was small she used to dream of this, of spinning free through the galaxy. The universe was somehow both smaller and larger in her childhood fancies than she knows it now to be, but it fills her with the same terrible, overwhelming, joyous awe as it did when she was seven years old, sitting in a darkened planetarium as a sonorous voice took her out of the gravity well of Earth, out beyond the solar system, the rim of the galaxy, to the very edge of human knowledge and into places that made her tremble to even believe in their possibility.
She closes her eyes; that first glimpse of the curve of Earth through a glider's canopy is ever bright and beautiful in her mind's eye, even all these years later. Her dream, her sanctification, realized in ways she never imagined even in the limitless confines of that dark room. If it ends now, Sam thinks, if this is the last thing she sees, she's glad it will be the stars.
Comment here.
T is for Thor
by pepper_field
The blonde with the beautiful breasts came in again at eight, just in time for Trez to be on shift. He hauled ass to the counter before Josh could take her order, and gave her his most charming smile. "Usual?"
She looked startled for a moment, and then nodded. "Thank you."
Trez grinned, and went to make one skinny cappuccino, one double shot French roast espresso, one Americano with cream, and one peppermint white chocolate mocha with whipped cream and red sprinkles. Yeah, so she was a bit older than him - hey, if she ever wanted to play Mrs. Robinson, he was so there. He snuck looks at her as she waited, tapping her short-fingered nails on the counter - but more in a distracted than an impatient way.
"Here you go," he said, as he set her drinks out on the counter. "Made with extra care, just for you." He had the uncomfortable suspicion that the broad smile she gave him in return was just a little amused. "Oh, hey - and this. Free with every coffee today." He put the silly little alien keyring in the middle of her drink carrier, and then pointed to the sign above his head with a deprecatory grimace. "Happy Earth Day," he said. Sylvia's idea - daft old hippy.
The blonde was looking at the keyring, strangely arrested. She reached out and picked it up, glancing at him. "I have a friend who'll get a kick out of this," she explained. "He's into all that..." She smiled a mysterious smile, tickled by some inward joke, "alien conspiracy stuff."
"Oh," said Trez. Damn, she had a boyfriend.
---
Five years later, Pete was rooting through a kitchen drawer. "You do have a corkscrew?" he called. "This isn't some kind of wild goose chase? Because I can have you thrown in jail like that, you know."
"I'm scared. Really." Sam appeared in the doorway just as he unearthed a little grey alien on a keyring. He held it up to the light.
"Oh, hey - I didn't know you were into the X-Files," he said, and looked up. She was giving him a funny look. "What?" She smiled mysteriously, looked down at the keyring and then back up at him - and finally he caught on. "Oh, you're - you're kidding me!" Sam just grinned more broadly, grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer, and disappeared back into the living room, swinging her hips. Pete was left staring after her. "My girlfriend is so cool," he said, in awestruck admiration.
U is for Universe
by traycer_
The vastness of the universe never failed to amaze Sam. And the fact that she actually had an opportunity to visit one of the planets scattered throughout this particular one had her mind boggling. She had always wanted to be an astronaut, ever since she was a child, and now to have her dreams come true seemed almost a surreal reality, one that she was determined to live out to the fullest, no matter what stood in her way.
She squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath as she stood outside of the briefing room at Stargate Command. She deserved this assignment. She had spent two years at the Pentagon working to bring the Stargate Program to reality, and she had gone over Colonel O’Neill’s reports on his mission to Abydos until she had it memorized. This was her chance to finally reach the stars, and she grasped it with both hands, wiling to do anything to make it work.
They were talking about her now. She listened as Colonel O’Neill automatically assumed that Sam was a man. “Where’s he transferring from?”
Figures, Sam thought ruefully. She was going to have to prove herself yet one more time. “She is transferring in from the Pentagon,” she responded.
The look of surprise on the Colonel’s face was priceless, but Sam knew she was going to have to make it clear up front that she was just as capable to be on the mission. She geared up mentally for the show down. With lots of practice in her arsenal, Colonel O’Neill didn’t stand a chance.
***************
The universe seemed even bigger to Sam as she stood in the cavern on Abydos while Daniel Jackson talked about the map he had found on the walls. The possibility of more worlds to explore had Sam’s mind whirling as she tried to figure out a way to revamp the dialing system she had originally helped to design. This was her dream come true, and her only regret was that she wouldn’t be able to share this good news with anyone.
Still, the vastness of the universe didn’t seem so intimidating any more. There were more planets out there that were reachable via the Stargate, and Sam was already working on her plans to be on the team that Hammond was sure to send out now that the evidence was right there for all to see. Excitement built up within her as Daniel spoke of what they could find on the other planets. This was her dream, her life, and she was no longer going to be a little speck in the vastness of the universe. This one was hers to explore, with a little help from Stargate Command, and she was ready for the challenge.
Oh yeah, this was her universe, and she couldn’t wait to get out there and explore it.
Comment here.
V is for Velocity
by splash_the_cat
Sam takes the Indian up the mountain to work on the first day of spring. It's a ritual she's managed to keep for three years running, almost an eternity given the vagaries of interstellar travel and the occasional temporal displacement that dictate her schedule.
The air is crisp and clear; far ahead, she catches the red flash of brake lights. She slows so that she doesn't come up on the driver at an unseemly rate, but the lights still quickly resolve into the familiar back end of a green Ford F-250 meandering its way up NORAD Road. It amuses her that, for all his maverick, devil-may-care ways, Colonel O'Neill always drives exactly the speed limit.
Or slower. He's reducing speed: Fifty, now down to forty-five. The merry wave of a hand out his window confirms that he's realized it's her and he's doing it on purpose. The jerk.
When she has to slow to thirty to avoid tailgating him, Sam mutters under her breath, "Oh no you don't, Colonel Smartass."
It's irresponsible. It's childish. It's perfect.
She flips on her indicator, waiting ten seconds to makes sure he's seen the signal. And with a last glance up the road to make sure she's clear, and a merry wave of her own, she pulls out into the left lane and opens up the throttle.
The speedometer ticks up to 102 before she eases off, settling for a relatively sedate 75. There's no sign of the Colonel's truck behind her, and the rush of displaced air steals her laughter as she leans into a curve of the road.
Comment here.
W is for Wormhole
by shutthef_up
Wormholes have consumed a huge portion of her life and she wouldn't change a minute of it. No, getting tortured by alien bad guys was no picnic, but escaping and putting them down was a roller coaster ride like no other. Combining theory and known science by the seat of her pants and under fire was her drug of choice. Who needs drugs or alcohol when you can blow up a sun?
Sam isn't without her regrets and deeply horrifying moments. Unintentionally killing a sun and dooming the inhabitants of the planet that orbited it - definitely not her shining hour, but somehow it was set right, even if it had driven the Colonel to near homicide. She's been over the calculations hundreds of times. It always comes out the same - it shouldn't have worked. Did it help that she'd sent a little prayer along with the payload, gently caressing the rare and unique element before she sent it on its way? Sam's not even sure who she was praying to.
It hasn't always been easy. In fact, it's rarely easy. The Colonel's always done what he can to take the responsibility, but their team is so autonomous that it's mostly an illusion. She'd been the one who turned a naquada reactor into a deadly weapon, designed to destroy an alien ship threatening their allies. She'd also been the one to tell the Colonel the exact moment to trigger it, despite the fact that Daniel was on said ship. As long as she lives, she'll never forget the knot in her stomach as she counted down. That brilliant mind, snuffed out and largely due his own stubbornness. The Colonel was openly angry with him, but Sam mostly kept her anger hidden. Daniel had seen it anyway, his only explanation, "You have your duty, Sam, I understand that. But I have mine, too."
