A Night At The Opera

The night was bitterly cold.

Inside the theatre, however, it was warm and bright and filled with the laughter and sound of people making merry for a night at the opera.

From the program booklet, Sam discovered that the concept of opera had begun as private entertainment for the Italian and French nobility of the 17^th Century. Her knowledge was pretty vague regarding European history - Daniel was into ancient stuff, not merely 'historical' - so all she associated with that time period was Marie Antoinette's famous quote about letting the peasantry eat cake. She kept reading.

The opera was Pete's idea. Valentine's Day, romance, red roses, champagne, chocolates - all the usual trappings of such an occasion. She got the feeling he'd done it more for the 'romance factor' than because either of them really liked opera.

The actual choice of opera was a little odd for the day; Verdi's 'Rigoletto'. The story was about a hunchback who plots revenge on his employer for the seduction of his daughter, only to have his plans turned about in his hands. Definitely not a Valentine's Day choice at all. Hardly the kind of thing she'd expected from Pete.

Still, it was nice to be taken out, to forget she had a world to save and duties she had to fulfil. It was pleasant to be adored and admired, and told that she outshone the brilliance of the stars. It was fun to giggle as the bubbles of champagne fizzed down her throat and Pete fed her strawberries and kisses. She was enjoying the night. She was enjoying herself.

At least, she was enjoying herself up until the first intermission when, across the room, she caught a glimpse of a silver-haired head across the room, tilted at an achingly familiar angle.

Her first thought was, What's he doing here? Then she chided herself. He liked the opera - she knew that well. And it wasn't as though he had anything to do on Valentine's Day. It wasn't as though he had a date.

Except that when she told Pete she'd be back in a moment, and began making her way through the crowd, she saw that he did have a date. A slim woman who was smiling at whatever the Colonel was saying, and sipping at a glass of orange juice between her laughs.

"...actually it's not a very nice aria," he was saying as Sam drew closer. "It talks about the fickleness of women and how a man should never trust them, but how men can't help it - they're lured into the arms of beauty..."

Sam found herself thinking she'd never heard quite that tone from the Colonel before - certainly not at work. Of course, at work, everything was very different.

The woman's dark eyes gleamed. "But the words were written by a man, of course."

There was a pause, slightly pregnant. "We're not all monsters, you know." Was it Sam's imagination, or was there a more personal note in there?

Soft tendrils of dark hair were swept over her shoulder as she looked down. "I know." She glanced up, looking slightly mischievous from under long dark lashes. "I can hardly say I went to dinner and the opera with a monster for Valentine's Day, now, can I?"

Although his back was turned to her, Sam could feel the relief in him - sharp as the sudden ache in her - as he answered, "Did you want to go back in before the rush?"

Sam decided it was now or never. She pushed the last few steps through and tapped him on the shoulder. "Colonel."

He turned, astonished to see her. She watched the faint tinge of red infuse his cheeks before he answered. "Carter! What a surprise." She watched as he glanced beyond her, "Not here with Pete?"

"Actually, sir, he just went to get us drinks."

"Ah." He glanced over her once, an glance that swept from her halter-necked top cut low over her breasts, down the legs exposed by the cut of the skirt, and back up to her face again. "Nice outfit," he said, and Sam fought a blush back. It was unlike anything he would ever have seen her in at the SGC.

"Thank you, sir." The title slipped off her tongue with automatic ease and she saw his companion's gaze fix on her with an appraising gaze that was somehow knowing. She glanced at the woman, but kept her attention on the Colonel. "Who's your friend?"

He glanced at his companion who smiled, impishly. "Carter, this is Melissa. Mel, this is Samantha Carter."

Mel?

One perfect, dark eyebrow rose in query. "You go by 'Sam', though?" She glanced from Sam to the Colonel and back to Sam, seemingly not needing an answer. "Pleased to meet you." There was an odd pause after the sentence, almost as if another few words were being silently said. Sam got the distinct feeling she was missing something here. "Are you enjoying the opera?"

It was a polite question, and Sam answered it just as politely. "It's a little bit...confusing," she said. "But I understand operas usually are." She glanced at the Colonel and was a little surprised to find him watching Melissa carefully.

"The...er... We've been to see several operas lately," Melissa said, glancing back at the Colonel with a faint smile. "The Central City Opera had a program which the Colonel insisted on dragging me along to."

Sam blinked - the Colonel? - but her CO interrupted her train of thought.

"And you loved it," he drawled, with a lazy half-smile that Sam was unused to seeing directed at another woman.

"I've enjoyed it," Melissa corrected him lightly.

