1. Downtime – at least downtime that wasn’t accompanied by bandages of some description – was rare for Jacob Carter. As such, he was thoroughly enjoying his time sprawled out on the couch; it was softer bed than any he’d had over the past few months. If he listened carefully, he could her his wife helping their son with his homework in his room – something about synonyms, or homonyms, or something other –nym that he was sure he hadn’t used since he himself was doing sixth grade homework.
It was because of this almost luxurious relaxation that he didn’t start at the first bang – probably just the dog, he thought. The next noise, a clang this time, also got no reaction – probably one of the neighbours too close to the fence. But the third, a resounding crash, left little room for denial, rudely disturbing his reverie and demanding investigation.
He followed the series of [tinkering] noises – much quieter but far more curious – into the kitchen. Having had no idea what he would find did nothing to eliminate the complete shock at seeing his five year old daughter sitting within their dishwasher. Internal components (that he could only hope weren’t literal) were scattered around the washer in a wet, messy ring. Grabbing Samantha around her soft tiny waist he pulled her out of the now useless appliance and lifted her out of reach. Removing the butter knife she had been using as a screwdriver from her pudgy little hands, he scolded her, forbidding her from ever doing such a thing ever again.
Having been forcibly removed from her project to see where the dirty dishes disappeared to, Sam pouted at her father. But not for too long; after all, the microwave looked pretty interesting.
2. She was going to win this year, she just knew it. Last year Billy Makins had gone home with the blue ribbon in the science fair, but though she had suspected foul play she had been unable to prove it.
She had taken up residence at the dining room table several weeks ago, it’s golden wood no longer visible for all the pieces of wire and masses of screws that had been carefully selected then either used or discarded. There was to be no exploding volcanoes or experiments on fruit flies for her; no, her project was to be far more than any of the other fourth grade entrants.
Halfway through configuring a circuit her mother walked in and she looked up, eager to point out her latest developments. But the look on her mother’s face caused the words to crumble in her mouth.
“Sammie…”
She simply put down her pliers and stepped back from the table. She knew that look on her mother’s face, knew what it meant. They would be moving. Again. Her father ad been reassigned and they would be packed and gone before the end of the week. Before the science fair.
She hoped Billy enjoyed his ribbon.
3. Sam ignored her door when it opened, refusing to turn and face her visitor. Instead she focused on the screen in front of her, reading and adjusting the stream of information being forwarded by the team of scientists down the hall. Maybe if she concentrated really hard, made sure that every calculation was correct, then she would not have to acknowledge the woman leaning in her doorway staring at her through an expression Sam hadn’t seen since her mother’s death.
Just as she thought her plan was working well, tiny numbers flying under her fingertips as she calculated the mass of the universe of some equally impossible task, her visitor moved forward, refusing to be ignored any longer. She slipped a folder around Sam’s stiffened shoulders, placing it gently over the keyboard. She said nothing but a soft “I’m sorry, Sam,” before smoothing down the younger woman’s hair, kissing her atop her head and leaving the tiny Pentagon office.
Alone once more Sam slumped and opened the folder to flip through personnel files she was sure she wasn’t supposed to see. O’Neill – Kawalsky – Ferretti... They were all soldiers – well, barring for one glaring exception – the kind of men she had served with before. Except this wasn’t her team, would never be her team. She closed the file away in a drawer, disheartened at the rejection she had received, the project abandoned before she had ever had a chance.
no subject
Downtime – at least downtime that wasn’t accompanied by bandages of some description – was rare for Jacob Carter. As such, he was thoroughly enjoying his time sprawled out on the couch; it was softer bed than any he’d had over the past few months. If he listened carefully, he could her his wife helping their son with his homework in his room – something about synonyms, or homonyms, or something other –nym that he was sure he hadn’t used since he himself was doing sixth grade homework.
It was because of this almost luxurious relaxation that he didn’t start at the first bang – probably just the dog, he thought. The next noise, a clang this time, also got no reaction – probably one of the neighbours too close to the fence. But the third, a resounding crash, left little room for denial, rudely disturbing his reverie and demanding investigation.
He followed the series of [tinkering] noises – much quieter but far more curious – into the kitchen. Having had no idea what he would find did nothing to eliminate the complete shock at seeing his five year old daughter sitting within their dishwasher. Internal components (that he could only hope weren’t literal) were scattered around the washer in a wet, messy ring. Grabbing Samantha around her soft tiny waist he pulled her out of the now useless appliance and lifted her out of reach. Removing the butter knife she had been using as a screwdriver from her pudgy little hands, he scolded her, forbidding her from ever doing such a thing ever again.
Having been forcibly removed from her project to see where the dirty dishes disappeared to, Sam pouted at her father. But not for too long; after all, the microwave looked pretty interesting.
2.
She was going to win this year, she just knew it. Last year Billy Makins had gone home with the blue ribbon in the science fair, but though she had suspected foul play she had been unable to prove it.
She had taken up residence at the dining room table several weeks ago, it’s golden wood no longer visible for all the pieces of wire and masses of screws that had been carefully selected then either used or discarded. There was to be no exploding volcanoes or experiments on fruit flies for her; no, her project was to be far more than any of the other fourth grade entrants.
Halfway through configuring a circuit her mother walked in and she looked up, eager to point out her latest developments. But the look on her mother’s face caused the words to crumble in her mouth.
“Sammie…”
She simply put down her pliers and stepped back from the table. She knew that look on her mother’s face, knew what it meant. They would be moving. Again. Her father ad been reassigned and they would be packed and gone before the end of the week. Before the science fair.
She hoped Billy enjoyed his ribbon.
3.
Sam ignored her door when it opened, refusing to turn and face her visitor. Instead she focused on the screen in front of her, reading and adjusting the stream of information being forwarded by the team of scientists down the hall. Maybe if she concentrated really hard, made sure that every calculation was correct, then she would not have to acknowledge the woman leaning in her doorway staring at her through an expression Sam hadn’t seen since her mother’s death.
Just as she thought her plan was working well, tiny numbers flying under her fingertips as she calculated the mass of the universe of some equally impossible task, her visitor moved forward, refusing to be ignored any longer. She slipped a folder around Sam’s stiffened shoulders, placing it gently over the keyboard. She said nothing but a soft “I’m sorry, Sam,” before smoothing down the younger woman’s hair, kissing her atop her head and leaving the tiny Pentagon office.
Alone once more Sam slumped and opened the folder to flip through personnel files she was sure she wasn’t supposed to see. O’Neill – Kawalsky – Ferretti... They were all soldiers – well, barring for one glaring exception – the kind of men she had served with before. Except this wasn’t her team, would never be her team. She closed the file away in a drawer, disheartened at the rejection she had received, the project abandoned before she had ever had a chance.