How Could You?
How Could You?
by Noda
TITLE: How Could You?
AUTHOR: Noda
EMAIL: noda@win.bright.net
CATEGORY: S/J romance, angst
SPOILERS: None
SEASON / SEQUEL: Season 3ish
RATING: G
CONTENT WARNINGS: None
SUMMARY: Sam leaves a message on Jack's answering machine that she's getting married. Answer to a lyric challenge.
STATUS: Completed
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
~Story Notes~ This is in response to Arla's "Is That A Tear?" lyric's challenge. I haven't heard the song, and I'm not usually one for challenges, but I thought I'd give it a try.
Copyright 2000 by Noda
Is That A Tear
lyrics John Jarrard, Kenny Beard
The last thing I expected was to get her call tonight
'Cause the last thing that I'd heard from her
Was she'd found Mr. Right
But when I came home this evenin'
There it was on my machine
Now I'm just wonderin' what the hell it means
chorus:
Said she's sorry that she missed me
And she's been doin' just fine
I've run it back and heard her say
Those words a hundred times
But somethin' makes me wonder
Is she happy with her choice
Or is that a tear I hear in her voice
The first time that I listened
I thought boy she's got some nerve
But the second time I heard it
I heard more than just her words
Am I just wishful thinkin'
Or did her voice really crack
I'll never know if I don't call her back.
Oh is that a tear
Lord is that a tear I hear in her voice
*How could you?*
The answering machine was blinking with several messages as I entered the house, loaded down with groceries. Well, junk food and beer if you want to get technical. Hitting the "play" button, I began unpacking my bags. There were the usual calls--hang-ups from telemarketers and two from Daniel. The first was him asking me if I'd heard from Sam, and the second, sounding almost pitying, saying if I needed to talk, he was here for me. What the hell was that all about? The next message was Sam. Probably the call Daniel was referring to.
Her voice was shaky, hesitant, like she was going to tell me something I wasn't going to like hearing.
"Hi, Colonel, it's Sam."
As if I wouldn't know her voice anywhere. And she still calls me "Colonel." I guess some habits are hard to break.
"I've got some good news, I think."
So how come she doesn't sound excited? Or the least bit happy?
"Craig's asked me to marry him."
Blunt, straight to the point. A quick stab to the heart doesn't hurt as much, right? Well, it feels like she's driving a rusty butter knife into me a millimeter at a time.
"I didn't want to tell you this over the phone, or on a machine," she continues, "but I never see you anymore."
And whose fault is that? I wonder to myself. I'm not the one who fell for Don Juan's suave, sophisticated act. Even Daniel saw through it, and he sort of likes the guy. No, you were the one who decided you'd rather spend your downtime with him instead of us. We tried to include him, but it was like oil and water, and you chose to go with the oil slick.
"I suppose I could have come by, but I never seem to catch you at home, even when I call," she laughs nervously.
Excuses, Carter. You're just too chicken to face me, because you know what I'll say. You know I'll tell you he's not good enough for you, not your type and you have nothing in common. Except maybe sex, and I sure as hell don't want to think about that. I feel that stabbing again, just at the thought of you kissing him. The mental image of the two of you in bed is ripping my soul to shreds.
I've seen you with him, Sam. When we go out. You laugh, you smile, but it never quite reaches your eyes. Not like when you smile at me. Or the way you used to smile at me. Don't "settle" for him, Sam. You have to know how I feel about you, even though I've never said the words. You must know that if there had been any way possible, we'd be together now and Mr. Smarmy would be the one getting this message on his machine.
"I'm really happy, Colonel," she says.
But there's a catch in her voice, isn't there? Or am I just imagining it? I rewind the tape, eventhough I haven't heard everything she's said. There's a definite catch, I decide on the fourth listen. Why did she agree to marry him if it's not what she wants? Oh, I suppose it has something to do with that biological clock thing you always hear women are thinking about. But not you Sam! You're still plenty young to have kids! What about your career? Doesn't that mean anything to you anymore? You've already let him pressure you into leaving the Air Force and do research at a private firm. How long before he talks you out of that? How could you leave the SGC when we needed you? Okay, when I needed you?