"You loved it - you cried like a baby in 'La Traviata'."

The dark-haired woman regarded the Colonel with solemn eyes. "It was the story..."

Something like a wince crossed the Colonel's face. "Oh." He glanced at Sam, who was feeling decidedly left out of the conversation - something she'd never felt before with Colonel O'Neill. There was a second when she thought there was an apology in his face, but it was swiftly covered when he glanced over her shoulder at the man who came up and pressed a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Hey, honey," he kissed her neck, affectionately - or was it possessively? Sam didn't know, but either way, it made her uncomfortable. "Colonel O'Neill."

"Mr. Shanahan." His eyes slid off Pete and looked to her. "Good night?"

"Definitely. And it's only going to get better, isn't it, hon?" He squeezed Sam's waist lightly, and Sam smiled, but resisted the urge to squirm away. Although she usually liked Pete touching her, tonight, standing opposite Colonel O'Neill and his 'lady friend', she didn't want to be fondled so publicly. And she wasn't comfortable with the suggestive hint of what would almost certainly happen when they went home after the opera.

A flicker of distaste crossed the Colonel's face at Pete's words. "Well, we'll leave you to drink your champagne and get back to your seats," he said smoothly. Now was it distaste at Pete's words and actions, or a general disapproval of Pete? He'd never seemed to particularly care before. "Good to see you, Carter, Shanahan."

"Enjoy the night out, Miss Baker, Colonel."

"Oh, we will," the Colonel said, serenely. He offered his arm to Melissa who took it as they drifted off.

Sam watched them go, noting the casual intimacy of the touch, and the way the woman leaned in to the Colonel. Either Melissa was throwing herself at the Colonel, or the relationship was a long-standing one. And if it was a long-standing one, why hadn't Sam known about it?

One of Pete's comments registered in her brain. "You know her?"

Pete regarded her with surprise. "Melissa Baker? Sure, I know her. She's a well-known call-girl in Denver." The statement had a small bite to it, and she could see his eyes watching her face for a reaction.

She masked her expression and sipped her champagne, determined not to let him see how much the revelation had hurt. Secrecy and privacy had become a habit with her - a hard one to break, even with a boyfriend about.

In spite of being privy to the Stargate project, Pete wasn't authorised to know about on-going missions. What he knew was the basics of the Stargate's discovery, its ability to take them to other planets, and the Goa'uld. The rest of it remained classified, and all the pushing and prodding he did to Sam wouldn't get him that information. At least, not from Sam.

As Pete slung an arm around her waist and they regarded the rest of the opera-goers for the night, a part of her wanted to demand just exactly how well-known the call-girl was. Specifically, how well-known the girl was to Pete. It was fairly obvious that the girl was already well-known to the Colonel.

And that explained why he'd never mentioned her before. A wave of relief washed over Sam, almost palpably easing the knots her stomach had tied into. A call-girl didn't classify as a girlfriend. Not really. Then her stomach contracted again.

Why, then, the nights at the opera? Why are they so comfortable together? She tried to shake the thought, irritated, but her brain didn't seem to want to get off this train of thought. They've been seeing each other for some time...

"Hey," Pete said softly. "I know you're not finding this opera thing very interesting... Did you wanna go home early?"

She almost said 'Yes'. She'd been enjoying herself until her work life intruded on her personal life, but now the night was spoiled somehow. However, as she looked around the gilt-and-velvet of the old-style theatre, Sam realised the idea of going back to Pete's apartment and making love didn't hold much attraction right now. "Can we stay?" She asked, as winsomely as she could. "I'd like to see the ending."

"It's not like a movie, you know," he said, not bothering to hide his preference. "They gave us the ending with the program booklet..."

Sam forbore to say that knowing the ending wasn't all that much different from the cop movies he enjoyed - you knew the good guys were going to win, half the time she could predict the events long before they happened. The special effects could be interesting, but she'd seen the real thing enough times to make most of them fairly staid. Most of the time when she watched a movie with him, her brain went wandering through her lab, making notes, and cataloguing the tests she had to do the next day.

"We paid for the tickets, we might as well stay," she said, simply.

"Hey, I paid for the tickets," he protested, "Doesn't that mean I get a say in what we do?"

"You gave them to me as a Valentine's Day present," she pointed out, sweetly. "Therefore, they're mine, and I'd like to stay."

Pete sulked a little. He was cute when he sulked, but Sam was immune to the cuteness by now.

The intermission was coming to an end, and they finished their champagne and made their way back to their seats. Pete kept up his soft suggestions about what they could be doing instead of listening to another two hours, and Sam considered them briefly, before she decided she really did want to sit through this opera - if only so she could quiz the Colonel about it come Monday morning.

