Disclaimer: The characters in Stargate SG1 do not belong to me. Too bad, too. Cause season seven would have ended a lot differently. But that’s another story…

Author’s Note: Janet sat down and told me a story, and I promised her I would write it out. So I did. A lot of information is from Teryl Rothery’s summary of Janet’s life… my muse just filled in the blanks.

O O O

Rated: PG

Type: pre-SGC Janet, Janet/other

Spoilers: Maybe kind of for "Hathor", but barely

Summary: Janet realises there is more to life than what she has been given.

"You outta your mind, honeybuns? There’s a reason why they call it ‘this man’s army.’"

A tense blanket of silence fell over the two still figures, broken only by muffled voices and cheers emitting from the football game on the television. Janet Fraiser cleared her throat after a moment and crossed her arms.

"It’s not the army, Richard. It’s the air force."

"Jesus, Janet, have you lost it?" Richard took a gulp of beer from the bottle next to him and set it down again too hard against the coffee table. Janet noticed he wasn’t using a coaster. Again.

She glanced around the living room, the grey, thread-bare furniture that didn’t match, sunken into dark brown carpet that was streaked with black ash stains from Richard’s cigarettes. She had asked him to smoke only outside more than she had begged him to use a coaster. She knew better than to ask him to quit all together… that was one argument they needed to have only once before she "learned her lesson." The living room was darker than she wished it would be, and the muted shadows hung over her like a gallows. She shivered.

"I can’t do this anymore." Her voice was strangled, and she cleared her throat. How many times had she practised this speech in the mirror while he was at the warehouse? I need out, Richard. I need to take care of myself, Richard. I’m twenty years old and I want to go to school, I want to join the military, I want to do something with my life, Richard.

She had been eighteen when they exchanged vows. Her mother begged her to change her mind, to go to college, to get out. Her father had just shook his head and didn’t talk to her for almost a year. But Janet couldn’t say no to Richard, couldn’t refuse the way he used to look at her, the way he used to make her laugh, they way he vowed to always take care of her. He was ten years her senior, but he was young at heart and passionate when he held her. She loved him, and she knew he loved her. At least, he did once.

"For God sakes, Janet, quit this crazy talk." Richard barked. He scratched his beer belly through a stained white shirt. "What the hell would make you want to join the military? You know a woman’s got no place in a job like that. Jesus, Janet, I thought you wanted kids?"

Janet examined her husband sprawled on the couch, his bare feet propped on the coffee table next to three empty beer bottles. He looked back at her like she was from another planet.

"I do want kids, Richard. But I’m twenty years old! Why do we have to worry about that now?" Richard let out a scoff that sounded like a disturbing cross between and laugh and a sob, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to go to college. I want to be a doctor for the air force."

This time Richard did laugh. He took another swig of beer and picked up the remote control to turn up the volume on the television.

"Janet, you’re not smart enough to be a doctor."

Her mouth dropped open and she was sure she made a growling noise in her throat.

Richard shrugged. "I just don’t want to see your little heart get broken." He turned his attention back to the television and shook his head again. "It’s just about dinner time ya know, sweet cheeks."

Sweet cheeks. She hated that nickname, and God he knew it. She took a step and stood in front of the television, clearing her throat.

"Richard, listen to me. I am dying in this house. I can not spend the rest of my life making you dinner. Don’t you understand that?"

"Janet, this conversation is over, get that through your pretty little head and go make dinner, will you? I’m trying to watch a game here." He waved his hand at her and picked up his beer again, and she stepped out from in front of the television and walked into the kitchen.

From the doorway, she looked back at her husband. He lit a cigarette. The smoke curled around his broad face, a thin, curly beard covering his chin, the skin weathered and wrinkled. His once deep, brown, kind eyes had aged with everything, and too often Janet felt like she was gazing into the eyes of a stranger.

She imagined herself in ten more years. Fat, wrinkled, smoking a cigarette and watching her dirty children play on the ash-stained rug, her old house dress clinging to all the wrong places, grey streaks through her once bright auburn hair.

They would probably have the exact same furniture.

"I’m serious about dinner, Janet. I work ten hours a day, can’t you at least have dinner cooking when I get home?"

His voice shattered her reverie and she glanced at him, staring her down from the couch. She took a gulp of smoky air and marched back into the living room, walking to the fireplace. She reached out to the fire place poker on the stand, the metal cool and heavy in her hand. She walked back to the centre of the living room, and Richard stared at her from the couch, eyes wide with apparent alarm. He raised his eyebrows, and she grit her teeth, raising up the heavy metal poker up, over her shoulder.

She swung it, loving the feel of impact as the poker hit the target. Richard called out, over and over, as she raised the poker over her shoulder twice more, swinging with all the might that her small body could muster.

She dropped the poker next to her feet, revelling in the complete, deadly silence that encompassed the room.

The television lay broken at her feet, twisted metal and shattered glass covering the ugly carpet. She looked up and Richard stared at her, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Janet, what in the hell are you thinking?" His voice was quiet and nervous, and for the first time ever, he seemed very, very small. "Have you completely lost you mind?"

She shook her head. "No, Richard. As a matter of fact, I think I am saner now than I have been in three very, very long years." She stepped over the bits of glass and walked to the hallway, turning over her shoulder. "And I want a divorce."

Without another word she walked to the master bedroom and packed her bags. Richard didn’t follow her, didn’t yell or beg. When she came back with her suitcase in hand, he was still standing in the same spot, staring down at the ruins of his television set. When he raised his eyes to Janet’s, wide, dark, helpless eyes, she almost felt sorry for him.

"What are you going to do now, Janet?" She suspected his tone was a challenge, and it made her smile.

"I think medical school is a good start, don’t you?" She responded, and without another word, she opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The screen door swung shut behind her, the sound of cheap metal smashing against a weathered door jam, and she stood on the front walkway, staring into the bright blue sky above her.

The wind tickled her hair, and she let herself smile. There was a big world out there.

And she was going to go and find it.