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The smell of roasted garlic and rosemary clung to the air of Janet Fraiser’s dining room, a scent that usually signaled a rare evening of peace for Sam Carter. But tonight, the atmosphere was charged with a different kind of energy. Across the table sat Janet’s older brother, Simon—a man who possessed the same sharp, inquisitive eyes as the Doctor, but with a ruggedness that suggested he spent more time on construction sites than in sterile infirmaries.
Janet was in high spirits, her laughter ringing out as she recounted a particularly disastrous attempt at a "team-building" hike with the SGC staff. Sam watched her, a soft smile tugging at her lips. There was something about seeing Janet in her own home, stripped of the lab coat and the weight of the galaxy, that always made Sam’s heart feel a little lighter.
"I’ll be right back," Janet said, gathering a stack of dessert plates. "I left the lemon tart in the kitchen, and if I know Simon, he’s already eyeing the crust."
"Guilty," Simon admitted, raising his wine glass in a mock salute.
As the swinging door clicked shut behind Janet, the room fell into a comfortable, low-lit silence. Sam took a sip of her Chardonnay, feeling the warmth of the evening settle into her bones.
"She’s happy, Sam," Simon said suddenly. His voice was quiet, devoid of the teasing lilt he’d used all dinner.
Sam looked up, meeting his steady gaze. "She deserves to be. She works harder than anyone I know."
"No, I mean truly happy," Simon clarified, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the mahogany table. "I’ve seen her through the residency, the divorce, the stress of whatever 'top secret' headache you two deal with every day. But this? This is different. She has a glow I haven’t seen in years."
Sam felt a flush of pride for her friend. "We look out for each other. It’s a tight-knit group."
Simon chuckled, a knowing, gentle sound. "You don't have to play the 'good soldier' with me, Sam. Honestly, I was relieved when she told me you were coming over tonight. I’ve been dying to meet the woman who finally captured my sister’s heart."
The wine nearly went down the wrong way. Sam set her glass down with a sharp clack. "I’m sorry? Captured her... Simon, I think there’s been a misunderstanding."
Simon waved a hand dismissively, a small, supportive smile on his face. "It’s okay. Really. I know Janet’s always been private—especially with the parents—but you can’t hide the way you two look at each other. It’s in the shorthand, the way you finish her sentences, the way she relaxes the second you walk into the room. So, tell me—how long has it been? A year? Longer?"
Sam’s brain, usually capable of calculating hyperspace trajectories in seconds, ground to a screeching halt. "Simon, no. No, no. Janet and I... we’re friends. We’re best friends. We work together."
Simon’s smile didn't fade; it just turned a bit more sympathetic. "Sam, you don't have to hide it from me. I know she hasn't 'officially' come out to the family yet, but we’ve known for a long time. Ever since she was a teenager, really. We were just waiting for her to find someone she felt safe with. And seeing you tonight? I get it. You’re perfect for her."
"Simon, stop," Sam said, her voice trembling slightly with a mix of confusion and a strange, rising panic. "I am telling you the absolute truth. There is nothing romantic between us. Janet has never mentioned... she isn't... she hasn't told me she’s gay."
The silence that followed was deafening. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway sounded like a hammer against an anvil.
Simon’s expression shifted from warmth to confusion, then to a stark, horrifying realization. The color drained from his face until he looked nearly as pale as the tablecloth.
"Oh, god," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Oh... oh no."
"Simon?"
"She hasn't told you," he breathed, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "She hasn't told anyone at work, has she? She hasn't even told you."
"There’s nothing to tell!" Sam insisted, though her heart was suddenly hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. "We’re just friends!"
"Sam, please," Simon hissed, leaning across the table, his eyes wide with genuine terror. "Forget I said anything. Please. I thought... because of how close you are, because you're the only person she talks about in every single letter... I just assumed she’d finally found her person and you were in on it."
"You think she’s...?" Sam couldn't even finish the sentence.
"I know she is," Simon whispered urgently. "But if she finds out I just outed her to her best friend—to her colleague—she’ll never speak to me again. Our parents are old-fashioned, she’s always been scared of the fallout, and with her career... Sam, I am begging you. Do not tell her I said this. I made a massive, arrogant assumption and I’ve stepped in it. Please. Just let it go."
