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He turned to the truck, a determination in his gait Sam hadn't seen in a long time. He swooped to the toolbox and a gave a single, sweeping stab motion to the front passenger tire.
“Jack!”
He wrenched the screwdriver from the tire wall, the air beginning to expel in loud hisses, the truck listing as the tire flattened.
She hung back, watching as he took his pain out on his truck. He tossed the screwdriver to the lawn and picked up the hockey stick, the irony not lost on her. She'd watched him do this before and the situation provided an extra stab of pain to her heart. It was Hammond's truck he'd mutilated last time and, now, it was his own truck because Hammond had passed.
He smashed both headlights and took a swing to the bonnet, then another, then another.
Finally, she stepped up behind him. Smoothing her hands up his back, she could feel his muscles tense and release as he brought another hammering blow to the truck. “Jack,” she whispered, her hands travelling down his arms and managing to take the stick. She said his name again, placing a kiss in the centre of his back as he braced his hands on the dented bonnet.
He turned in her embrace and held onto her tightly. They were touching from knees to cheeks, his nose buried in the crook of her neck and her fingers threaded in his hair. “I'm so sorry, Jack.”
She was off-world when she was told about Hammond. A crackly video feed of Landry piped up through a space-gate. She asked if anyone had told General O'Neill but he was out at the cabin and out of signal range. She requested to be the one to tell him and prayed she could make it earth-bound and to Minnesota before he got wind.
She had swung her rental into the driveway and found him clearing out his garage and tinkering with the truck. His first shock was seeing her stepping out the car – seven weeks early – and the second was the dire look on her face.
She kissed him behind his ear as they leant against his battered truck. She told him about Landry and the call, and the week off she got authorised for the funeral. He pulled back, his hands maintaining contact on her hips as Sam brought her hands up to cup his face and pull his lips to hers.
His fingers pressed deeply into her skin, kissing her with as much passion as he could muster considering his shock and sadness.
“You meant a lot to him, Jack.”
He nodded, swiping a hand over his hair and scratching at the back of his neck. “You too.”
“We really have to get you a punching bag or something,” she went up onto her tiptoes and peered over his shoulder.
His body shuddered with a chuckle. “Missed you.”
“I missed you too.” She kissed him again.