But all potential disasters aside, wormholes have been good to her.
Comment here.
X is for Xbox
by supplyship
The SGC colonels - that is Reynolds, Dixon, Edwards, Pierce, and O'Neill - all had offices next door to each other on level 26, and a shared common space which they immediately nicknamed The Colonels' Corner, or the CC for short. The CC had a ratty small couch (that Pierce had in college, and for some reason kept schlepping it along to his next TDY), three chairs of various sizes and shapes and origins, a shared printer (they were actually supposed to type up their mission paperwork), two mini-fridges, and a big-screen LCD with an Xbox (they pooled their money and went one Saturday to the local Best Buy).
Downtime usually found two or more of them in fierce Xbox competition. But the Xbox (being a piece of crap) was always failing, and then O'Neill would have to go wheedle Carter into fixing it for them.
Usually, she didn't mind too much. It would take her a couple of minutes and they'd be back in business. But lately it seemed like Colonel O'Neill was calling her every other day, and she had work to do, dammit! Now he was calling again. She hung up the phone with a sigh, and stomped off down to 26, toolbox in hand. When she turned the corner into the CC, they were all standing around nervously, like concerned family members in the hospital waiting area. Reynolds spied her first. "Finally!" he said, but after noting the expression on her face, quickly backpedaled, "That is, uh, I mean, thank you for assisting us, Major Carter."
"Hmmm," she replied coolly, before hunkering down to the video console and fiddling around with connections, as that was often the problem. They would toss the nerf football around or god knows what else, and knock into everything. It was amazing that they hadn't broken the LCD yet. "You know, sirs, I really have more important work to be doing, such as ensuring that the 'Gate gets you to your destination with all your parts assembled correctly. Would you just throw this piece of junk away and buy a different game console already? And why can't Siler fix this for you?"
Of course they all started in on the various reasons why they couldn't possibly switch consoles, and how Siler just wasn't as fast as she was, yadda yadda. Thankfully, with her head down, they couldn't see her endless eye roll. While they were jabbering on, she finished the repair, and the game menu popped back up on the TV.
"Here's the deal," she said, standing up and brushing off her pants. "I will play one of you - you can pick who - on whatever game you choose. If I win, you guys junk this thing, and find a new repair person. If you win, *I'll* buy you guys a new console, *and* do any repairs that are needed, no complaints. Sirs."
They all blinked at her for a second and then, "Oh, you are *so* on!"
They offered O'Neill the honor of playing her, who immediately threw up his hands with a "Oh, hell no," and a wink and smirk to her. Smart man, she thought. Finally they decided on Dixon, who (as a father of four) spent the most time playing video games. And the competition was on.
******
Twenty minutes later, Sam walked out of the CC with smug grin and a spring in her step. As she left the stunned and soundly defeated Dixon to endure the loud and good-natured berating by his peers, she hear O'Neill laugh, "How did you think Teal'c got so good at video games?"
Y is for Y-chromosome
XX/XY, by crazedturkey
Jacob never really said anything. He couldn't. It wasn't something that he had probably ever admitted, even to himself.
Kids are perceptive, though, and Sam more so than most. She couldn't remember an exact moment of realisation. She just knew.
He did love her. Sam knew that too. He was just more used to dealing with men.
She would have been easier to deal with if she'd been one too. Especially after her mother died.
Sam only had to look at Mark to know that being born with a Y chromosome really hadn't been enough. But the pat on the back and the offer of a beer had been far more than she'd ever gotten.
*
Her seniors at the Academy never really said anything. They couldn't.
They were certainly talking on the quiet over dinners and brandies to which cadets were not invited. However to express anything plainly or publically was to invite censure from Congress.
Sam honestly didn't need it spelled out. It was obvious from the overriding attitude that nearly everyone there would have preferred her to be a man.
Some days Sam wished that she was one. Being a woman at the Academy meant working three times as hard as her male colleagues. She couldn't just be good. She had to be perfect. Otherwise the whispers would start.
And she had to make herself hard.
*
Jack O'Neill said something. He shouldn't have, but O'Neill was not the most subtle man.
He claimed his issue with her was because she was a scientist, but Sam knew better. After all there'd been that initial slip of the tongue, that assumption that anyone named Captain Carter had to be a man.
Ten years ago that might have made Sam long for an elusive Y chromosome again. But she was past that now.
An easier life wouldn't have necessarily been a better life. And she liked being a woman. It had made her a stronger, smarter person.
So she held his gaze and stared him down. He'd learn to like her once he got to know her.
And he did. They all did. Her genes didn't matter.
Comment here.
Z is for Zenzizenzizenzic
by uniquinum
Alchemy is something that Sam has always had a passing interest in; the science of it and how the research done by great scientific minds that preceded her.
It wasn't turning lead into gold, or achieving immortality that she saw as their greatest accomplishments but the invention of gunpowder, ore testing and refining, metalworking, production of ink, dyes, paints, cosmetics, leather tanning, ceramics, glass manufacture, preparation of extracts and liquors.
Despite all of that there was one thing her mind always went to whenever she was reminded of Alchemy (and this was by far a more random process that she would ever admit to anyone).
Daniel would mention an ancient culture, she would immediately think of the Alchemist Hermes Trismegistus, which would remind her of the ancient symbol for Lead, it looked like a Z and for some reason she loved the word zenzizenzizenzic.
Zenzizenzizenzic, the eighth power of a number.
Math.
Math comforted her; it was something she knew something she loved and despite the knowledge gained since joining the Stargate program the foundations still held true. One plus one equalled two, it always had been and always would be.
However Sam never thought of Math when it came to the power of eight, she always looked back at her team. Four of them, each a dichotomy in their own right.
Combined they were a power of eight, a zenzizenzizenzic.
Fighter and Father.
Warrior and Peacemaker.
Freedom and Entrapment.
Soldier and Scientist.
Their strengths and weaknesses playing off each other, she was part of a zenzizenzizenzic.
Sam wouldn't have it any other way.
And one more, because we really do love you that much and, as I said, we're not all that good at counting...
O is for O'Malley's
by rigel_7
"What's so funny?" Cam narrows his eyes, sensing a joke at his expense.
Sam smothers a secret smile and concentrates on the frothy head of her beer to keep from laughing. "It's nothing really," she demurs and waves a hand in protest as he threatens to flick peanuts at her. "No really, it's stupid."
She exchanges a meaningful glance with Daniel and dissolves into giggles as he clears his throat.
"Clearly deranged," Cam complains. "I'll blame it on the hoodoo alien water you drank earlier, or overexposure to that toxic jell-o you're so fond of imbibing."
"Or the nanites," Daniel mutters, setting Sam into fresh gales of laughter.
"Been skimping on those mission reports again? Because I think I'd remember that." He pops the rogue peanut into his mouth and chews for a moment before leaning forward suddenly. "Unless you somehow fiddled with the space-time continuum again and somehow forgot to mention it?"
"Daniel Jackson refers to a different circumstance, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c lifts an eyebrow and takes another sip of his drink.
"Small mercies. Although I'll note you failed to entirely contradict the whole messing with the universe thing."
"I'm getting better at it." Sam snorts in derision. "The last time was only minimally fraught with difficulty and danger."
"So what's with all the laughing then?"
"Your fly is open," says Daniel.
"It is no-Hey!"
"Made you look, though."
Sam leans over and pats his hand in a consoling manner. "At least they're still on - your pants I mean."
"Twenty days straight. It's a record." Cam lifts his glass in a mock salute. "And don't think I don't know about your little plan for later."
"You were planning on complaining?"
"I'm wearing my fancy boxers in anticipation."
