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More String Theory: An AU Series
Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.
Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, S/J
Teen: minor language and violence
Ficlet 28-Rush
Sam is running.
The steady pound, pound, pound of her feet battles for dominance with the asynchronous thud of her overworked heart. The ground under her feet is uneven, crumbling and curving, a dried out impression of the creek that once flowed here in a softer season. Today the only liquid present is the insidious trail of sweat that trickles down Sam’s face, seeping down her neck.
The chalky clay and tangled roots of the trees arching overhead have already laid claim to her tempo once. She can see the torn fabric of her jeans where dirt and blood mingle on her knee every time her right leg pumps into view. Her ankle throbs in beat to her pounding steps, swollen flesh pushing against the tight confines of her boot. But there is no time for pain, so instead she focuses on the way her lab coat creates a soft swish of white with every step.
She stumbles again on some unseen thing, but Reynolds’ grip on her sleeve simply tightens vice-like around her wrist, pulling her forward.
She thinks they must have been running for miles already, but knows it has been closer to minutes. She’s still counting in her head, watching the steady tick, tick, tick of the countdown in her mind’s eye.
She wants to ask how far they have to go to be clear of the blast range, but she doesn’t have any breath to spare. Besides, it’s a bit of a moot point. When the numbers in her head finally wind down, she’ll have her answer, one way or another.
Her mental counter has about thirty seconds left when the blast finally races to catch up with them, slapping against their backs like a heavy, dry wind. It brings with it the scent of scorched earth and heated metal.
Even knowing it was coming, Sam can’t quite wrap her mind around the destruction.
It’s all gone.
Their steps falter, but only for a moment to regain equilibrium and then Reynolds is dragging her forward again, his grip strong enough to leave marks on her skin.
Bereft of counting and left with rising pain in her exhausted body, her mind latches on to memories on repeat, like broken old home movies.
Reynolds bursts into the lab, striding over to Sam and speaking quietly when he gets to her side. “There’s a Goa’uld mother ship in orbit and they’ve blocked the gate with an incoming wormhole.”
Drills, Sam thinks. There had been drills, she’s sure of it. Practice runs of what to do in this situation. But her mind is completely blank because she can hear the whine of gliders overhead, the thump and rattle of weapons’ fire in the distance. “What do we do?”
“We have at least another thirty minutes until we can gate out,” he says. “It’s too long.”
She’d watched him evacuate the scientists. Watched him set the self-destruct. Watched him prepare to destroy everything she worked for, the culmination of her career. The discoveries she gave up everything to achieve.
“You, too, Sam,” he says. “Leave everything and go.”
She remembers ignoring the demand, instead opening the vault with trembling fingers, staring at the schematics on delicate pieces of paper, the various unknown objects she would never get the chance to explain. And in front, in a thin black case, sat a syringe. Julia’s breakthrough.
“You sure you don’t want to give the report yourself?” Julia asks, her hands running down the front of her suit, an unconscious gesture born of nerves.
She’s tempted, but this is Julia’s breakthrough, Julia’s glory, so Sam just smiles. “See you in a few days,” she says, watching the scientists disappear into the wormhole.
The five scientists now back at the SGC is a small blessing. Five less lives to worry about. Five less people to watch their work incinerated into ashes.
Reynolds is shaking her, his fingers digging into her arms. “Sam,” he snaps. “We can’t let the Goa’uld get any of this.”
Reynolds was going to destroy everything. Sam had stood in front of the open vault, knowing his reasoning, understanding the principle.
But Sam didn’t think. Her fingers moved ahead of her mind, forgetting orders and chains of command, right and wrong.
This can’t all have been for nothing.
By the time Reynolds noticed her, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the doomed building, her actions had already faded into her chaotic mind, like a dream dissolving in the reality of daylight.
Even now as they fight for each step, each meter of distance between them and the enemy behind them, Sam might be convinced she imagined the whole thing if not for the press of plastic against her leg, tucked securely into her thick sock.
What have you done?
Their pace is slowing, Reynolds’ grip losing strength. They have little hope of catching up to the other personnel who evacuated before them. Sam wishes them far ahead, uncatchable.
It’s only when Reynolds abruptly releases his hold on her arm that his vicious, labored breathing penetrates Sam’s spiraling thoughts. He nearly takes her down with him when he stumbles and she is barely able to keep herself stable enough to control his descent. She clumsily props him up against the base of a nearby tree.