The kitchen door swung open. Janet emerged, carrying a tray with a beautifully glazed tart and three cups of coffee.
"Alright, the masterpiece has arrived," she announced, her face bright with an innocent, domestic joy that now felt like a physical weight on Sam’s chest. She looked at the two of them, her brow furrowing slightly. "Is everything okay? You both look like you’ve seen a ghost."
Simon cleared his throat, his voice tight. "Just... Sam was telling me about a particularly grueling training exercise. High stakes."
"Oh, I'm sure," Janet laughed, setting the tray down and tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She caught Sam’s eye and gave her a small, private wink—a gesture Sam had seen a thousand times, but one that now felt like a revelation she wasn't prepared for.
The rest of the evening was a masterclass in suppressed panic. Sam managed to eat her tart, drink her coffee, and say her goodbyes, but her body felt like it was operating on autopilot while her mind was a whirlwind of shattered assumptions.
When she finally climbed into her car, she didn't turn the key. She sat in the silence of the driveway, staring at the warm yellow light spilling out of Janet’s front window.
We’ve known for a long time. The way she looks at you.
Sam leaned her head against the steering wheel. She thought about every time Janet had stayed late to keep her company in the lab. She thought about the way Janet touched her shoulder when she was stressed, and the way they had spent every major holiday together for the last three years.
She had always called it "bonding." She had called it "the sisterhood of the SGC."
But as the silence of the night settled around her, Sam realized with a jolt of terrifying clarity that the reason she wasn't offended by Simon’s mistake wasn't just because she cared about Janet. It was because, for a split second when he had called them a couple, something deep inside her had whispered: Finally.
The fluorescent lights of the SGC infirmary had never felt so aggressive. Usually, the hum of the ventilation and the rhythmic beeping of monitors were a comfort to Sam—the sounds of science and healing. Today, they sounded like a countdown.
Sam stood at the observation window, clutching a tablet with a report on the latest atmospheric readings from P3X-595, but her eyes weren't tracking the data. They were fixed on the woman in the center of the room.
Janet was moving between beds with her usual brisk, effortless grace. She was laughing at something Siler had said, her hand resting briefly, comfortably, on the airman’s arm as she checked his vitals. It was a gesture Sam had seen a thousand times. Professional. Kind.
But Simon said he knew. He said the whole family knew.
"Sam? You're staring."
Sam jumped, nearly dropping the tablet. Janet was standing right in front of her, a playful, slightly concerned smirk on her face. Up close, Sam could see the faint shadow of fatigue under Janet’s eyes—the mark of a woman who gave everything to everyone else.
"I... sorry. Just thinking about the telemetry," Sam lied, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears.
Janet stepped closer, tilting her head. The proximity, which had always felt like a safe harbor, suddenly felt electric. "The telemetry from five-nine-five isn't that interesting, Sam. I’ve read the prelims. You okay? You’ve been acting... twitchy since you arrived."
"Twitchy?" Sam echoed, her brain betraying her. "I'm not twitchy. I’m efficient."
Janet laughed, a low, warm sound that vibrated in Sam’s chest. "You're efficient when you're twitchy. Did my brother wear you out last night? I know Simon can be a bit much. He tends to interrogate people when he likes them."
Interrogate. That was one word for it. Accidentally dismantle my entire perception of our relationship was another.
"He was fine, Janet. Really. He’s... he’s very observant," Sam managed.
Janet sighed, leaning against the nurse’s station, just inches from Sam. "He is. Sometimes too much for his own good. He’s been on this kick lately about me 'finding balance.' He thinks I spend too much time in the mountain." She glanced at Sam, her expression softening into something intensely private. "I tried to tell him that as long as I’m here with the people I care about, the balance is just fine."
Sam felt her heart skip a beat, a literal, physical flutter. She looked at Janet’s lips, then quickly snapped her gaze back to the tablet. The "new information" was like a filter pulled over a camera lens; everything was the same, yet the colors were suddenly, blindingly vivid.
"Sam? Seriously, you’re pale. Sit down before I have to admit you as a patient." Janet reached out, her fingers brushing Sam’s forearm to guide her toward a chair.