Comment here.
(Extra thanks to Pepper, who encouraged me to make this happen, and to Aurora, who helped with keywords.)
You turn 26 today, Abyssis, and we know how much you adore Sam Carter. So we've all cobbled together to give you this collective birthday present of 26 ficlets: Defining Sam from A to Z. Consider it a love letter to you, about Sam, from all your LJ friends who are glad to have you as part of our lives. :)
Each ficlet was supposed to be between 100-200 words, but we're not all as good with numbers as Sam! These range from G to PG-13. Mostly gen, with a very light sprinkling of canon ship here and there. Spoilers range thoughout the series, including the first episode of S10 and casting spoilers for SGA S4.
Enjoy, sweetie. And thanks for making our corner of SG-1 fandom into a happier place.
ETA: I have included links, labeled "comment here," which will lead to the archived version of these ficlets on the authors' individual LJs. I will continue to update this post with these links as soon as I get them.
ETA2: This birthday gift has inspired an entire series: the Alphabet Soup anthologies.
A is for Answers
by beanpot
It took Sam a long time to be comfortable with the fact that not all questions had concrete answers. For so long, she had been wrapped in the world of science and military precision - a world where answers, while not always simple, were always solid. Even if she hated the answer and disagreed with it, it tended to be finite.
Then she joined SG-1 and was tossed into a whirlwind where the answers were extrapolations and essays. How does one acclimate the former First Prime of a crazy man into your team? What is your responsibility when naïve hubris results in the utter decimation of a planet?
She was still great at finding the answer and trusting her judgment, but the answers were reflective of her own soul and not a sterile environment. Late at night, she would sit at her desk with a hand wrapped around tea and discuss with Daniel the what ifs, the why nots, and the what abouts. There was happiness in sharing the search for answers.
B is for Boys
by kalquessa
Sam can't help it. It's completely inaccurate--and in Colonel O'Neill's case, inappropriate--but she sometimes thinks of them as her boys.
The thought mostly strikes her when she's in the infirmary. That's when they seem the most hers: when one of them is coming in every few hours to check on her, keep her company for a little while (Teal'c), eat her Jell-O (the Colonel), or sneak in test result print-outs when Janet has put a moratorium on work (Daniel). At one time, she would have bridled at the idea that anyone felt she needed looking-after. Now, it just makes her feel warm: her boys, taking care of her.
Except they're not hers, and they're not boys. Somehow, that doesn't keep her from thinking of them that way from time to time.
She doesn't even try to justify it to herself. She knows she can't. Teal'c is over a hundred years old. The Colonel, occasional tantrums notwithstanding, has more gray than brown in his hair these days. And she's pretty sure that the term "boy" cannot be applied to a person who has loved and lost enough for any three people and then ascended to a higher plane of existence. And none of them belong to her in any conventional sense.
So when she wakes from Fifth's illusion, exhausted and hurt in so many more ways than she'd thought possible, and finds herself lying on the ground and the three of them (she'll have to ask how they got Colonel O'Neill out of stasis later) leaning over each other to look at her, ask if she's all right, there's absolutely no good reason for her to think "Oh good, my boys are here." She takes comfort in the thought, anyway.
Comment here.
C is for "Carter Special"
by supplyship
The guys in ballistics were always cooking up something new to try against the Jaffa and goa'uld, whether it was offensive, like plasma weapons, or defensive, like improved vest inserts. And surprising to exactly no one at the SGC, Major Carter was their most willing guinea pig.
She'd been using the P-90 for a couple of years, and it was great in the close-quarters hallways of a goa'uld mothership. But lately they'd seen a lot planetary action - wide open spaces with enemies coming at you from multiple sides. Sometimes a girl just needed a weapon with enough firepower to keep the enemy's head down. A larger capacity mag and ammo with greater penetration capability wouldn't hurt either. Jaffa armor was tough.
Colonel O'Neill was hanging out in her lab when the call came: "Major Carter, we've got something I think you're going to like," Doctor Rouske said. Sam could hear the pride and anticipation in the other woman's voice, so she promised to come up to the firing range, ASAP. Of course, as soon as the Colonel heard "firing range," he sat up straight with attention.
"What's up?" he asked, and she had to bite her lip to hide her grin. He was like a kid on Christmas morning whenever the prospect of blowing stuff up presented itself. When she told him that Ballistics was working on something for her, he was on his feet and leading the way to the range.
Dr. Rouske met them topside, at the outdoor range, and promptly handed them safety goggles and hearing protection before leading them down to the rest of her team. She picked up what looked like a highly-modified M4 assault carbine, but Sam wasn't sure. She glanced at the Colonel, and saw his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That looks...different," he said, turning to her with a grin. "And totally awesome!"
Rouske handed her the rifle and started running down the stats. "As you can see, we modified the M4 with a full-stock, rail integrated system, short barrel, and C-mag 100-round dual drum magazine. It has the Elcan red-dot optics package, tactical foregrip, improved flash suppressor, and a shortened quick-detachable M203 grenade launcher. Fully-automatic, 200 meters effective range, 800 rounds per minute." The scientist finally took a breath, and then grinned up at Sam. "Ready to try it out?"
Sam inspected the rifle - unloading and loading the mag clip, checking the sights, and getting a feel for the grips - before donning her safety gear, clearing the range, and stepping up to the targets: three jaffa-shapped bodies about 150 meters out. She emptied two clips, tried the grenade launcher ("fire in the hole!"), and turned the "jaffa" into shreds.
As she stepped back and laid the rifle back on the table, the Colonel came over and bumped her shoulder with his. "Lookin' good, Carter," he said with a smirk and a distinct note of pride in his voice.
Sam smiled a little dazedly at him, looked back down the rifle, and then raised her eyes to find the Ballistics team all staring at her expectantly. "I love it," she told them, letting them hear the wonder in her voice.
Doctor Rouske was positively beaming. "We call it 'The Carter Special'."
D is for Dakara
Dakara and Everything After, by aelfgyfu_mead
Sam settled on the sofa to watch her niece and nephew playing Frisbee the day after the funeral.
"Kids are resilient," her brother said from the doorway, a little defensively. "Of course, it's not as if they knew their grandfather that well...."
Mark trailed off at Sam's warning look and shrugged. "I suppose I should just be glad he ever came back at all." Mark didn't even know their father had nearly died of cancer years earlier, they'd been so estranged by then.
"I'm glad," Sam said, not sure she wanted to admit that if her father hadn't reconciled with Mark, she wouldn't be here now.
Mark seemed to know anyway. "Thanks for staying with us. It means a lot to the kids. They love their cool auntie."
Sam laughed. "Cool! Did you ever think I'd be cool?"
"After you started flying jets? Oh, yeah. Knew you'd be the crazy aunt who rides up on her motorcycle, who makes the parents look boring-- and mean, for not letting them ride the motorcycle."
Leaning against the door frame, Mark crossed his arms. "You're great with the kids, you know."
"Thanks!" Sam said with forced cheer, knowing where this was going. "But it's a lot easier to just swoop in and then zoom back out before they get tired of me."
Mark nodded. "You don't...do you ever...."
Sam turned to look at him steadily while she took another sip of coffee.
Mark sputtered some more before reaching the point: "Don't you feel your biological clock ticking?"
The question wasn't a surprise, but the wording was ludicrous. She laughed so hard she nearly sloshed coffee out of her mug. "Don't you feel that's a little clichéd?"
His arms came apart into a shrug before he sank his hands into his pockets. "I really thought you and Pete...."
"And I thought so too," Sam said, yet again. "But it just...I'm sorry, Mark. He was a great guy, and...but I couldn't give him what he wanted."