“Jason?” she asks, panic leaking into her voice when her hand comes into contact with a large wet spot under his arm. She pulls her hand back and her fingers come away stained red.
He doesn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together in obvious pain. He is horribly pale.
Sam rips off her lab coat, pressing it against the flow of blood from Reynolds’ side. “Why didn’t you say something?” she demands.
He grunts at the pressure, his eyes rolling back slightly, but he still manages to push her away with amazing strength. “Go!”
“What?” Sam asks as she watches him root around in his vest. His hand pulls free with a gun and an extra clip and he shoves them both at her.
“Keep moving, Sam,” he says. “You have to buy yourself enough time for the SGC to send help.”
Sam takes the gun, but before she can even gather enough energy to wrap her mind around leaving him behind, she hears the clank of armor crashing through underbrush. Automatically she shifts her body in front of the injured Reynolds, lifting the gun to point at the nearest Jaffa.
He’s younger than she expects an alien warrior to be for some reason, intense eyes staring out from under a dark tattoo she recognizes as the same shape as Teal’c’s. Servants of Apophis.
She should shoot him, but all she can see when she looks at this enemy is Teal’c. What really separates them? Fifty years and a skin of lies, nothing more.
“Killing is never easy. It’s not supposed to be. That doesn’t make you weak.”
Shooting at an actual person is nothing like she imagined and she hesitates, transfixed by the stare of the Jaffa. Another hand grabs at Sam from the side and she swivels in panic, a yell squeezing out as her finger contracts on the trigger. One bullet flies out, slamming home in the thick arm of the Jaffa.
The Jaffa grunts in pain, but barely takes a step back in response to the wound. He grabs the gun from her hands before ruthlessly backhanding her.
The force of the blow knocks her to the ground, stumbling across Reynolds’ legs. She can feel Reynolds lifting away from the tree with a growl, but three staff weapons in his face convince him to back down, his hand closing protectively over Sam’s shoulder.
When her head finally clears, tiny floating lights like aimless stars still orbiting her peripheral vision, she looks up to see the Jaffa with the young face open a small weapon with a strange whinging sound.
Her last thought, strangely enough, is for her beautiful album.
There’s nothing left but ashes.
next
Dr. Samantha Carter joins the SGC and discovers a life she never expected.
Action/Adventure, Drama, Angst, Romance, S/J
Teen: minor language and violence
Ficlet 28-Rush
Sam is running.
The steady pound, pound, pound of her feet battles for dominance with the asynchronous thud of her overworked heart. The ground under her feet is uneven, crumbling and curving, a dried out impression of the creek that once flowed here in a softer season. Today the only liquid present is the insidious trail of sweat that trickles down Sam’s face, seeping down her neck.
The chalky clay and tangled roots of the trees arching overhead have already laid claim to her tempo once. She can see the torn fabric of her jeans where dirt and blood mingle on her knee every time her right leg pumps into view. Her ankle throbs in beat to her pounding steps, swollen flesh pushing against the tight confines of her boot. But there is no time for pain, so instead she focuses on the way her lab coat creates a soft swish of white with every step.
She stumbles again on some unseen thing, but Reynolds’ grip on her sleeve simply tightens vice-like around her wrist, pulling her forward.
She thinks they must have been running for miles already, but knows it has been closer to minutes. She’s still counting in her head, watching the steady tick, tick, tick of the countdown in her mind’s eye.
She wants to ask how far they have to go to be clear of the blast range, but she doesn’t have any breath to spare. Besides, it’s a bit of a moot point. When the numbers in her head finally wind down, she’ll have her answer, one way or another.
Her mental counter has about thirty seconds left when the blast finally races to catch up with them, slapping against their backs like a heavy, dry wind. It brings with it the scent of scorched earth and heated metal.
Even knowing it was coming, Sam can’t quite wrap her mind around the destruction.
It’s all gone.
Their steps falter, but only for a moment to regain equilibrium and then Reynolds is dragging her forward again, his grip strong enough to leave marks on her skin.
Bereft of counting and left with rising pain in her exhausted body, her mind latches on to memories on repeat, like broken old home movies.
Reynolds bursts into the lab, striding over to Sam and speaking quietly when he gets to her side. “There’s a Goa’uld mother ship in orbit and they’ve blocked the gate with an incoming wormhole.”
Drills, Sam thinks. There had been drills, she’s sure of it. Practice runs of what to do in this situation. But her mind is completely blank because she can hear the whine of gliders overhead, the thump and rattle of weapons’ fire in the distance. “What do we do?”