The touch felt like a live wire. Sam pulled back—not out of disgust, but out of a sudden, overwhelming fear that if she stayed that close, she’d say something she couldn't take back. Or worse, she’d realize Simon was right about how she looked at Janet.
Janet’s hand hovered in the air for a second, her smile faltering. A flicker of hurt crossed her features before she masked it with a professional mask. "Okay. Sorry. Didn't mean to crowd you."
"No, it's not—Janet, I just..." Sam scrambled for an excuse, her mind racing. "I forgot I have a briefing with Colonel O'Neill. I'm late. I'll... I'll see you at lunch?"
Janet watched her, her eyes narrowed with the diagnostic precision that made her the best doctor in the service. "Actually, I’m booked through lunch. Maybe coffee later?"
"Right. Coffee. Later," Sam stammered, already backing toward the door.
As she retreated into the hallway, Sam caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass doors. She looked terrified. She also looked like someone who had just realized the most important person in her life had a secret—and that she might be the biggest part of it.
Across the room, Janet remained by the station, watching Sam disappear. She didn't go back to her charts. She just stood there, her thumb tracing the spot on her own hand where she had touched Sam’s arm, a thoughtful, bittersweet shadow crossing her face.
The lab was silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of a power capacitor Sam had been "fixing" for the last three hours. In reality, she’d been staring at the same subatomic particle readout until the blue lines blurred into a singular, haunting smear.
She couldn't stop replaying the moments.
There was the time she’d been stuck in the infirmary after the encounter with the Broca Divide. Janet had sat by her bed, her hand resting on Sam’s, a steady anchor in a world that had gone primal. Then there were the countless Friday nights on Janet’s couch, sharing a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn, their shoulders brushing as they laughed at some terrible late-night movie. Sam had always categorized those moments as safe. They were the quiet, soft edges of a life lived at Mach 3.
But now, Simon’s words—the family has known for a long time—stung like an open wound.
If they knew, Sam thought, her grip tightening on a sonic screwdriver, why didn't I?
She felt a sudden, sharp pang of inadequacy. They were supposed to be everything to each other. They’d faced Gou'ald, Replicators, and the literal end of the world together. Yet, in the quiet spaces between the stars, Janet had kept a part of herself under lock and key. Was it the military? Was it the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" shadow that still loomed over their careers? Or was it Sam herself? Was there something about Sam that made Janet feel she couldn't be her true self?
"You know, if you keep staring at that crystal, it’s going to start feeling self-conscious."
Sam gasped, spinning around. Daniel Jackson was leaning against the doorframe, a stack of translations tucked under his arm and a knowing, tired smile on his face.
"Daniel. I didn't hear you come in."
"I knocked. Twice," he said, walking further into the room. He set his papers down and peered at her. "Sam, you’re vibrating. And not in the 'I just discovered a new physics constant' kind of way. What’s going on?"
Sam looked back at her workbench, her chest tight. She needed to talk. She needed someone who understood the complexities of the heart as well as the complexities of ancient history. But she couldn't betray Simon’s secret. Not yet.
"I... I found out something yesterday," Sam began, her voice carefully neutral. "About a... a very close friend. Someone I thought I knew better than anyone."
Daniel pulled up a stool, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. "Okay. Is it bad news?"
"No. Not bad. Just... significant," Sam said, picking up a piece of equipment just to have something to do with her hands. "I found out this friend is gay. And that their family has known for years. But they never told me. Not once."
She looked at Daniel, her eyes bright with a mix of confusion and hurt. "I don't know how to process it, Daniel. We’re so close. I thought we were... I thought there was total trust. Why wouldn't they tell me? Am I that unapproachable? Do I seem like someone who would judge them?"
Daniel blinked, a look of profound surprise crossing his face. Then, slowly, his features melted into a massive, relieved grin.
"Oh! Oh, Sam, that’s great! Honestly, I’m so happy for her." He let out a short, joyful laugh. "I was wondering when she’d finally feel comfortable enough to say it out loud to you. She’s been so nervous about it."
The screwdriver clattered to the floor. Sam froze, the air in the lab suddenly feeling very thin.
"What?" she whispered.
