She's coffee. Like freshly brewed coffee, strong and rich. With, of course, just a bit of cream and sugar that she desperately tries to hide. When my eyes begin to drift shut, it is only she who can wake me up with simply a word, those fascinating eyes fixed on me as she begins to relate her latest theorem.

Like caffeine, she's amazing. I barely knew her when we made a connection, two babbling scientists on an alien planet light-years from home. She's the kind of coffee you break out on Christmas, only I get her every day of the week. Her magnificent mind awakens my own, her intent face sends bolts of energy through me. Her touch sends me high above any star in the heavens. Her wry grin hooks me like a mocha does. That absent way she runs her fingers through her hair when she's contemplating some impossible challenge, the way her body tenses before an attack, her absent's all like espresso.

I admit it. I'm addicted.

The problem? I'm the addict, she's the coffee. How could I ever get the coffee addicted to the drinker?


She...she's like a lake. A shining, gently rippling lake, the surface hiding treasures even greater. For one, her mind. She's smarter than anyone I've ever met...smarter than I could hope to be. She has more tricks up her sleeve than my little lake has fishes- she's proved it over and over. And, okay, so maybe I'm taking the fishing metaphor a bit far. But who can blame me?

Cold and warm, serene and stormy, grieving and laughing.... She's beautiful, she's brilliant, she's my lake. Smooth and wondrous, she carried me through life, giving me the strength to keep going on. And I admit it- I never want to leave her.

And the problem? I'm the fisherman, she's the lake. How the hell can a fisherman hook a lake?


She is a glider, dangerous and awe-inspiring. And so far above all others. She soars through each passing moment, her keen eyes fixed on every upcoming obstacle. Never has she stalled or crashed, and never shall she. And I? I am her pilot; I assist in guiding her through the days. When she finds herself off track, it is I who eases her back onto the correct path.

Similar to a glider, she is a work of art. Her open heart is large and all-encompassing, accepting me as I am. Her power is that of a Goa'uld, but she is kind as well as strong. No barb can pierce her exterior, no disaster can faze her. She is perfection.

My dilemma? A man often feels for his craft. But what craft has ever felt for its pilot?


Sometimes I wonder what they think of me at times like this. We're lounging around at my house, eating pizza and drinking beer, though Teal'c refused anything but water. We're watching an old hockey game that the Colonel had on tape. Daniel's alternating his sips of beer with gulps of coffee. I'm stretched across my couch, fighting back yawns.

Every so often, I see one of my teammates glance over at me, a strange, pensive expression in their eyes. What do they see when they look at me? No doubt Daniel sees me as a fellow scientist and a sister, a best friend. The Colonel? Well, I'm his Major, his 2IC, his friend...his sister. And I'm Teal'c's mentor and friend, his sister as well.

Don't get me wrong, I love this...having this family. Three big brothers. But am I so awful that none of them, even once, considers me as...well...more than a friend, different than a sister?

Ah well. So maybe I'll never be as valued as Daniel's coffee, the Colonel's little lake and cabin, Teal'c's gliders and zats. Doesn't mean I'm not content. Doesn't mean I resent the coffee, the lake, the gliders. Nope. Not at all. Not me.

But, maybe one day, maybe....


Hehehe. Just in case you couldn't guess it, the order of POV's is: Danny, O'Neill, Teal'c, then Sam. For the record, I'm both Sam/Danny and Sam/Jack, and maybe someday Sam/Jonas. Sorry, no Sam/Teal'c- just too wierd. I can't imagine Teal'c with anyone other than his wife or that priestess person that croaked. And Sam/Marty? Bleeeuugghh.

Email me! Even if just to tell me I'm deranged and a danger to society.