Hi guys. It's just me and another on of my soppy Sam/Jack fics again. n.n; This one's an AU, and it's not very happy. No character deaths, or implied character deaths, though. Inspired by Whatsername - Green Day.

The Sock Draw

I haven't spoken to her in years. Sometimes, I'll be searching my sock draw for an elusive half-pair of socks and I'll find the photo of her I stashed there, hoping that I'd never see it again; that I might forget the memories that taunt me with what could have been. Yet, if I wanted to forget, why then would I find myself staring at it for countless minutes?

It shouldn't have been that way. We'd been friends. We should have kept in contact. We did, for a while there. But I could feel the distance between conversations and meet ups slowly increasing, until suddenly they were non-existent. I'd like to blame it on the fact that she was in Nevada and I was in Washington with a fair few states in between, but that shouldn't have meant anything between friends. It's at these times when I'm still almost buried in my sock draw that I wonder if I should give her a call and see how she's doing.

I've never before found the courage to even pick up the phone in anticipation of calling her, before today. Maybe it was the rain that made me wonder if she was feeling as lonely as I was. Maybe it was the fact that if felt as if even my Simpsons boxsets were glaring at me to call her, to see what she's done with her life and see if she's interested to know what I've done with mine.

At that point, depending on what she said, I'll either lie or tell the truth. I'll call expecting the worst: I have these nightmares in which I call her, and she picks up the phone and says "I've got a husband and two kids." And then, I deliver my well-rehearsed line that portrays similar meaning.

Hopefully, by chance that she does say that, any spur of the moment emotions won't come through when – if, I remind myself – I need to make up something. But maybe she won't smash a worst case scenario pie in my face. Who knows? Maybe she'll reply with the same honest-to-goodness truth I'll be giving her.

"I'm still doing the same old paper-pushing and I haven't moved on."

I look at my watch. With the different time zones, it'll be right after dinner on her end. I pick up the phone and request a number for Samantha Carter, pushing aside thoughts that considered the fact that her name might not even be that anymore. I scribble the number I'm given down quickly and before I can have anymore doubts, I punch the numbers into the keypad.

It's ringing.

Oh God. This sound is more haunting than the floorboards creaking eerily in the middle of a storm, or the sudden slamming of a door on a cold, empty night. It clicks as somebody answers.

"Hello?" It's a man's voice. I freeze. I suddenly don't know why I called anymore. When I remember, I realize I'm not sure if I even want to know anymore. Am I that stuck in the past? Can I bring myself to...?

"Hello?" I suppose I should say something.

"Hello." Good start, Jack. "Is Sam there, please?"

"Sam?" The voice says. "I'm sorry; I think you have the wrong number."

I release the breath I didn't know I was holding. For a second there, I had thought he was calling 'Sam' to the telephone. He can't even begin to imagine my relief as "Oh. Sorry about that – bye" stumbles out of my mouth. My thumb darts to the 'end' key. My limbs go floppy. No matter what I'd been telling myself, hearing what I'd been expecting would have been too much to bear.

I heave a sigh, throwing the phone onto my bed. I pick up the photograph that is lying there. She's smiling. I don't know if she'd known I took the photo, but if she did she hadn't minded. I can hardly remember what we'd been doing when I took it, but for a moment I felt a twinge of guilt. How could I left such happy memories in my sock draw to rot?

I wonder if she's changed. I wonder if I've changed over all this time.

As if she can actually see me, I smile back through the glossy exterior at her. Then, as my courage returns to its tiny ball in my heart, I turn to my sock draw again and rebury it.