cold

Cold Comfort
By
Denise

Disclaimer Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

A chill wind cut between the houses, catching a small pile of leaves and sending them scuttling across the pavement, the dry crackling noise sounding abnormally loud in the silence of the darkened neighborhood.
Hunching her shoulders, Sam locked the car door and shoved her hands into her pockets.

She made her way up the narrow walk, wincing inwardly at the dull scraping sound her feet made as she dragged the soles of her boots across the cold pavement.

Her father's oft spoken admonition went unheeded as she realized she was just too damned tired to care.
Reaching the front door, she pulled out her keys, cursing as they slipped from clumsy fingers, falling to the welcome mat with a clatter.

The word mocked her. They hadn't been welcome on Edora. Not really. They'd been a curiosity, an oddity, something to liven up their otherwise dull lives. They'd been tolerated, but also viewed with trepidation and fear of the changes they were sure to bring. There hadn't been any outright hostility, not at first, but she hadn't missed the oblique distrust, the decidedly cold shoulders from many of the villagers.

After the fire rain, the refugees hadn't been welcome at the SGC either. Oh, no one regretted saving their lives, it just hadn't been easy to deal with a couple of hundred refugees from a planet that existed only in theory, brought to Earth via a conduit that was something out of a bad movie plot.

They had made it work, though. Thanks to some above and beyond the call cooperation on behalf of the Air Force Academy and the personnel at Peterson AFB.

At first, she'd tried to visit them, hoping that a familiar face would help to ease their uncertainties but she soon discovered that she hadn't been welcome among them. Her presence wasn't seen as a reassurance, but as a reminder of all they no longer had. To some of them, she was no better than a thief, coming to gloat over their losses.

She couldn't blame them, they'd lost their whole world and it was a world she'd struggled to return to them.
When she'd succeeded, they still hadn't totally welcomed her. Some were grateful and trusting, others still skeptical. She'd returned to Edora, not just to escort them back, to prove that her efforts had been earnest, but also to see for herself. She had to know if he'd survived and couldn't just sit in the control room and wait. Foolishly, she'd harbored the idea that she'd be welcome there, that those stranded would be as glad to see her as the refugees had been to go home.

It was almost as cold inside as it was outside as she stumbled a bit, tripping over something. Turning on the light she groaned as she caught sight of the pile of mail. How the hell had she gotten this much junk mail in just a week? Or was it two?

With a heavy sigh, she bent down and picked up the scattered envelopes, taking a moment to flip through them, then setting them aside as she realized that not a single one was anything personal. They could wait.

Maybe she'd even grab them on the way back out the door and work on them at work tomorrow. Or did she have to go in tomorrow? She couldn't remember. Surely she had to go in. Tomorrow was just another day, it wasn't like anything special had happened.

Taking off her coat, she dropped it on a chair and made her way back to her bedroom. Not even bothering to turn on the lights, she shucked her clothes, shivering as the chill air in the room brushed across her bare skin.

Grabbing a pair of sweats off the end of the bed, she dragged them on, not caring if they were clean or not. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes, shivering slightly as her bare feet made contact with the cold sheets.

Daniel was right, he hadn't wanted to come home, hadn't wanted to see her, to see any of them.

His words cut through her. She'd been such a fool, a stupid silly fool. She should have known better, she should have known not to expect thanks and praise. She'd been so giddy on her success that she'd forgotten the cardinal rule. She wasn't doing anything special, she was just doing her job. So what if her job required her to rewrite and reinterpret the laws of physics? Wasn't that why she joined the SGC in the first place? To get away from the mundane and ordinary.

No, she didn't have to do this. There was no one holding a gun to her head, forcing her to stay here. She could turn in her resignation and ask for a transfer at any time. Oh, they'd protest, she knew that. But it was more of a 'if you stay we won't have to train anyone else' sort of protest than a real desire on anyone's behalf for her personally to stay. She was just another cog in the wheel, a part that could be easily replaced.

She had done the right thing, getting the refugees back home. That's where they belonged, where they'd be happiest. They couldn't have kept living on Earth. And they were happy to be home at last.

Maybe he'd go back. She couldn't begrudge him that, wouldn't begrudge anyone anything that made them happy. She'd feel the same way if Daniel had been able to find Shau'ri and free her from Amaunet, or if Teal'c decided to start living off-world so he could spend time with Drey'auc.

Maybe there was something wrong with her? Maybe she was one of those people that was destined to always be alone? Maybe she should just stop. Stop trying to help, stop trying to fix things, stop caring.

Still shivering in her cold bed, she threw back the covers and reached unerringly for the drawer in the bedside table. Fumbling slightly in the dark, her questing fingers found the object of her search and closed over it. She held it close, then laid back down, pulling the covers up as high as she could.

Pressing her fingers on the control, she closed her eyes, smiling slightly as a flood of warm, sweet emotions of Narim's recorder swept over her.

She shouldn't do this, she knew. Shouldn't have even kept the device, much less taken it out of the mountain. She should have turned it over, let it be studied. She'd tried, right after the Tollan had left, she'd started to turn it over to General Hammond, but had stopped, remembering how embarrassed she'd been when Daniel had walked in on her and Narim.

This was something special, something personal that he'd done just for her and she couldn't bear the idea of someone else touching it, feeling his feelings for her. It was voyeurism of the highest order and more than she could take, especially when she remembered that it'd be Maybourne or one of his ilk that would be getting their jollies from it.

So she'd turned around, tucked the device under her shirt and slipped back down the hall. At first, she'd kept it in the mountain, locked up safely in a drawer, a secret, but still secure. She'd finally decided to take it home over a year later when they'd been rescued from Hathor and she'd gone back to her lab only to discover boxes piled on her table.

They'd been declared dead and space was at a premium, so they'd started to clean out both hers and Daniel's offices. The only thing that had kept them from finding Narim's gift had been the fact that she'd taken the key with her on that fateful mission and it had been too much trouble to jimmy the lock.

All it had taken her was five minutes with a screwdriver, and she'd been able to tuck the recorder into her pocket and take it home. She didn't care if she was breaking the rules, didn't care if it was wrong, didn't care that if anyone found out she'd be court-martialed. All she cared about was that it was special, it was hers, and it had to be protected.

There was something wrong, she knew, in keeping the little metal box. Something odd in her eagerness, at times, to get home and wrap her hands around the device and take comfort in someone else's memories, someone else's unrequited feelings.

There had to be something wrong with her. She shouldn't be depending on a small piece of alien technology for comfort. She shouldn't be alone. She should be sharing her bed with someone else, feeling the heat of his body seeping into hers, listening to the steady beat of another's heart, tasting the saltiness of his kisses on her lips.

She should be somewhere else, with someone else, but the one place she wanted to be, was the one place where she wasn't welcome and so she stayed alone, lulled to sleep by the cold comfort of a heartfelt gift.