Summary: Sam has a human moment.
Category: Humor
Season: Seven, no spoilers
Rating: PG/K+
Warnings: None
Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. I have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author.

A/N: Based on a true story from events in my own life only this afternoon… What can I say, I'm only human, and it made me feel better to think Sam was too.

Only Human by iamdragonrider

The afternoon was cool and crisp. The trees were brilliant shades of color, just beginning to lose their leaves. It had been cold, but they had not yet had a hard freeze. Sam figured it was only a matter of time, until then she had to mow the grass at least this one more time before winter. She surveyed the lawn, as she dragged the battered old mower that had seen better days out of the shed.

She swore constantly that she'd get a new one; every time she attacked the jungle she called her lawn. But the mower was like an old friend. She'd picked it up at a yard sale years ago for a great deal and it only needed a tune up and a new spark plug to get it running.

Coaxing the old beast to start took a slight amount of finesse on her part, but that was part of the fun after all. After a few coughs, the old machine belched a cloud of blue smoke, and then roared to life. Sam tucked her headphones in more securely, and nudged the volume upwards to hear the streams of rock pounding over the roar, as she looked over the lawn.

It was probably longer than usual since the last cut, just shy of earning complaints from the local neighborhood association, let alone the board of health. With her erratic schedule, she kept promising to hire one of the local kids to take care of the maintenance for her, but could never seem to let it go. There was something satisfying about looking over the freshly shorn grass and thinking you had done that.

Not that she took her lawn care very seriously. Galactic hero, yes. Weekend warrior, no.

Unfortunately, the neatly manicured lawns and sculpted shrubbery surrounding her currently overgrown jungle mocked her feeble attempts at gardening like a Goa'uld system lord, gloating over his superiority. If it weren't for weeds, she wouldn't have a lawn at all. And the perfectly trimmed and professionally edged grass of her neighbors only emphasized the fact that she didn't own a week whacker, let alone a hedge trimmer. Was it her fault that she found the various power tools for yard care daunting?

What?

So she could handle a P-90 and build a naquadah generator, but found the idea of using an electric hedge trimmer intimidating. Her trees and bushes were untouched by pruning shears, and the Colonel had commented upon noticing the towering pine in her back yard that a strong wind could potentially blow the whole thing onto the house.

She'd promised to have someone take care of it. Someday.

For now, she'd start with the grass.

Music pounded in her ears, and the mower vibrated noisily under her hands as she shoved it around obstacles and inclines. About halfway through, she took a break, leaving the mower sitting in the middle of the yard, and headed towards the backdoor, thinking of a cool drink.

The handle on the back door was stuck.

Frowning, she jiggled the knob, realizing belatedly that it wasn't stuck; she must have locked the door out of habit as she exited. In frustration, she gave the handle another good rattle, confirming it indeed wasn't just stuck. With a sigh, she leaned her head against the window. Usually she unlocked the front door when she did yard work, but she knew this time she hadn't.

Suddenly, she grinned. The spare key she'd put under the holly tree the last time she'd locked herself out of the house.

The last time? Ok, so a genius IQ didn't necessarily mean one never did things without thinking.

She could be just as preoccupied as the average person, but for some reason, people seemed to be more surprised when she made ordinary, human, mistakes.

At least this time, she'd not have to let anyone know what an idiot she was. With that thought in mind, she headed over to the holly tree, an overgrown bush that someone had planted years ago that had grown to gargantuan proportions, now taller than the house. She was perversely attached to the thing, despite advice to have it removed given its size.

Peering under the low, sprawling branches, Sam frowned. There was at least 6 inches of leaf litter under the tree, and a lot more poky branches. The key was stored inside a small, decorative iron statue with a hollow inside. Unfortunately, the color of the figurine meant it blended well with the brown leaves and layers of mud.

Briefly, she wondered why she hadn't put the key in the garden shed, and then remembered that the last time she'd locked herself out, she hadn't had the shed installed yet. Hiding the key under the bush had seemed a good idea at the time, but trying to remember where exactly she'd placed a small statue the size of her fist in the large, muddy, leaf strewn area under the brush now seemed a daunting task.

Wrinkling her nose, she found a stick, and began to poke through the leaves. Ten minutes later, she was no closer to finding the key. Her mind began to attack the problem as she continued fruitlessly attacking the leaves. Her neighbor had a key, but they wouldn't be home for hours. Daniel and the Colonel each had one as well, but the Colonel was in Minnesota. She didn't have access to her phone, and had forgotten to put her cell in her pocket, but she could swallow her pride and ask one of the neighbors to use their phone.

Except, for the life of her, she couldn't remember Daniel's cell phone number. You think as much as she called him, she would know it like her own, but she just had it programmed into the speed dial. She could call the Colonel. Unlike Daniels's number, that had changed every time he'd died, the Colonel's number was the same one he'd given them when they met.

Of course, he'd want to know why she needed Daniel's number. After all, wasn't it programmed into her phone? She would never hear the end of it.

She growled, stabbing at the rotting leaves and various bits of wind-blown litter with a vengeance. The key should be right here…

Glancing towards the garden shed, she wondered if she could McGyver a metal detector from the stuff in the shed, and then instantly dismissed the idea. All she kept in there was the lawnmower, some plastic lawn furniture that she never seemed to get a chance to use, and a bicycle that saw even less use. There wasn't even anything in there that would make a good lock pick. Maybe she could break a window?

Sam shook her head. She was actually considering breaking into her own home rather than call Colonel O'Neill and admit that she'd locked herself out of her own house. If only she could remember Daniel's latest number. He would sympathize, and wouldn't think of giving her a hard time. They'd probably laugh about it over coffee, and he'd never tell a soul. Abandoning the search, she tossed her stick aside and returned to the waiting mower, deciding to review her options while she worked on the lawn.

Sorely wishing for that unattainable cool drink, she started the mower back up, and leaned into it, manhandling the thing back up the hill.

Seized with sudden inspiration, she detoured towards the towering holly bush. The elderly machine could either shoot the grass out the side, or mulch it into tiny bits, which she preferred to do. She was one of the few people in the neighborhood that saw no reason to clutter up the landfills with bags of grass clippings. Besides, she never got a chance to put the fertilizer down on the bald spots and two different sorts of grass growing, so the natural fertilizer had to be beneficial right?

There was just too much debris under the holly, and the blades would make short work of it. Grinning, she saw clear ground as she pulled back the machine on the first swipe. She shoved it under a few more times, eagerly looking for her missing statue.

A sudden clank made her rethink the wisdom of blindly using the lawnmower blades to find a fist sized metal object, and she hastily turned off the lawnmower.

And there was the statue, half buried in an inch of mud, the top askew. She lifted the cover, and frowned at the ball of mud inside, hesitantly poking a finger inside and grinning when the key, albeit somewhat filthy, appeared. Quickly, she pulled it out, and brushed it off, hurrying up the back steps and unlocking the door.

After this incident, she was nailing the spare to the inside of the garden shed. Then she'd never be locked out of her house again.

At least as long as she didn't forget the combination to the lock that is!