Sit through it she did. The music was beautiful, even if Sam didn't understand the words, and the story had more twists to it than any soap. Pete leaned his chin on her shoulder, more interested in what was to follow the opera than the opera itself. And he wasn't above trying to persuade her to leave early by caressing her during the show - sometimes quite distractingly.

Sam ignored the distractions as best she could and at the second intermission between acts, she left Pete in his chair and went to find the ladies' room.

And found Melissa touching up her makeup in the mirror of the powder-room.

Sam stopped, her body taking over her thought processes, observing the woman in the mirror.

For a woman whose face and body were her living, Melissa Baker looked...disappointing. Nothing flashy, nothing fancy. A gold fob chain around her throat and a pair of earrings swinging lightly from each lobe. A chain bracelet on her wrist and a couple of rings. Stylish clothing but simple and ordinary, no overdone makeup...

"We don't all look like Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman', Major Carter."

Sam started, realising she'd been caught staring. More than that, she'd been caught mid-thought, and not just mid-stare. "I wasn't..."

"You're a terrible liar, Major." There was a dry tone to the soft alto voice as the woman pulled out mascara and began reapplying it to her eyelashes with long, broad sweeps.

The girl obviously knew something about Sam - presumably the Colonel had spoken about her at some stage. Sam took a step closer to the woman at the bench. "So just how much do you know about the Colonel and me?" The edge in her voice wasn't intentional, but it was there, nevertheless.

Melissa shrugged. "Enough."

"He's not..." Sam bit back that comment before it could betray her. "I don't think you have any idea..."

"Maybe not," the woman said, unruffled. "But I'm sure that you understand even less of what's between me and your Colonel than I understand of what used to be between you and him." Used to be? Sam denied that instinctively, even as Melissa finished doing her mascara and slipped the brush back into the tube. "After all, before tonight, you didn't even know he was seeing me, did you?"

Sam was a trained fighter. She could take out this woman without breaking a sweat or smudging her makeup. And the urge was rising in her - to sweep that faint, knowing smile from the woman's face by whatever means were to hand. Except that this wasn't a combat situation - not by a long shot. And this woman wasn't worth losing her temper - Sam knew that. But her fingers were itching nevertheless.

"We keep our personal lives separate."

"Ah." The monosyllable irked Sam.

"What do you mean, 'ah'?" Her voice was dangerously crisp, and she knew there was a bite to her tone, but she wasn't presently capable of controlling it. "What would you know about the Colonel's personal life anyway?" You're just a body in bed.

She didn't have to add the tag, but Melissa heard it nevertheless. "The historical term for a woman in my position was 'courtesan', Major. You might like to ask Dr. Jackson what the position entailed. I understand he'd be able to inform you of the role in historical culture."

Sam didn't need informing, she knew what a courtesan was. But the idea of this woman sharing any part of the Colonel's personal life - having any part of him outside of the bed...

Who was she kidding? The idea of this woman having any part of the Colonel in bed was anathema.

"You don't have any idea of the kind of man Colonel O'Neill is," Sam said, with all the quietness she could muster. She'd forgotten more about the Colonel than this woman had ever known.

"You're quite right," Melissa agreed, sotto voce, "I don't." Away went the mascara, and out came the lipstick. "But you see," the woman said, thoughtfully, "I'm not sleeping with him for love." She paused, again meeting Sam's eyes for emphasis. The lipstick twirled down and out came the tissue to blot the excess away. "You know, Major, we're not that far different in the men we're screwing." She checked her mouth in the mirror and, satisfied with what she saw, crumpled up the tissue.

Then she turned to look Sam directly in the face, as she hadn't for all of their previous conversation. "The only differences between you and me, Major, is that at the end of the night, I walk away with the money, leave behind a satisfied client, and I don't have any illusions about where I stand in the relationshp." The tissue was tossed into a bin and the woman looked her square in the eye. Sam was surprised to discover no smugness, no condescension - just a hint of pity on the pretty face. "And I think that's more than you can say."

And she walked past Sam and out the door.

The other patrons had barely glanced at them during the conversation. They barely glanced at Sam now as she took Melissa's place at the mirror.

If they had stared, Sam wouldn't have noticed. Instead of taking out her makeup, she stared at her reflection, wondering when things had gone awry.

