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becuz I can.
Daniel. Carter.
And am leaving work in 30 seconds, yay.
It's not often he sees her like this. There's something scarily fragile about her, though, and it raises the hair on the back of his neck because she is *not* supposed to be fragile. She is lieutenant colonel Samantha Carter, and she has taken more names and kicked more butt than the armed forces combined.
No one would know that from the bloodshot eyes, slurred words and the way she tilts her head.
She's so certain she's not drunk.
Daniel Jackson knowns better.
"'M fine."
"Right." He was careful not to touch her, careful to stay far enough away that he could only slightly smell the alcohol on her breath. "Sam?"
"Go 'way, Daniel."
"Uh. No. I'm afraid I can't do that."
She just looked at him, her gaze full of something he really didn't want to try to name. Then she snorted. "Why not?"
"They'd prefer not to have you here." There. That sounded almost diplomatic.
"Afraid I'll shtart a fight." A giggle escaped her, which turned into a cough when she tried to take a drink from the mug in front of her.
He simply watched, waiting for her to recover and making no move to help her.
"Come to cart me off, then." Her finger poked at the mug, making it wobble slightly, the dark-brown contents inside rippling with small waves. "Concentric circles."
Now, THAT, had been clear. He eyed her. "Sam?"
"Hrm?"
"We have to go."
"Fine." She stood, swaying slightly. "Let's go. Let'sh get this show on the road and do the right thing and--"
He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, suddenly. That life would be good and happy and fun. That they wouldn't have to save the world anymore because their enemies are gone, that she'll make general in two years and president in ten. But that would all be lies, and if there's one thing he knows about Samantha Carter, it's that she never wants to be lied to. Catching her arm, he carefully began towing her towards the door.
Daniel. Carter.
And am leaving work in 30 seconds, yay.
It's not often he sees her like this. There's something scarily fragile about her, though, and it raises the hair on the back of his neck because she is *not* supposed to be fragile. She is lieutenant colonel Samantha Carter, and she has taken more names and kicked more butt than the armed forces combined.
No one would know that from the bloodshot eyes, slurred words and the way she tilts her head.
She's so certain she's not drunk.
Daniel Jackson knowns better.
"'M fine."
"Right." He was careful not to touch her, careful to stay far enough away that he could only slightly smell the alcohol on her breath. "Sam?"
"Go 'way, Daniel."
"Uh. No. I'm afraid I can't do that."
She just looked at him, her gaze full of something he really didn't want to try to name. Then she snorted. "Why not?"
"They'd prefer not to have you here." There. That sounded almost diplomatic.
"Afraid I'll shtart a fight." A giggle escaped her, which turned into a cough when she tried to take a drink from the mug in front of her.
He simply watched, waiting for her to recover and making no move to help her.
"Come to cart me off, then." Her finger poked at the mug, making it wobble slightly, the dark-brown contents inside rippling with small waves. "Concentric circles."
Now, THAT, had been clear. He eyed her. "Sam?"
"Hrm?"
"We have to go."
"Fine." She stood, swaying slightly. "Let's go. Let'sh get this show on the road and do the right thing and--"
He wanted to tell her it would all be okay, suddenly. That life would be good and happy and fun. That they wouldn't have to save the world anymore because their enemies are gone, that she'll make general in two years and president in ten. But that would all be lies, and if there's one thing he knows about Samantha Carter, it's that she never wants to be lied to. Catching her arm, he carefully began towing her towards the door.