"So you selflessly--" He cut himself off with a sudden shake of the head. "Sorry. I--"
"He couldn't give me what I wanted. Or needed. Not his fault. Maybe mine," Sam shrugged. "But...it turns out I don't really want a nice big house." With a sunny kitchen, she thought with only the smallest twinge, looking to the bit of open kitchen that she could see beyond Mark's dining room.
"Before Dad died, he asked me if I had what I wanted. And I said yes." She hesitated, but her brother was hurting too. He tried to hide his resentment, but he didn't understand why she had been with Dad when he hadn't even known Dad was sick. So she told the truth. "I said it so that he'd feel better, so that...so that disappointment wasn't the last thing I ever gave him."
Mark remained still, listening.
"But then I realized it's true. I love my job! I love my team! And you wouldn't believe...." she smiled and shook her head. She did hope she could tell him some day. She wanted her nieces to know and be proud.
She also wanted to see the look on Mark's face when he learned what "deep space radar telemetry" had really covered. That wasn't nice of her, but she didn't care.
Mark nodded again slowly. "You always did see something in science that I don't get. I wouldn't think studying the stars would be exciting."
"But it is." Her grin was genuine, and enough to spark a small one in him.
"No regrets, then?" he asked.
Sam thought of the extra years they'd been lucky enough to get with her father. Even with all the friends she'd lost, even with Daniel dying yet again, she had him back, and Teal'c, and the General. She'd seen Earth from a Glider and come home on the shuttle. She'd flown alien spacecraft. She'd been to other galaxies. She'd blown up a sun. She'd traveled in time. She'd met forms of life most people never even imagined. She'd saved the Earth several times--keeping Mark, his wife, and her nieces alive, even if they never knew it. And that, as Jack O'Neill would say, never got old.
"A few," she said honestly. "There's some things I wish I could have done differently." Kept Janet alive--and Dad. "But on the whole? No. I wouldn't trade what I have for anything."
E is for Entropic Cascade Failure
by eve11
It was unexplainable. The more Sam thought about it, spending quality time with her alternate self, the harder it was to ignore. It was more than just the longer hair, or the non-military career choice or the . . . well, frankly non-sensical marital choice . . . that set them apart. Physically, at the basic level of atoms and molecules, they were not the same person.
The sheer volume of random coincidences needed to preserve enough equivalent molecules to explain entropic cascade failure of the alternate's body in the presence of Sam's was patently, statistically and scientifically ridiculous. The human body was a matter-energy machine, constantly changing. They would have had to have lived in exactly the same places, eaten exactly the same food, with a similar enough metabolic rate and schedule over the course of a lifetime to keep the same molecules as they grew.
And yet, flying in the face of these staggering odds, her double still convulsed, her body tearing itself apart for no good reason other than that she was Sam Carter, and in this universe that role was already taken. If she thought too hard about it, Sam was sure that the notion would go past intriguing and straight to terrifying. She took solace in science, not souls.
Some people had God, some had Buddha, karma or the collective unconsciousness. Sam had Carl Sagan, and a revelation of five words.
"We are made of star-stuff."
She remembered staring up at pinprick flickers in the sky as a teenager, wondering which one her molecules had come from, and where they would go after she died. To this day she had no idea what the pastor had said at her mother's funeral. She didn't ask Samantha what she remembered in her timeline; after all, they did have a universe to save.
Comment here.
F is for Fifth
by surreallis
She thinks a lot about the day of his birth. The decision she made, the order she followed, all of the steps to his creation. And she wonders if it could have been different. If she'd saved him instead of casting him out of paradise, would he still be what he is? After everything he's done to them--to her--she still doesn't believe he's inherently evil.
[She wonders if the colonel regrets his own part in the matter. If the fallout she endured is worth it to him. It's something they should talk about, but they never will. He had a right to give the order, it was his command, and she has no doubt that he still thinks it was the right decision. Their friendship though, so recently shaken by the loss of Daniel, suffered a mar to its smooth surface, and they would never be guileless again.]
Man created the Replicators to serve. The Replicators ate the forbidden fruit and became aware, and now they seek to cast Man from his palace of steel. She built him and now he follows in her wake, bent on deconstruction. She failed him as a goddess and now he'll rebuild her in his own image. But even at the end of time, angry and transformed, he only wants her unconditional love, entrance into heaven. She cannot love him, but she can offer him a quick dissolution. He just comes apart.
[God loves, man kills.]
All men want to be gods eventually.
He's more human than she thought.
Comment here.
G is for Gate
by sg_fignewton
It confounds everything she's ever thought she knew and understood about quantum physics. It coaxes her into contradictions and impossibilities, forcing her to reject the absolutes of mathematics and accept irrationality as a basic foundation. It dances along time and space, both a wave and a particle, laughing at her specialized knowledge and mocking the cool logic of numbers.
And she loves it. Because it also introduces her to wonders, both beautiful and terrible, that she never dreamed existed. It challenges her to think outside the box, and then discard the box entirely and build a brand new one. It teaches her to step sideways in space-time through blue-shifted light into infinite potential, to abandon the stolidity of human thought and open her mind to a galaxy of questions and theories and sometimes, even answers.
She knows that she's paid the price: in grief, and pain, and mental scars; in love, and loss, and a deeper, starker glimpse at the depths of her own psyche than anyone would ever want to see. But it's a price she's paid willingly, and she'll continue to pay, as long as that siren song beckons her to step into wonder and enchantment.
It's ten years, now, that she's been walking through the Gate.
And no matter how blasé she might appear on the outside, no matter how casual her routine habits seem, Sam knows that it will never, ever get old.
Comment here.
H is for Hand-to-hand
by kalquessa
Sam is guessing that the natives of P2J-494 need her alive if they want to sacrifice her to their sun god. At least, that's what she's hoping when she makes her escape attempt, and her captors' efforts to contain her seem to bear the theory out: four of them throw their spears aside in favor of simply grappling with her and even the ones who hold on to their weapons only brandish the blunt ends at her. So that levels the playing field, somewhat. True, there are seven of them and only one of her, but they are not wearing steel-toed boots, nor are any of them (barring a serious departure from standard human physiology) suffering from an apocalyptic case of PMS.
The man directly to her right goes down with a broken nose, the one to her right falls and hits his head pretty soundly when she kicks him in the kneecap. They've already relieved her of her P-90, zat, and knife, but one member of the party is obliging enough to try swinging the butt end of his spear at her head. She ducks, catches the spear shaft, and channels its momentum back up and around into the face of another man. The spear's owner has enough presence of mind not to let go of it entirely, but Sam still manages to use her end of it to redirect the thrust of another spear-end into someone else's solar plexus instead of her own.
Someone grabs her right wrist with both hands, and it's such a textbook set-up that she gives a small, involuntary laugh before flipping him onto his back, never letting go of her end of the spear. The next attack comes from behind her, a spear shaft across her throat, pulling her back into someone's chest. She doesn't bother releasing the spear-end to reach behind her, just turns her head and bites down as hard as she can on the first thing that feels like flesh while stamping her boot down where she thinks a foot should be. She tastes blood and the pressure against her throat drops away. She hears her attacker hit the ground behind her and turns to face the last man left standing, still holding one end of his spear.
They stand there for a very long moment, the spear's length between them, and he blinks. Sam grins at him, tasting salt and iron on her teeth. Her opponent seems to decide that discretion is the better part of valor. At any rate, he drops his end of the spear and runs in the direction of the village where the rest of the team is probably still tied to a post. Watching him make good his retreat, Sam is struck by the most absurd urge to burst into tears, and she decides that there should really be a regulation against going off-world while hormonal.