After the hallucinatory incident on the Prometheus, she'd been willing to look around at possibilities beyond Colonel O'Neill. Somewhere along the way, she'd found Pete. His accusation of secrets had hurt that first morning, but Sam had believed that they could make it work out - and he was...different. New. Exciting in that newness. So she'd gotten the authorisation for him to find out about the Stargate project - not as hard as she'd expected after he'd seen Osiris' display outside Daniel's house. Their relationship had continued.

She'd expected it to be hard to give up the Colonel. In fact, she'd found it surprisingly easy. No moments of angst, not really anything that gave her pause, hardly even any guilt. She slept with Pete and she worked with the Colonel and everything was fine.

Melissa Baker wasn't even a girlfriend - not a real one. Just a call-girl paid to fill the needs of an active, red-blooded man. Nothing when compared to the woman Jack O'Neill worked with day in and day out.

Nothing.

I'm not sleeping with him for love.

So why did it hurt so much?

Because you didn't let him go. You didn't give him up. The little voice whispered into her ear, insidious and taunting, and Sam looked away from the accusing eyes of the woman in the mirror and picked out her lipstick.

I did! I stopped longing after him and started a relationship with Pete...

You started a relationship with Pete, said the little voice inexorably. You never stopped longing after the Colonel.

A small bit of irritation grew in her. And what was I supposed to do? I work with him... He said he'd always be there for me...

Something in her negated that thought even as it formed. Your hallucination said he'd always be there for you. He never said anything of the sort.

Sam froze. The Colonel never said... She'd assumed he would be there - and, as far as their work went, he always had been. But personally...

Personally, he'd gone to find other companionship - as she'd gone to Pete. He'd gone to find someone to unwind with at the end of the day, someone with whom to share his love of opera and the arts, someone with whom to share books and discuss politics, someone with whom to watch sports games or share a beer.

Someone who wasn't Sam Carter.

The thought ached oddly as she searched through her purse looking for eyeshadow.

She paused as a disembodied voice announced that the performance would resume in five minutes. Swiftly, she neatened her makeup, went to the bathroom, and returned to her seat where Pete was waiting for her.

"Last chance," he said, as the lights began to dim and the orchestra began to tune up.

Sam shook her head, automatically smiling at his pouting disappointment. She wanted the time in the dark to think, to recoup after the unexpected meeting in the powder room - after the unexpected volleys fired by the other woman.

Pete caressed her thigh again, and Sam laid her hand on his. "Don't," she requested quietly as the orchestra started up. "Not right now."

He sat back and held his hands up in surrender. Sam gave him a brief smile and turned her attention to the stage, although she wasn't hearing the music of the overture, she was hearing the call-girl's words.

We're not that far different in the men we're screwing.

She was so wrong about that.

No, actually, she's right. The treacherous little voice inside her pointed out calmly, uncaring of the consternation such a revelation was causing in Sam. You're not sleeping with Pete for love anymore than the Colonel sleeps with the call-girl for love.

I love Pete!

No, the voice told her. You don't. You think he's fun to be with, and good for sex. He likes you and thinks you're beautiful. He's always willing to admire you and give you gifts, take you out for a good time and make you feel good. But you don't love him. Not really.

She glanced at Pete, sitting back in his chair with a slightly bored expression on his face. I like him, though. I really do.

And I'm sure the Colonel 'likes' Melissa, too. Otherwise, he wouldn't be bringing her to the opera.

Sam stifled the choke of bitterness, and set her attention to the stage as the curtains raised and the act began. She would not think about it any more. She would pay attention to the story and the music and ignore the Colonel and Melissa sitting somewhere out there in the audience.

For the most part, she succeeded. At least, she did right up until they were leaving the theatre.

The crush in the foyer was amazing, as people collected their coats and bags and hats and sticks, and Sam found herself and Pete stuck halfway down the stairs, waiting for the people in front of them to move.

Across the foyer, she caught a flash of silver hair, and automatically looked that way.

The Colonel was side-on to her, his profile easily recognisable. Melissa was facing towards the stairs, saying something quietly. The grin on her face was full of mischief, and the Colonel grinned back, surprisingly boyish, and bent to whisper something in her ear. The dark eyes widened at what he said, and her expression grew faintly sultry as she gave her retort. She turned a little, the better to get her jacket on, and her eyes tangled with Sam's.

The colour of jealousy wasn't green, Sam decided as they looked at each other, calm brown to icy blue. Jealousy was the red of anger and blood, visceral in its elementary nature, and brutal in the synapses of mind and body. Her fingers clenched around her purse before sanity asserted itself. What was she doing? She broke the gaze and refused to look back.

They got out of the opera without seeing the Colonel and his date again, got out of the parking lot without any incidents, and got home without any of Pete's ardour being dampened.