Daniel, caught up in his own enthusiasm, didn't notice her sudden stillness. "I mean, I know it’s a big step, especially with the regulations and her position, but I’m just glad she finally did it. She’s been carrying that around for a long time.”
Sam felt like the floor had just dropped out from under her. The room tilted.
"She... she told you?" Sam’s voice was barely audible.
Daniel paused, finally picking up on the shift in the room. His smile faltered. "Wait. Sam... she did tell you, right? You said you found out yesterday."
"I found out from her brother, Daniel," Sam said, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. "Her brother thought we were together. He thought I was the one she came out to."
The realization hit Daniel like a physical blow. He winced, his hand going to the back of his neck. "Oh. Oh, boy. Sam, I... I thought... when you said you found out..."
"You knew," Sam said, the betrayal now two-fold. "Janet told you. She didn't tell her best friend, the person she spends every weekend with, but she told you?"
"It wasn't like that!" Daniel said quickly, reaching out a hand. "It happened months ago, after a few too many drinks when we were stuck on that research outpost. She didn't plan it. It just... it came out. And then she made me swear I’d never mention it because she was so terrified of how it would change things between the two of you."
"Change things?" Sam echoed.
"Sam," Daniel said softly, his eyes full of pity. "She wasn't afraid of being judged. She was afraid that if you knew she was gay, you’d start looking at every hug, every movie night, every touch, and think she had an ulterior motive. She was afraid of losing the only person who makes her feel human because she was worried you’d be... uncomfortable."
Sam leaned back against the cold metal of the workbench, her head spinning. Janet hadn't stayed silent because she didn't trust Sam. She’d stayed silent because she was scared of Sam.
And as Sam thought back to the way her own heart had jumped when Simon suggested they were a couple, she realized the irony was almost unbearable. They were both standing on opposite sides of a glass wall, terrified of breaking it, never realizing that the other was leaning against it, too.
"She's been protecting us," Sam whispered.
"She loves you, Sam," Daniel said simply. "In whatever way you want to define that. That’s why she didn't tell you."
The next seven days were the most analytically rigorous of Sam’s life, but she wasn't studying naquadah generators or solar flares. She was studying Janet Fraiser.
As a scientist, Sam knew that a single data point—a brother’s slip of the tongue, a linguist’s accidental confession—was just a hypothesis. She needed a pattern. She needed to observe the "system" in its natural state without the observer effect skewing the results.
It started in the briefing room. Sam watched from the corner of her eye as Janet presented the medical fallout of the last mission. Usually, Sam focused on the slides. Now, she focused on the way Janet’s posture shifted when she made eye contact with Sam. It was subtle—a softening of the shoulders, a slight tilt of the head that she didn't use with Jack or Teal'c.
On Wednesday, they shared a quiet lunch in the commissary. Sam sat across from her, her mind racing with Daniel’s words: She was afraid you’d think she had an ulterior motive.
"You're doing it again," Janet said, stirring her soup.
Sam blinked. "Doing what?"
"Thinking in equations. I can practically see the variables floating around your head." Janet reached across the table and playfully tapped Sam’s knuckles.
In the past, Sam wouldn't have thought twice about the contact. Now, it felt like a surge of high-voltage current. She didn't pull away this time. Instead, she watched Janet’s fingers. They were steady, but as Sam met her eyes, she saw it—a flicker of something guarded, a momentary breath held tight. It wasn't predatory; it was precautionary. Janet was constantly calibrating her own affection, ensuring she never overstepped a line Sam hadn't even known was there.
By Friday, the data was overwhelming. Sam began to re-read their entire history. Every late-night lab visit where Janet brought "supplies" (usually chocolate and caffeine) wasn't just a doctor looking after a soldier. It was a woman finding an excuse to be near the person she loved.
The most damning piece of evidence, however, was the silence. Janet was the most honest person Sam knew, yet there was a "Sam-shaped" hole in her personal narrative. She talked about her brother, her parents, and Cassie, but her romantic life was a void she never asked Sam to fill with advice. Because the person she wanted to talk to about it was the romantic life she couldn't have.
Sam stood on Janet’s porch, her hands shoved deep into her leather jacket pockets. She had spent the last two hours driving aimlessly through the Colorado Springs streets, the "data" finally congealing into a conclusion she couldn't ignore.