She heads for the Gate to call for back-up, but just as she comes in sight of it, she hears the Colonel's voice behind her.
"Carter!"
She turns to find him jogging up to her, Daniel and Teal'c right behind him. "Sir?" She makes it a question, since they're free and armed, but do not appear to have fought their way out.
Daniel draws up at the sight of her and says "God, Sam, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Colonel O'Neill gestures to the corner of his mouth and then at her. "Any of that blood yours?"
"What?" Sam scrubs at her mouth with a sleeve and it comes away wet with blood. "Oh." No wonder that last guy ran when she smiled at him. "No, sir, I don't think so."
"It would seem that we owe our release to your efforts, Major Carter." Teal'c gives her the slight nod and slighter smile that always make her feel like a third-grader who's just been given a gold star.
"One of your honor guard came running back into the village shouting that they had angered one of the ancient spirits of battle." Daniel grins at her. "He ordered that we should be released at once before the spirit returned to free her...um...well, I think 'consorts' would be the closest--"
"Glad you're okay!" says the Colonel, a little more loudly than necessary.
Comment here.
I is for I
Sam in the I, by zats_clear
Jonas Hanson. Who the hell thought he would be useful to the Stargate Program? After all the time I've put into this program, after everything that SOB put me through, and now I have to work with him?? Thank God, he can't be on my team. At least Colonel O'Neill put him straight on why I was on SG-1. Thank you, Colonel, for that little saving grace. Saving face, more like it. How could Jonas even think...
I am an intelligent, interesting woman. I am a good communicator, no, an excellent conversationalist. An asset to the team. I do not have to dumb down to get a date, dye my hair blonde, or put out after dinner and a movie. Ok, well, maybe I'm stretching it a little on the blonde thing, but you get my point. Darn it, now I'm talking to myself! This is what I get for stopping outside office doors. I should have just walked right in there...
and what? Looked like the jilted bride? I gave him back the ring. I did.
He cannot undermine me here. This is my house.
Damn. Five minutes until the guys get the showers. Better move.
Comment here.
J is for Jacob
by stargazercmc
Before now, Sam has divided her adult life neatly into two time frames: Life Before Dad Was Joined, and Life After Dad Was Joined. Life Before Dad Was Joined was a time of massive personal growth for Sam. She went to college. She got her degrees and joined the military. She became a pilot. She went to war. She got engaged. She had the strength to step away from a bad relationship before it got worse.
She did it without Dad's help.
Life After Dad Was Joined was a renaissance of the importance of family. Sam had grown used to being lonely, but she never realized just how unnatural the feeling was until she and her father rebuilt their relationship. Even his cancer diagnosis couldn't do what bringing Selmak into his life had done for them. They closed the gap between them, and somewhere in there, they stumbled their way back to Mark as well.
They did it together.
She sits on the end of Jack's dock with the stars blinking down at her and knows she has to find room for a third era: Life After Dad. She wonders what will define it. She wonders if it will be as lonely as Life Before Dad Was Joined. Somehow, she doesn't think so. If there's one thing that Life After Dad Was Joined did for her, it was to make her realize how different things could be.
She looks back towards the cabin where Jack, Teal'c and Daniel are laughing, deck of cards flipped all over the table. She sends a silent prayer of thanks to her father and heads inside. As she requests Teal'c deal her in for this hand, she knows she'll never be alone.
Comment here.
K is for Kelowna
by eve11
Even with security blocking their path, Sam saw the med-tech instruct Daniel in bandaging his own hand before ushering him away. After that, while the Kelownans postured, the Colonel impugned and Teal'c loomed, Sam sat on a hard chair outside a haphazard office, notebook on her knees, and did the math.
For a moment her world was a magnification of constituent pieces-- the paper bright white, blue lines washed out in the glare, black ink scrawled in trembling, hasty script. But the number reasserted itself, and numbers didn't lie.
Oh, Daniel, she thought briefly. Then she caught Tomis' gaze lingering on her before sliding away as he argued across the table with the Colonel, and a white-hot fury took hold inside her.
He knew. He knew, he was counting on the fact that they didn't, and by God, Daniel deserved better than that.
In two steps she was across the room, cauterizing the conversation with the slap of notebook hitting table. She saw the flash of hope sour in the Colonel's eyes as he read her face.
"Compassionate grounds," she said, unleashing the mute rage of that calculation on the Kelownan. "Or do I have to explain this to you?"
Comment here.
L is for Lonely
by annienau08
Looking back on her ten years with SG-1, Sam estimated that she had spent almost eighteen months of that time in the infirmary recovering from alien viruses, Tok'ra symbiotes, Kull warriors, Ori soldiers, or the occasional downloading of her consciousness into the computer mainframe. Not to mention the more mundane colds, flus and other Earth-based illnesses. But whatever the reason she was there, the one constant in those ten years was that never once had she woken up alone.
Whether slowly drifting in and out of consciousness or bolting upright in terror, there had always been a voice (Jack), a hand (Daniel), or simply a silent presence (Teal'c) to greet and soothe and reassure her that she was alive and safe; that she was home. And once awake she would smile through the pain, fight the urge to fall back asleep so she could listen to promises of cake (Jack), an intriguing new piece of technology (Daniel), or a marathon viewing of Star Wars (Teal'c) as soon as she was released from the clutches of Dr. Fraiser/Warner/Brightman/Lam.
But now when she wakes, groggy and in pain, she hears only unfamiliar voices. She flinches away from strange hands on her leg. She registers the emptiness in a room crowded with the bright, friendly, well-meaning people she has led for the better part of a year.
And when they are finally done and she is lying alone in an unfamiliar bed in a room that is too bright and too quiet and too alien, she keeps her eyes tightly closed and longs for home.
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M is for Martouf
by rigel_7
For a moment it was like looking at an anaglyph image; two versions of the same man overlaid and mingled into one. But she could discern their edges, could see the trick being played on her eyes was of her own devising. She had to remind herself that they weren't the same, that he wasn't truly Martouf miraculously resurrected, but another person entirely.
He met her gaze, but his expression was oddly opaque and closed. She couldn't read anything into his reaction at all and that was discomfiting and oddly awash with a feeling that could only be described as bitter.
It was still there, buried under the mingled layers of Jolinar and self; the fleeting impressions of desire and the tangled web of emotion she felt for him. The sense memory of her skin was still twinned with both the weight of his body lowered to her own, and the warmth of his blood on her palms.
She was aware of them; the naquadah tingling through her veins, the impression unsought yet familiar. Lantash lay quiescent within, as silent as his companion. She wondered about their shared thoughts, wondered if they were as shaken to encounter a Samantha that hadn't left them, but had killed them instead.
There would be no absolution here.
Comment here.
N is for Naquadah
by stargazercrmc
She associates naquadah with Jolinar. Always with Jolinar.
She feels twinges of it in her system less often these days, and she wonders if this means her radar will work itself out of her system entirely. The last time she felt that pull was in McKay's lab when he was cataloging shipments of Goa'uld biochemicals for examination as potential weapons against the Wraith.
That tug stays with her long into the night as she lets the breeze outside on her office balcony dampen her skin. She isn't sure if it's an actual reaction or just the memory of one, but she closes her eyes and sees visions of sunsets, Martouf, war, hell. The hum of naquadah tremors low in her stomach, an unsteady rumble that she knows will fade eventually. But for now, she embraces the feeling and spends the evening recalling things that never happened.
Comment here.
