Safety

Title: Safety

Author: Geonn

Pairing: Sam/Janet

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Stargate and characters are the property of MGM, Gekko, etc. Mainly you need to know no one with the name of Geonn owns the deed to these ladies.

Spoilers: "Singularity," sort of.

Archive: Yes, just let me know where it's gonna be.

Warning: Memories of child abuse

Notes: I kind of play with preconceived notions here. I mean... it seems like everyone - me included - has made the same assumption about a main character. Nothing says that assumption is correct...

Summary: Terror doesn't know the passage of time.

It comes again when she least suspects it. When she finally believes herself to be safe again, it creeps out. Attacks. Holds her in it's grip and refuses to release.

It's just a dream, she knows. It's over. But terror doesn't know the passage of time. Terror doesn't know history. Terror only knows now.

She sees it in bits and pieces. It's all she's ever allowed herself to remember. A stinging slap. An angry word. Blue eyes that are only kind some of the time flashing to cold silver. Fear as she hides from them. Trembling behind her bed in the hopes they don't look there for her when they're done beating each other. She cries at night. Sometimes during the day, too. Her bruises never healed before it was time to leave the house. She remembers hard grips on her upper arms, squeezing squeezing squeezing until she's afraid the arm will fall off and she cries some more.

They hit her when she cries. They laugh sometimes, too.

She wakes suddenly, the dream still gripping her. She hates the dream for taking her. She hates them for creating the dream. She climbs out of bed, moving already towards the door as fast as her feet can carry her. At least she didn't wet the bed this time... she hates when that happens. She finds the familiar bronze handle and opens the door to her mother's bedroom. Empty. Frantic, she darts downstairs, the tears starting anew.

Her mother is sitting in the kitchen with Sam. All the other lights are out and they're talking quietly. Sam's hand is on her mother's thigh. Janet turns at the sound of bare feet on the stairs and Sam moves her hand to the coffee mug. "Hee-y," Janet said, drawing the word out as she does. Her voice is soft, comforting. She turns and brings her hands together between her knees. "What are you doing up? It's almost--"

Her words are cut off by the teen slamming into her, wrapping her arms tight around her neck. She begins to sob and Janet closes her eyes, hands resting on Cassandra's shaking back. "The dream," Janet said, picking up on the symptoms. "Did you have it again?"

A bare nod.

"Oh, honey..." Janet soothed. "Nirrti is gone. She won't hurt you ever again, not if I have anything to say about it."

Sam was standing now, her hand in Cassandra's. The girl felt the grip of the dream fading in the protection of these two powerful women. They didn't know the true nature of her night terrors; didn't know the nature of her previous life. There was no need for them to know this early. She pressed her face into Janet's shoulder and let herself be held.