“We have at least another thirty minutes until we can gate out,” he says. “It’s too long.”
She’d watched him evacuate the scientists. Watched him set the self-destruct. Watched him prepare to destroy everything she worked for, the culmination of her career. The discoveries she gave up everything to achieve.
“You, too, Sam,” he says. “Leave everything and go.”
She remembers ignoring the demand, instead opening the vault with trembling fingers, staring at the schematics on delicate pieces of paper, the various unknown objects she would never get the chance to explain. And in front, in a thin black case, sat a syringe. Julia’s breakthrough.
“You sure you don’t want to give the report yourself?” Julia asks, her hands running down the front of her suit, an unconscious gesture born of nerves.
She’s tempted, but this is Julia’s breakthrough, Julia’s glory, so Sam just smiles. “See you in a few days,” she says, watching the scientists disappear into the wormhole.
The five scientists now back at the SGC is a small blessing. Five less lives to worry about. Five less people to watch their work incinerated into ashes.
Reynolds is shaking her, his fingers digging into her arms. “Sam,” he snaps. “We can’t let the Goa’uld get any of this.”
Reynolds was going to destroy everything. Sam had stood in front of the open vault, knowing his reasoning, understanding the principle.
But Sam didn’t think. Her fingers moved ahead of her mind, forgetting orders and chains of command, right and wrong.
This can’t all have been for nothing.
By the time Reynolds noticed her, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the doomed building, her actions had already faded into her chaotic mind, like a dream dissolving in the reality of daylight.
Even now as they fight for each step, each meter of distance between them and the enemy behind them, Sam might be convinced she imagined the whole thing if not for the press of plastic against her leg, tucked securely into her thick sock.
What have you done?
Their pace is slowing, Reynolds’ grip losing strength. They have little hope of catching up to the other personnel who evacuated before them. Sam wishes them far ahead, uncatchable.
It’s only when Reynolds abruptly releases his hold on her arm that his vicious, labored breathing penetrates Sam’s spiraling thoughts. He nearly takes her down with him when he stumbles and she is barely able to keep herself stable enough to control his descent. She clumsily props him up against the base of a nearby tree.
“Jason?” she asks, panic leaking into her voice when her hand comes into contact with a large wet spot under his arm. She pulls her hand back and her fingers come away stained red.
He doesn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together in obvious pain. He is horribly pale.
Sam rips off her lab coat, pressing it against the flow of blood from Reynolds’ side. “Why didn’t you say something?” she demands.
He grunts at the pressure, his eyes rolling back slightly, but he still manages to push her away with amazing strength. “Go!”
“What?” Sam asks as she watches him root around in his vest. His hand pulls free with a gun and an extra clip and he shoves them both at her.
“Keep moving, Sam,” he says. “You have to buy yourself enough time for the SGC to send help.”
Sam takes the gun, but before she can even gather enough energy to wrap her mind around leaving him behind, she hears the clank of armor crashing through underbrush. Automatically she shifts her body in front of the injured Reynolds, lifting the gun to point at the nearest Jaffa.
He’s younger than she expects an alien warrior to be for some reason, intense eyes staring out from under a dark tattoo she recognizes as the same shape as Teal’c’s. Servants of Apophis.
She should shoot him, but all she can see when she looks at this enemy is Teal’c. What really separates them? Fifty years and a skin of lies, nothing more.
“Killing is never easy. It’s not supposed to be. That doesn’t make you weak.”
Shooting at an actual person is nothing like she imagined and she hesitates, transfixed by the stare of the Jaffa. Another hand grabs at Sam from the side and she swivels in panic, a yell squeezing out as her finger contracts on the trigger. One bullet flies out, slamming home in the thick arm of the Jaffa.
The Jaffa grunts in pain, but barely takes a step back in response to the wound. He grabs the gun from her hands before ruthlessly backhanding her.
The force of the blow knocks her to the ground, stumbling across Reynolds’ legs. She can feel Reynolds lifting away from the tree with a growl, but three staff weapons in his face convince him to back down, his hand closing protectively over Sam’s shoulder.
When her head finally clears, tiny floating lights like aimless stars still orbiting her peripheral vision, she looks up to see the Jaffa with the young face open a small weapon with a strange whinging sound.
Her last thought, strangely enough, is for her beautiful album.
There’s nothing left but ashes.
next