She knocked.
The door opened to reveal Janet in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy knot. She looked tired, soft, and utterly beautiful.
"Sam? It’s nearly ten. Is everything okay? Is there a mission?" Janet’s doctor-mode activated instantly, her eyes scanning Sam for injury or distress.
"No mission," Sam said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I just... I couldn't wait until Monday."
Janet stepped back, inviting her in. The air smelled of the same vanilla candle Janet always lit on weekends.
"You've been acting like a ghost all week, Sam," Janet said, closing the door and leaning against it. She didn't move toward the kitchen or offer tea. She just watched Sam with an intensity that suggested she knew the "observation period" was over. "Daniel’s been acting weird, too. Did he tell you something? Because if he did, I’m going to kill him. Slow. Medical-grade slow."
"He didn't have to," Sam lied, though they both knew it was a half-truth. She took a step into Janet’s personal space, breaking the "safe" distance Janet had worked so hard to maintain. "Your brother asked me how long we’d been together, Janet. He said the family has known for years."
Janet’s entire body went rigid. The color didn't just leave her face; it seemed to vanish from the room. She looked like she was bracing for a physical blow. "Sam... I... Simon has a big mouth. He makes assumptions. He’s—"
"He’s right, isn't he?" Sam interrupted gently.
Janet’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. She looked down at the floor, her hands trembling slightly. "I never wanted you to feel uncomfortable. I never wanted to lose what we have because I... because of who I am."
"That's the thing about data, Janet," Sam said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she took another step forward. "If you leave out a primary variable, the whole equation is wrong. I’ve been trying to figure out why I haven't been able to make a relationship work for five years. I thought it was the job. I thought it was the Gate."
Sam reached out, her hand hovering just like Janet’s had in the infirmary, before she finally let her fingers rest against Janet’s cheek.
"But I spent all week looking at the data. And the variable I was missing wasn't you, Janet. It was us."
Janet’s eyes snapped up, wide and swimming with a sudden, desperate hope. "Sam?"
"You didn't just hide yourself from me," Sam whispered. "You helped me hide myself from me, too. Because as long as you were 'just' my best friend, I didn't have to admit why no one else ever measured up."
The silence in the hallway was thick, no longer heavy with the weight of a secret, but breathless with the gravity of what was about to happen.
Janet’s breath hitched. For a woman who spent her life making split-second, life-or-death decisions, she looked utterly paralyzed. Her gaze searched Sam’s face, scanning for any hint of hesitation, any sign that this was just Sam being a "good friend" or trying to fix a problem.
"Sam," Janet whispered, her voice cracking. "Do you have any idea what you’re saying? Because I have spent years... years... making sure I didn't breathe too loud in your direction. If you’re just doing this because Simon made it weird, or because you feel sorry for me—"
"I’m a scientist, Janet," Sam interrupted, her thumb tracing the line of Janet’s cheekbone with a boldness that surprised even herself. "I don’t draw conclusions based on pity. I draw them based on evidence. And the evidence is that I don't want to go back to my house. I don't want to go a day without talking to you. And I definitely don't want to see you look at anyone else the way Simon thinks you look at me."
Janet let out a jagged, shaky laugh that was half-sob. "He’s an idiot. My brother is a meddling, arrogant idiot."
"He’s observant," Sam corrected softly. "He saw what I was too busy calculating to notice."
Janet finally closed the distance. She leaned her forehead against Sam’s, her eyes fluttering shut. "I was so scared," she confessed, her voice muffled against Sam’s skin. "Every time we hugged, every time I stayed late in the lab... I thought I was being selfish. I thought I was stealing moments that didn't belong to me."
"They’ve always belonged to you," Sam said. "I just finally caught up."
Sam shifted her hand, her fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of Janet’s neck. She didn't wait for a prompt this time. She leaned in, tilting her head, and pressed her lips to Janet’s.
It wasn't like the movies. There were no sparks or explosions—it was something much more profound. It was the feeling of a missing gear finally clicking into place. It was the relief of coming home after a mission that had lasted five years too long. Janet made a small, wounded sound deep in her throat and surged forward, her arms wrapping around Sam’s waist, pulling her flush against her as if trying to merge their very atoms.