Sam went along for the ride, but she couldn't summon any enthusiasm for sex tonight. Her heart wasn't in it.

Now she was beginning to wonder if her heart ever had been in it.

She let Pete fall asleep afterwards, and climbed out of bed to go over to the window and stare out at the street and think in the silence and the coolness and the quiet.

It ached to think of the Colonel with another woman - even a call-girl whose services he'd paid for. And, not just some prostitute to give him a blow job, but a woman with whom he chose to converse and share his interests. A woman who knew the personal side of Jack O'Neill more intimately than Sam ever had - and probably ever would.

Was it permanent? Given Melissa's job, Sam doubted it.

But it's not about permanancy, is it?

What do you mean?

You know and he knows and she knows that this story isn't 'Pretty Woman'.

So?

So why are you getting all hot under the collar because the Colonel has someone he sees to have his physical and emotional needs looked after?

Because it's not me!

She hadn't expected that answer. Not in all it's bald and unkind glory. It spewed out of her like a monster birthed in her mind and heart; fully-spawned jealousy, gnawing at her soul with sharp teeth.

It was your own choice, you know, warned the little voice, remorselessly.

As if she needed that reminder.

It hurt.

You never did let him go, Sam.

No, I didn't.

She acknowledged that now.

She'd held onto the Colonel and happily gone off to start a relationship with a man who could admire her and give her a good time. She'd never done the Colonel the justice of letting go - and while she'd been self-involved with her love life and her so-called happiness, he'd found companionship elsewhere.

And that knowledge hurt.

You were kidding yourself. There was something horribly inexorable about the voice in her head, holding up the mirror and angling the light clearly on her soul, pointing out the things she'd carefully hidden beneath the veil of 'happiness' with her relationship with Pete. You thought he'd sit around, just happy that you'd found someone to make you happy. You thought he'd put his life on hold while you fooled around, working out what was going on.

Oh, shut up.

Now that she realised the problem, how was she going to fix this?

You can't.

Her spirits sank, cold and bright and bitter in that knowledge. She'd chosen to take up with Pete, and the Colonel had chosen to take up with Melissa. And even if she broke up with Pete, that was no guarantee that she'd get the Colonel back.

Not that he was ever yours in the first place. He was always beyond your reach.

Now, he was just that much further away - pushed away by Sam and her stupidity.

She rested her forehead against the windowpane, cold on the outside, frozen in her soul - save for that one place where the hot little nub of jealousy burned.

I don't have any illusions about where I stand in the relationship. Melissa's words - harsh and unkind, but so true - haunted her.

Neither did Sam, now.

I just want things to be the way they were!

But the past could not be changed. What was done, was done, and could not be undone. There was no way to halt the tide, and no way to regain what she had lost.

Pete turned over in the bed, drawing her attention back to him, and Sam suddenly felt sick.

Was this how a teenage boy felt upon discovering his girlfriend was pregnant? The dumping wave of lost hopes and dreams and frightening inevitability? The salt sand of the beach, beautiful and exotic - but ultimately barren and unending?

She'd taken more into her own hands than merely her own happiness. She'd involved Pete in her 'journey of discovery' only to find that the adventure was not what she wanted.

What happened now? What did she do? Did she want to settle with Pete - a man for whom she felt passion and affection, but nothing like the intensity she still felt for the Colonel.

She wondered what the Colonel was doing now. Was he even now undressing Melissa with gentle hands? Peeling off clothing with a slow smile and a wicked grin? Touching, stroking, kissing her - and letting himself be touched, stroked, and kissed in return...?

Sam's gorge rose and she fought the urge to run for the bathroom. The champagne she'd had earlier was bitter against the back of her throat, and she dug her fingers into the cold wood of the window frame, using pain to control her body's responses.

But nothing could control her emotions. Not even the rigid military demeanour she'd practised for so long. Not anymore.

Guilt and regret churned in her belly, and she turned back to the window to look out through the frozen darkness.

The night was bitterly cold.

And so was her heart.

* fin *

AUTHOR'S NOTES 2: 'La Traviata' is an opera that runs along essentially the same storyline as the movie 'The Lady of the Camellias'.

The stories are essentially about a young woman - a courtesan who falls for a young man of good standing in the community. Their love blossoms, until the father of the young man entreats the courtesan to let the young man go because she's not doing him any favours. The courtesan does so, and, after some time, the young man realises she really did love him. However, by the time he rushes back to the courtesan's side, he's usually only in time to sit by her as she dies.

It's a major tearjerker - I figured I'd give Melissa a soft and chewy centre.