O is for Odyssey
by redbyrd_sgfic, excerpted from the longer story
Sam kept a sharp eye on the debris field, though most of the fragments of the Korolev had long since passed her by following the Russian ship's explosive death throes. There was no sign of any motion amongst the drifting pieces of shattered machinery. Periodically, she'd scan all of the starfield in her arc of vision, looking for the telltale occlusions that would signal something moving, something close. Odyssey hadn't been destroyed, the last she'd seen. But she'd lost track of them in the fury of the battle. And if they had survived- where were they?
The battery indicator showed half-power, so she wasn't in danger of losing the radio yet, but who knew how long it would be before any rescue could arrive? She would continue to broadcast at intervals, she decided, until the battery was down to one-eighth power. Then she'd have to conserve power until she actually saw something moving. She knew there would be a rescue attempt though. Teal'c had left the Odyssey on a mission of his own, but he'd be back.
It was time to broadcast again. "This is Lieutenant Colonel Carter, come in please? Can anyone hear me? Please respond." She kept the quiver out of her voice and tried not to look at the red numbers ticking over on the clock inside the helmet. Over four hours. Surely if anyone had survived she would have heard by now? "If anyone can hear me, this is Lieutenant Colonel Carter. Please respond." She went over her options. To dial the supergate, she'd need to shut down the incoming wormhole. That had been a conundrum even with the resources of Odyssey - with just her, a few tools and her spacesuit, she was at a loss for ideas. Truly, her only chance lay in rescue. Where was Odyssey? She was in deep trouble if they took ten hours to get here, let alone ten years.
Read the long version- missing scenes for S10 Flesh and Blood.
Comment here.
P is for P-90
by holdouttrout
On good days, it's like an extension of her body. She doesn't even think about the connection, simply raises her arm and feels its solid weight just there.
PSX-224 is Sam's idea of paradise. Broad, rolling hills stretch in all directions, a hint of woodlands to the south, and some mountains to the east, but they are only a distant smudge on the horizon. There is no way SG-1 would normally take the time to explore what looks like a completely uninhabited planet, but the UAV returned two anomalous energy readings Sam thought they should check out.
Something has had Teal'c on edge, and even though she can't see anything warranting his suspicion, Sam keeps one eye on her surroundings at all times, one hand holding the electronic sensor and one hand wrapped around her P-90.
Her attention pays off. They don't see the Jaffa coming; neither are they caught entirely by surprise. Sam's first shot takes out the Jaffa just before he fires his staff weapon--a flick of her finger and a squeeze of the trigger--and then they are running for the 'gate as fast as their legs will carry them.
They make it.
She knows there are legends of weapons with their own wills, magical swords that wait for the chosen bearer to stumble across them, but it's difficult to be romantic about a mass-produced machine. Besides, she's always believed in making her own destiny.
Sam leans over Daniel, putting pressure on his leg, a mess of charred and damaged tissue under the bandages.
It's pouring outside their cave, which helps cover the sound of their breathing, of Daniel's gasps as he hovers just this side of unconscious. Outside, Sam can still hear the Jaffa calling to each other as they search for them.
Jack and Teal'c keep a wary eye out the opening--this place is pretty well hidden, but there's no guarantee the Jaffa won't somehow spot it. And there's no other way out. They have no other choice but to wait, hope the Jaffa get bored and leave sooner rather than later.
Her finger had slipped.
If she'd made her shot, they might have made the 'gate in front of the next patrol of Jaffa. Her finger had slipped over the safety--just for a split second--but it had cost them the element of surprise. They'd been spotted, and Daniel had been the one in the way.
She just hopes he'll make it.
Comment here.
Q is for Questions
by beanpot
For Sam, life was a forest of never ending questions. It all sprouted from her first question that demanded a real answer - "Why did she have to put on clothes when she went outside?"
The answer - "Because I said so"- wasn't enough and so she had asked another question. Than another and another, until her mother had slapped her hands on the counter in frustration and demanded, "Is there anything else you want to know?"
Well, yes. Why was the sky blue? Why was Mark different from her? Why did daddy go away so much? What made the TV work? Why was mommy so mad when Sam figured out how the TV worked?
As she grew up, the questions never stopped and the answers were never enough. She needed to always know more, and then more again.
Some people were amused by it, others frustrated, while her parents just accepted it and dragged their daughter to the junk yard so she could destroy and remake other people's junk.
Sam discovered she loved coming up with an answer no one else had thought of yet. But what she loved best was when people would come to her with questions and she could assure them that yes, she could fix this, she could make it work, they would be alright, no one would die this time.
R is for Replicarter
by randomfreshink
"So she...." Sam let the words trail and used a mean-anything gesture worthy of Daniel, which was appropriate since she was talking to him in the infirmary. And she wished she could let this go.
But how often did you end with your evil twin dead; your Id let loose on the universe taken out. And she still felt guilt for being the cause in the first place. For that seed of betrayal. And was she asking because she had to know--or because she wanted to feel even worse for what had been done. It felt as if she'd killed Daniel, and her stomach had turned when he'd debriefed the General, told them all what had happened.
Daniel just sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging, the only sign of impatience. He'd been through this before--many times. Blood test, DNA samples, scans and prodding, and more than anyone back from the dead should have to endure. SOP for SGC.
Then he tilted his head and he got that distant look in his eyes, and she knew his thoughts had taken a left turn somewhere. "Y'know, a number of creation myths have man created in their god's image." He frowned, and without his glasses, the expression left him looking younger than he should. "Of course, there are also a number of creation myths that involve a really big egg."
She thought about punching his arm, but her other self had already driven a sword through him. That was enough for any week, so she folded her arms, cocked a hip and waited.
The frown eased and a smile almost showed. "And then some hold that man created god in his own image."
"Are you trying to distract me?" she asked, irritated and intrigued because it was working.
Daniel folded his hands in his lap. "Image--the word implies reproduction. A copy of--the thing with a copy...when you take a rubbing, it magnifies the details. The flaws."
She nodded, but this didn't help. Her faults in RepliCarter--her arrogance, her needs, her ability to betray.
Reaching out, Daniel caught at her fingers, tugged them free and into his own. "It--not you. Do you think I wouldn't know the difference when most of my job is about authentication?"
"Are you calling me an artifact?"
"How about an original?"
She wrinkled her nose, and gripped his hand--and thank god he didn't so much as flinch. "How about I bust you outta here?" Pulling free, she turned away, but then glanced back, already starting to frame the question.
Holding up a hand, he did flinch then. "I know. I know--you want to know everything."
She thought about it, decided some parts of yourself really could stay in the dark. And she found a smile for him. "It's too bad you can't do a schematic worth anything--what I really want is to know what you found in her head."
"You already know that, Sam. But isn't it time you worked on the other side of it? RepliCarter would have known about forgiveness, too, if you'd had that for yourself."
The words knocked the breath out of her chest and she looked away, and suddenly wanted to leave him here and not take him home with her. She'd forgotten that Daniel could be a sharp weapon. But then she pulled in a breath and looked at him.
"You're a fine one to talk about that."
His cheeks colored and so did the tips of his ears, but he kept her stare and he nodded. "Yeah, it's why I can talk about it. Now get Jack to get me out of here."
Moving was good; action was always good. Thank god for the action, so you could stop everything else. But she knew she wasn't done with the image she'd been shown of herself. She wouldn't be done until she understood--that was her flaw, that she had to know. But maybe she could let go just a little of having to be so much damn better.
S is for Space
by splash_the_cat
After three hours, Sam breaks from calling out to any of the fleet that might have survived the battle. All she can hear now is the harsh rasp of her precious breaths; she keeps the Supergate in her peripheral vision so she doesn't get disoriented and panic. Fear is there, twined around her heart, slowly starting to squeeze, but beyond the rim of the gate and the wreckage of the Korolev she can see the stars.