The kiss tasted of salt and the lingering scent of vanilla, and it carried the desperate, pent-up honesty of everything they hadn't been allowed to say in the sterile hallways of the SGC.
When they finally broke apart, they didn't pull away. They stayed in that shared space, lungs working in tandem, the air between them charged with a new, terrifying, wonderful reality.
Janet rested her cheek against Sam’s shoulder, her grip on Sam’s jacket tightening. "Simon is never going to let me hear the end of this, you know. He’s going to think he’s a genius."
Sam smiled, resting her chin on top of Janet’s head, feeling a sense of peace that no physics equation could ever provide. "Let him. For once, I think I’m okay with someone else having the right answer before I do."
Janet pulled back just enough to look up at her, her eyes bright and finally, truly clear. "So... what does the data say about what we do now?"
Sam smiled, a genuine, mischievous Carter grin. "Well, according to my projections, we have a lot of lost time to make up for. And I think we should start by telling Daniel he’s off the hook for the 'slow, medical-grade death'—but he’s definitely buying the next round at O'Malley's."
Janet laughed, a sound of pure, unburdened joy. "Deal."
The 0600 shift at the SGC always had a specific cadence: the rhythmic thud of combat boots on metal grating, the smell of industrial floor cleaner, and the low-level hum of the Gate’s capacitors warming up. It was a place of rigid structure and high-stakes professionalism.
But as Sam and Janet stepped out of the elevator together, the air felt different.
They weren't holding hands—military protocol and the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" reality were still very much in play—but the space between them had changed. The "precautionary" distance Janet usually maintained had vanished. They walked in a perfect, synchronized rhythm, shoulders occasionally brushing with a casual familiarity that hadn't been there the shift before.
Sam looked more rested than she had in months. The "twitchiness" was gone, replaced by a calm, centered gravity. Janet, meanwhile, moved with a lightness that suggested the weight of the world was no longer hers to carry alone.
They reached the junction where the path split toward the infirmary and the labs. Usually, this was a quick "See you at the briefing" or a professional nod.
Today, they lingered.
"I have a stack of physicals to get through before the SG-1 briefing," Janet said, turning to face Sam. Her eyes weren't scanning for injuries; they were soft, anchored entirely on Sam’s face.
"And I have to recalibrate the sensors for the UAV," Sam replied. She reached out, and for a brief second, her hand settled on Janet’s arm—not a clinical touch, but a lingering, grounding one. "Coffee at ten?"
Janet smiled, and it was a look of such blinding, private clarity that it felt like a breach of security. "Ten. Don't be late, Major."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Doctor."
As Janet turned toward the infirmary, Sam stood for a moment, watching her go, a small, undeniable smile playing on her lips. She finally turned toward her lab, only to find Daniel Jackson leaning against a concrete pillar, a cup of lukewarm commissary coffee in his hand and a look of profound vindication on his face.
He didn't say anything at first. He just watched Sam approach, his eyebrows drifting upward behind his glasses.
"Morning, Daniel," Sam said, her voice bright—too bright for six in the morning.
Daniel pushed off the pillar, falling into step beside her. He waited until they were well away from a group of passing SFs before he spoke. "So. I’m assuming I can take 'horrible, lingering death' off my schedule for today?"
Sam felt the heat creep up her neck, but she didn't look away. "You're off the hook, Daniel. Mostly."
"Mostly?"
"You still have to buy the first three rounds at O'Malley's for keeping that from me for six months."
Daniel let out a breathy laugh, his eyes crinkling. He looked at Sam, really looked at her, and saw the transformation. The tension that had defined her for years—the constant, subatomic vibration of a woman trying to solve an unsolvable problem—had finally reached equilibrium.
"It was worth the wait, then?" he asked softly.
Sam stopped at the door to her lab and swiped her keycard. She looked back toward the hallway Janet had disappeared down, then at Daniel.
"The data was conclusive," Sam said, her smile widening into something radiant. "It was the best discovery I've ever made."
Daniel patted her on the shoulder, his expression one of pure, brotherly joy. "I'll see you at the briefing, Sam. And tell Janet... actually, never mind. I think she already knows."