Between the Lines

Part 1

"Sam," he moans into my ear. The squeak of the springs below me is the only other sound in the room.

"Yes." I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter and I concentrate on the rhythm and the friction of Jack inside me. Hot, so very hot. "Don't stop. I'm almost–" Oh, God.

I drift for a few minutes enjoying the aftershocks through my body. Then I open my eyes.

Startled for a moment, I say, "Pete."

Damn it, I did it again. I move away from Pete, to the side of the bed, and curl up there. I don't want him to see the betrayal in my eyes.

"Wow, that was incredible," Pete says.

I don't set out determined to think about Jack while having sex with another man, it just happens sometimes. If I really work on it, force myself to only think about Pete, I get frustrated and I end up faking it just to get it over with. Whoever said that a woman's orgasm was cerebral, yeah, I'd like to Zat that person for being annoyingly right.

"Great," I say. Faking again.

I know this has to end. It isn't fair to Pete. He's done nothing wrong. He met a girl, fell in love, and asked that girl to marry him. I'm the one who deserves to be hurt at the end of this. But I somehow suspect Pete will suffer most, he has no idea what's coming. I hate that it this isn't fair to him.

Three days later, I'm in front of a house that any sane woman would've hugged and kissed her fiancé for buying. I break the news to Pete. Despite my guess that he had no idea it was coming, it seems he does and that surprises me. Am I that obvious?

The next two weeks seem to pass while I'm unaware of my surroundings. Like a deaf person near a lighthouse siren announcing a fog, I go about my work oblivious. I pretend I'm fine, spending most of my time tinkering in my lab. But I find it hard to concentrate enough to actually accomplish anything.

This last year has been one of the hardest I've ever known, probably the worst since my Mom died. First Janet, then Dad, then the shame of what I did to Pete, and it's all becoming amalgamated in my head and in my heart. I know that I'm holding on by a thread. But I haven't the faintest idea how to pull myself up and start to move on.

Problem is, part of me doesn't want to move on, part of me wants to wallow in this and give in to the shadows. I feel I deserve this. I'm worthy of punishment for things I have done and gotten away with. Karma is reprimanding me the way the Air Force should have.

It started late one night, and it should have only been that one night. But things happened, life happened, and I needed comfort again and again. I knew where I could find it and I knew that Jack wouldn't deny me. The thing with life is, it's always something. Every time you turn around, another pain, another loss, another nightmare to battle. Or maybe that's just my life? Maybe normal people don't have the repeating pattern that I seem to be stuck in.

I snuck into my superior officer's house in the dark. I slipped into Jack's bed and in that reckless action I set events into motion, things that I could not foresee at the time. If I really thought about it, I could count. Was it 8 times, or 10 times, or maybe 15? Does it matter? If it were only 8 does that make it any less wrong? In the beginning it didn't seem wrong, it seemed right. The clandestine affair was at first fulfilling and beautiful and perhaps that was the problem. If I'd woken on that first morning after, looked at him, and felt a rush of fear and guilt maybe it all would have worked out differently. The fear and guilt came, only they came much later. Perhaps too late. Eventually one day it destroyed any possibility of our personal relationship ever having a chance in the long-term.

As a response to my dishonorable mistake, I forced myself to date other people knowing that I had to do something to move on. But it never worked. I was in search of cover, evidence to prove I was with someone safe and by the book. In retrospect, it might have also been about seeking absolution. Perhaps I was trying to demonstrate to everyone, including myself, that I was a good girl.

I should have been strong enough to wait. I should have protected what Jack and I had until the day we could finally be together openly. But I was weak. I gave in to the need for him, the impatience I had in waiting, the longing for now, and not some distant time and place. I've made mistakes and I have paid dearly for them.

As time passed, Jack and I settled into another phase of our working relationship. We'd talk while in the mountain about mostly work related things. He would give me compliments on my leadership skills and command decisions from time to time. But there was, and continues to be, a disconnect. A coolness between us every day, every meeting, every time I meet his eyes.

When Janet was shot and killed, in that moment I was thinking of Jack. In the hours that followed, I was consumed with relief that he was alive. My guilt has only grown since because I have to live with the fact that it took me an hour before I let the knowledge of Janet's passing to finally sink in and allowed myself to cry for her. An hour I spent more worried about Jack than I had been in months or maybe years, and he wasn't even mine anymore. She was my best friend, like a sister to me, how could I have waited even 10 minutes to begin mourning her?

By the time my dad passed peacefully, I was not at peace beside him. He kept insisting that I could have all the things that I wanted. Yet, I knew a truth that he never did– I'm not worthy of the things I want. I wondered what Dad would think of me if he knew of my weaknesses, my mistakes.

"Carter?" Jack snaps his fingers in front of my face. I look up. I'd been so lost in thought and emotions that I'd completely forgotten the three guys were in my lab. I must have lost track of the conversation.

Daniel asks, "You OK, Sam?"

"Yeah, sorry, I must have…" I shake my head.

It is the last week in August and the Labor Day weekend is coming up. It's a time that Jack always takes off for a week and goes up to Minnesota. I suspect the conversation I missed has been about lures, fish, and Teal'c making suspicious inquires concerning what he has often deemed, "A rather tedious form of leisure."

I plaster a smile on my face to show the boys that all is normal. Sam isn't falling apart and they've got no reasons to worry. Carry on with the fishing conversation.

Days later, I'm at the cabin. Exactly how I ended up on the Labor Day fishing trip with the boys is unknown to me. So much of what happens lately is a blur. I half pay attention to conversations, and I likely agreed to this without even realizing what I was agreeing too.

We arrive at the cabin in the middle of the night, after a long, draining road trip. We unpack the car with the precision of a team who'd spent almost 8 years in the field together and then everyone falls into an exhausted sleep. Everyone except me, I spend most of the night like I had for the last month, tossing and turning, and when I did finally drift off, images woke me suddenly. Along with the images came twisted, terrible feelings.

I lay there until the sun starts to come up and then I creep through the cabin into the kitchen. I measure out the coffee and while it's brewing, I wander out on the back porch where I watch the angry reds and oranges of the sunrise fade into clear, bright blue sky.