When she was small she used to dream of this, of spinning free through the galaxy. The universe was somehow both smaller and larger in her childhood fancies than she knows it now to be, but it fills her with the same terrible, overwhelming, joyous awe as it did when she was seven years old, sitting in a darkened planetarium as a sonorous voice took her out of the gravity well of Earth, out beyond the solar system, the rim of the galaxy, to the very edge of human knowledge and into places that made her tremble to even believe in their possibility.
She closes her eyes; that first glimpse of the curve of Earth through a glider's canopy is ever bright and beautiful in her mind's eye, even all these years later. Her dream, her sanctification, realized in ways she never imagined even in the limitless confines of that dark room. If it ends now, Sam thinks, if this is the last thing she sees, she's glad it will be the stars.
Comment here.
T is for Thor
by pepper_field
The blonde with the beautiful breasts came in again at eight, just in time for Trez to be on shift. He hauled ass to the counter before Josh could take her order, and gave her his most charming smile. "Usual?"
She looked startled for a moment, and then nodded. "Thank you."
Trez grinned, and went to make one skinny cappuccino, one double shot French roast espresso, one Americano with cream, and one peppermint white chocolate mocha with whipped cream and red sprinkles. Yeah, so she was a bit older than him - hey, if she ever wanted to play Mrs. Robinson, he was so there. He snuck looks at her as she waited, tapping her short-fingered nails on the counter - but more in a distracted than an impatient way.
"Here you go," he said, as he set her drinks out on the counter. "Made with extra care, just for you." He had the uncomfortable suspicion that the broad smile she gave him in return was just a little amused. "Oh, hey - and this. Free with every coffee today." He put the silly little alien keyring in the middle of her drink carrier, and then pointed to the sign above his head with a deprecatory grimace. "Happy Earth Day," he said. Sylvia's idea - daft old hippy.
The blonde was looking at the keyring, strangely arrested. She reached out and picked it up, glancing at him. "I have a friend who'll get a kick out of this," she explained. "He's into all that..." She smiled a mysterious smile, tickled by some inward joke, "alien conspiracy stuff."
"Oh," said Trez. Damn, she had a boyfriend.
---
Five years later, Pete was rooting through a kitchen drawer. "You do have a corkscrew?" he called. "This isn't some kind of wild goose chase? Because I can have you thrown in jail like that, you know."
"I'm scared. Really." Sam appeared in the doorway just as he unearthed a little grey alien on a keyring. He held it up to the light.
"Oh, hey - I didn't know you were into the X-Files," he said, and looked up. She was giving him a funny look. "What?" She smiled mysteriously, looked down at the keyring and then back up at him - and finally he caught on. "Oh, you're - you're kidding me!" Sam just grinned more broadly, grabbed the corkscrew from the drawer, and disappeared back into the living room, swinging her hips. Pete was left staring after her. "My girlfriend is so cool," he said, in awestruck admiration.
U is for Universe
by traycer_
The vastness of the universe never failed to amaze Sam. And the fact that she actually had an opportunity to visit one of the planets scattered throughout this particular one had her mind boggling. She had always wanted to be an astronaut, ever since she was a child, and now to have her dreams come true seemed almost a surreal reality, one that she was determined to live out to the fullest, no matter what stood in her way.
She squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath as she stood outside of the briefing room at Stargate Command. She deserved this assignment. She had spent two years at the Pentagon working to bring the Stargate Program to reality, and she had gone over Colonel O’Neill’s reports on his mission to Abydos until she had it memorized. This was her chance to finally reach the stars, and she grasped it with both hands, wiling to do anything to make it work.
They were talking about her now. She listened as Colonel O’Neill automatically assumed that Sam was a man. “Where’s he transferring from?”
Figures, Sam thought ruefully. She was going to have to prove herself yet one more time. “She is transferring in from the Pentagon,” she responded.
The look of surprise on the Colonel’s face was priceless, but Sam knew she was going to have to make it clear up front that she was just as capable to be on the mission. She geared up mentally for the show down. With lots of practice in her arsenal, Colonel O’Neill didn’t stand a chance.
***************
The universe seemed even bigger to Sam as she stood in the cavern on Abydos while Daniel Jackson talked about the map he had found on the walls. The possibility of more worlds to explore had Sam’s mind whirling as she tried to figure out a way to revamp the dialing system she had originally helped to design. This was her dream come true, and her only regret was that she wouldn’t be able to share this good news with anyone.
Still, the vastness of the universe didn’t seem so intimidating any more. There were more planets out there that were reachable via the Stargate, and Sam was already working on her plans to be on the team that Hammond was sure to send out now that the evidence was right there for all to see. Excitement built up within her as Daniel spoke of what they could find on the other planets. This was her dream, her life, and she was no longer going to be a little speck in the vastness of the universe. This one was hers to explore, with a little help from Stargate Command, and she was ready for the challenge.
Oh yeah, this was her universe, and she couldn’t wait to get out there and explore it.
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V is for Velocity
by splash_the_cat
Sam takes the Indian up the mountain to work on the first day of spring. It's a ritual she's managed to keep for three years running, almost an eternity given the vagaries of interstellar travel and the occasional temporal displacement that dictate her schedule.
The air is crisp and clear; far ahead, she catches the red flash of brake lights. She slows so that she doesn't come up on the driver at an unseemly rate, but the lights still quickly resolve into the familiar back end of a green Ford F-250 meandering its way up NORAD Road. It amuses her that, for all his maverick, devil-may-care ways, Colonel O'Neill always drives exactly the speed limit.
Or slower. He's reducing speed: Fifty, now down to forty-five. The merry wave of a hand out his window confirms that he's realized it's her and he's doing it on purpose. The jerk.
When she has to slow to thirty to avoid tailgating him, Sam mutters under her breath, "Oh no you don't, Colonel Smartass."
It's irresponsible. It's childish. It's perfect.
She flips on her indicator, waiting ten seconds to makes sure he's seen the signal. And with a last glance up the road to make sure she's clear, and a merry wave of her own, she pulls out into the left lane and opens up the throttle.
The speedometer ticks up to 102 before she eases off, settling for a relatively sedate 75. There's no sign of the Colonel's truck behind her, and the rush of displaced air steals her laughter as she leans into a curve of the road.
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W is for Wormhole
by shutthef_up
Wormholes have consumed a huge portion of her life and she wouldn't change a minute of it. No, getting tortured by alien bad guys was no picnic, but escaping and putting them down was a roller coaster ride like no other. Combining theory and known science by the seat of her pants and under fire was her drug of choice. Who needs drugs or alcohol when you can blow up a sun?
Sam isn't without her regrets and deeply horrifying moments. Unintentionally killing a sun and dooming the inhabitants of the planet that orbited it - definitely not her shining hour, but somehow it was set right, even if it had driven the Colonel to near homicide. She's been over the calculations hundreds of times. It always comes out the same - it shouldn't have worked. Did it help that she'd sent a little prayer along with the payload, gently caressing the rare and unique element before she sent it on its way? Sam's not even sure who she was praying to.
It hasn't always been easy. In fact, it's rarely easy. The Colonel's always done what he can to take the responsibility, but their team is so autonomous that it's mostly an illusion. She'd been the one who turned a naquada reactor into a deadly weapon, designed to destroy an alien ship threatening their allies. She'd also been the one to tell the Colonel the exact moment to trigger it, despite the fact that Daniel was on said ship. As long as she lives, she'll never forget the knot in her stomach as she counted down. That brilliant mind, snuffed out and largely due his own stubbornness. The Colonel was openly angry with him, but Sam mostly kept her anger hidden. Daniel had seen it anyway, his only explanation, "You have your duty, Sam, I understand that. But I have mine, too."