"You know, I'm really enjoying doing private research, even if it isn't as exciting as working at the SGC. We're on the verge of making some incredible breakthroughs."
Anything like constructing a particle beam generator and re-writing the laws of physics?
"I'm sure I'll still see you guys. Nothing really has to change."
Yeah. Right. Like nothing's changed since you met him. I'm ready to strangle Janet for introducing you two. If she thought he was such a great guy, why didn't *she* go out with him? Why isn't *she* the one giving up her career and her friends to go riding off into the sunset in a shiny BMW?
"We've set a date. August 19th."
Three months? Three God-damned months? Can you even get a wedding together that fast?
"It's not going to be big or fancy. He's got a small family, and I just have Dad, Mark and his family. And you guys of course."
Gee, thanks for the honorable mention.
"I really hope you'll come. It would mean a lot to me. . .to both of us."
Both of us. Yeah, right. Craigy-poo would love nothing better than reading my obituary. He knows what I feel for Sam, and what, I hope she still feels for me. Otherwise he wouldn't be so hostile. "Secure" isn't exactly the guy's middle name.
"I'll send you and invitation. You could bring a guest, if you like."
The last part was added as an afterthought. As if she's trying to acknowledge this is killing me. Is it her penance to open herself up to the same pain? How would you like that, Sam? How would you like to see some bimbo draped all over me like a bad suit? I'm almost tempted. I almost want you to feel the pain of the constant ache around your heart, like I've felt since the day you introduced me to him. But I can't do that to you. As much as I swear I hate you, deny to the world I feel nothing for you, I know nothing could be further from the truth.
"Well, I guess that's all there is to say," she says, the tremor back in her voice. "Call me sometime?"
Sure, Sam. Maybe we can talk about the weather. I think it's the only subject we could discuss without one of us falling to pieces. Okay. Me again. I'd be the one who couldn't handle talking to you about anything other than dry, generic topics.
I hear the click of the receiver on her end. I just stare at the machine as the tape rewinds. It sounds unnaturally loud as it clicks to a halt. I didn't want to do it, but I have to hear her voice again, even if it's her telling me good-bye. That I blew my chance because I never told her what I really felt for her. What I still feel.
I push play again, and again until I have the message memorized. Until I can tell when she's going to take her next breath, her next pause.
I can't leave things like this. I just can't. Everyone always says, "no guts, no glory," and they're right. How much more can it hurt to make a final plea? Surely it can't hurt any worse than the thought of watching her walk down the aisle towards him?
Without a second thought I grab my keys. I have to do this in person. No phone calls or answering machines for me. It's all or nothing.
Driving to her apartment I begin to get cold feet. What if he's there? What do I do? Pull her out into the hall? Tell her I love her and she can't marry him because she loves me? Do I think she's going to fall into my arms and come away with me while he's sitting on her sofa eating take-out? Am I prepared to literally fight for her? To take this guy out when he hears I'm stealing his woman? Yes, I answer. I'll do anything if she'll change her mind.
I pull into the parking lot of her building. The BMW is suspiciously absent. Maybe she is as well. I never stopped to think maybe he's wisked her off to some romantic dinner spot to continue the charade. No, there's a dim light in her window. I pray she's there and it wasn't left on for the cat.
Gathering up what little courage I have left, I enter the building and knock firmly on the door. There's no answer. For so long there's nothing. Then I hear movement. Please, God, don't let him have driven something else. Don't let him answer the door.
I hear the chain slide off and watch the knob turn. I hope she's at least looked out the peep hole to see who's at her door in the middle of the night.
"Colonel!" she says, eyes wide with disbelief.
We stare at each other for the longest time. Neither of us sure what to say. I speak a single phrase:
"Don't marry him."
The End
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