But all potential disasters aside, wormholes have been good to her.
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X is for Xbox
by supplyship
The SGC colonels - that is Reynolds, Dixon, Edwards, Pierce, and O'Neill - all had offices next door to each other on level 26, and a shared common space which they immediately nicknamed The Colonels' Corner, or the CC for short. The CC had a ratty small couch (that Pierce had in college, and for some reason kept schlepping it along to his next TDY), three chairs of various sizes and shapes and origins, a shared printer (they were actually supposed to type up their mission paperwork), two mini-fridges, and a big-screen LCD with an Xbox (they pooled their money and went one Saturday to the local Best Buy).
Downtime usually found two or more of them in fierce Xbox competition. But the Xbox (being a piece of crap) was always failing, and then O'Neill would have to go wheedle Carter into fixing it for them.
Usually, she didn't mind too much. It would take her a couple of minutes and they'd be back in business. But lately it seemed like Colonel O'Neill was calling her every other day, and she had work to do, dammit! Now he was calling again. She hung up the phone with a sigh, and stomped off down to 26, toolbox in hand. When she turned the corner into the CC, they were all standing around nervously, like concerned family members in the hospital waiting area. Reynolds spied her first. "Finally!" he said, but after noting the expression on her face, quickly backpedaled, "That is, uh, I mean, thank you for assisting us, Major Carter."
"Hmmm," she replied coolly, before hunkering down to the video console and fiddling around with connections, as that was often the problem. They would toss the nerf football around or god knows what else, and knock into everything. It was amazing that they hadn't broken the LCD yet. "You know, sirs, I really have more important work to be doing, such as ensuring that the 'Gate gets you to your destination with all your parts assembled correctly. Would you just throw this piece of junk away and buy a different game console already? And why can't Siler fix this for you?"
Of course they all started in on the various reasons why they couldn't possibly switch consoles, and how Siler just wasn't as fast as she was, yadda yadda. Thankfully, with her head down, they couldn't see her endless eye roll. While they were jabbering on, she finished the repair, and the game menu popped back up on the TV.
"Here's the deal," she said, standing up and brushing off her pants. "I will play one of you - you can pick who - on whatever game you choose. If I win, you guys junk this thing, and find a new repair person. If you win, *I'll* buy you guys a new console, *and* do any repairs that are needed, no complaints. Sirs."
They all blinked at her for a second and then, "Oh, you are *so* on!"
They offered O'Neill the honor of playing her, who immediately threw up his hands with a "Oh, hell no," and a wink and smirk to her. Smart man, she thought. Finally they decided on Dixon, who (as a father of four) spent the most time playing video games. And the competition was on.
******
Twenty minutes later, Sam walked out of the CC with smug grin and a spring in her step. As she left the stunned and soundly defeated Dixon to endure the loud and good-natured berating by his peers, she hear O'Neill laugh, "How did you think Teal'c got so good at video games?"
Y is for Y-chromosome
XX/XY, by crazedturkey
Jacob never really said anything. He couldn't. It wasn't something that he had probably ever admitted, even to himself.
Kids are perceptive, though, and Sam more so than most. She couldn't remember an exact moment of realisation. She just knew.
He did love her. Sam knew that too. He was just more used to dealing with men.
She would have been easier to deal with if she'd been one too. Especially after her mother died.
Sam only had to look at Mark to know that being born with a Y chromosome really hadn't been enough. But the pat on the back and the offer of a beer had been far more than she'd ever gotten.
*
Her seniors at the Academy never really said anything. They couldn't.
They were certainly talking on the quiet over dinners and brandies to which cadets were not invited. However to express anything plainly or publically was to invite censure from Congress.
Sam honestly didn't need it spelled out. It was obvious from the overriding attitude that nearly everyone there would have preferred her to be a man.
Some days Sam wished that she was one. Being a woman at the Academy meant working three times as hard as her male colleagues. She couldn't just be good. She had to be perfect. Otherwise the whispers would start.
And she had to make herself hard.
*
Jack O'Neill said something. He shouldn't have, but O'Neill was not the most subtle man.
He claimed his issue with her was because she was a scientist, but Sam knew better. After all there'd been that initial slip of the tongue, that assumption that anyone named Captain Carter had to be a man.
Ten years ago that might have made Sam long for an elusive Y chromosome again. But she was past that now.
An easier life wouldn't have necessarily been a better life. And she liked being a woman. It had made her a stronger, smarter person.
So she held his gaze and stared him down. He'd learn to like her once he got to know her.
And he did. They all did. Her genes didn't matter.
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Z is for Zenzizenzizenzic
by uniquinum
Alchemy is something that Sam has always had a passing interest in; the science of it and how the research done by great scientific minds that preceded her.
It wasn't turning lead into gold, or achieving immortality that she saw as their greatest accomplishments but the invention of gunpowder, ore testing and refining, metalworking, production of ink, dyes, paints, cosmetics, leather tanning, ceramics, glass manufacture, preparation of extracts and liquors.
Despite all of that there was one thing her mind always went to whenever she was reminded of Alchemy (and this was by far a more random process that she would ever admit to anyone).
Daniel would mention an ancient culture, she would immediately think of the Alchemist Hermes Trismegistus, which would remind her of the ancient symbol for Lead, it looked like a Z and for some reason she loved the word zenzizenzizenzic.
Zenzizenzizenzic, the eighth power of a number.
Math.
Math comforted her; it was something she knew something she loved and despite the knowledge gained since joining the Stargate program the foundations still held true. One plus one equalled two, it always had been and always would be.
However Sam never thought of Math when it came to the power of eight, she always looked back at her team. Four of them, each a dichotomy in their own right.
Combined they were a power of eight, a zenzizenzizenzic.
Fighter and Father.
Warrior and Peacemaker.
Freedom and Entrapment.
Soldier and Scientist.
Their strengths and weaknesses playing off each other, she was part of a zenzizenzizenzic.
Sam wouldn't have it any other way.
And one more, because we really do love you that much and, as I said, we're not all that good at counting...
O is for O'Malley's
by rigel_7
"What's so funny?" Cam narrows his eyes, sensing a joke at his expense.
Sam smothers a secret smile and concentrates on the frothy head of her beer to keep from laughing. "It's nothing really," she demurs and waves a hand in protest as he threatens to flick peanuts at her. "No really, it's stupid."
She exchanges a meaningful glance with Daniel and dissolves into giggles as he clears his throat.
"Clearly deranged," Cam complains. "I'll blame it on the hoodoo alien water you drank earlier, or overexposure to that toxic jell-o you're so fond of imbibing."
"Or the nanites," Daniel mutters, setting Sam into fresh gales of laughter.
"Been skimping on those mission reports again? Because I think I'd remember that." He pops the rogue peanut into his mouth and chews for a moment before leaning forward suddenly. "Unless you somehow fiddled with the space-time continuum again and somehow forgot to mention it?"
"Daniel Jackson refers to a different circumstance, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c lifts an eyebrow and takes another sip of his drink.
"Small mercies. Although I'll note you failed to entirely contradict the whole messing with the universe thing."
"I'm getting better at it." Sam snorts in derision. "The last time was only minimally fraught with difficulty and danger."
"So what's with all the laughing then?"
"Your fly is open," says Daniel.
"It is no-Hey!"
"Made you look, though."
Sam leans over and pats his hand in a consoling manner. "At least they're still on - your pants I mean."
"Twenty days straight. It's a record." Cam lifts his glass in a mock salute. "And don't think I don't know about your little plan for later."
"You were planning on complaining?"
"I'm wearing my fancy boxers in anticipation."
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