Category: Jack, Janet, humour
Rating/warnings,etc: PG-13, some medical wincy stuff. ~2000 words.
Summary: Jack has a little problem. Fortunately, Dr Fraiser is at hand.
Disclaimer: Stargate is not mine, obviously. No profit is being made and no infringement is intended.
A/N: Originally sparked by a couple of prompts from oxoniensis's Porn Battle VI (Jack/Janet; glove, hold still). I believe they were requested by abyssinia4077. It's not porn, I'm afraid. Not even ship for that matter. The title only really works if you have a pair of cymbals to crash.
Thanks to Cole and Erin for the beta. All other mistakes are mine.
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In Janet's experience, there were certain indications, some subtle, some not, which warned of impending disaster. You just had to read them right.
Having a truck driver cut her up and then flip her off as she drove to work was pretty blatant, as signs went. But, instead of turning the car around and going back to bed, she'd returned the gesture and carried on up to the mountain. As such, when General Hammond requested she accompany SG-1 offworld, she'd cringed inside, nodded yes sir, right away sir, and spent the rest of the day waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She scowled across the clearing. Here it was, the shoe, coming along the track in the form of Colonel O'Neill. She was surprised it had taken this long really. It was – Janet glanced at the sun – maybe the equivalent of 1700hrs Earth time. Late afternoon at any rate. Sam could have worked it out from the slight variance in the planet's rotation, if only she'd been there with them. But she was back on Earth, in her lab, working on some science project that Janet wasn't privy to.
Her scowl deepened. She was effectively baby-sitting; without Sam, SG-1 was down one medically-trained officer, and while Colonel O'Neill was more than capable, as CO, he was excluded under the protocol regulations. Fortunate really, going by the meek expression she could make out on his face as he got closer. Her irritation became a flicker of concern. Jack being meek was a sign in and of itself.
Her fears were confirmed when he held up two bloody hands. "They should put notices up around here. Or at least railings," he called. With SG-1's track record, Janet would've preferred both.
"What happened?" She snapped into doctor-mode, running her eyes over him and checking for other apparent injuries.
"Rotten wood gave way."
"Of course. Anything besides your hands?" she asked, digging her gloves out.
"Nope. Scree slope saved me from a nasty fall," he replied cheerfully.
She gave him a patented look, not showing her relief.
"Hey! If it'd been Daniel he would've broken three ribs and ruptured his spleen. Be grateful." He gestured as he spoke, vaguely indicating the way he'd come.
"Hold still, Sir," she said, reclaiming his left hand. He seemed fine – about a 5 on the Jack O'Neill Scale of Snark, which indicated that he was neither at death's door (1), nor pissed to the point of homicide (10). If this was the extent of the mishap she'd been expecting all day, she was grateful.
He kept silent while she finished her exam. "Well, doesn't look too bad, though I appreciate you coming to see me anyway." His stoicism in the face of injury was something she was trying to wean him off, to limited success. She figured a little praise wouldn't do any harm.
He started to pull away. "Ah! I've not cleaned them up yet. You got some grit and small fragments that I need to remove."
"Eh, souvenirs," he shrugged, but stood still anyway, watching with detached interest as she pulled bits of P4S-383 from his palms and rinsed the cuts with water.
She was just taping the last of the gauze down when Teal'c materialised behind her.
"His injuries are minor." It was a statement, but the question was implicit in his concern.
Janet turned and smiled up at him. "Yes. For once, it really is just a scratch. Relatively speaking, anyway."
Teal'c regarded the white bandaged hands, then turned back to her, face solemn. "I would have escorted him but he insisted I stay and alert the inhabitants. I believe he thought to make a better impression on you by arriving under his own hot air."
"Steam," the colonel corrected as she fought to keep her expression impassive. Hot air was about right. "So, good to go, Doc? Or do I need a tetanus booster?"
"No…" She made a shooing motion. "Try not to do much with those hands, ok?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, eyes twinkling. Incorrigible man. "I can still do the important stuff."
She rolled her eyes. He merely looked innocent and held up an imaginary P-90, indicating he could still use his index finger to pull the trigger.
"The less of that the better, as well, please." She'd been assured that this was a safe planet, but there was never any true guarantee.
The colonel's eyes hardened for a moment. "From your mouth to God's ear, Doc."
Then he tilted his head at Teal'c, who inclined his at her, and the two of them walked off towards where the track broke the tree-line. The whistled strains of Heigh-Ho floated back to her. She closed her eyes and smiled. Disaster averted.
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Famous last words. Damn.
The colonel was standing in front of her, hunched slightly, expression tight around the eyes and bandaged hands held protectively in front of him. When he'd arrived in her room a minute ago and indicated the problem, Janet had just blinked. Twice. How did he get himself into these situations?
She found her voice. "How long has it been like this?" she asked.
"A while." There was a slight hint in his tone, one that promised a higher pitch sometime in the very near future.
"How long?" she pressed.
"Couple of hours." He shifted and she grimaced in sympathy.
She took a deep breath and mentally weighed up the options. There weren't many, not here in the middle of the night with only her medkit.
"It is painful?"
"Uhh, no. More…uncomfortable." She could see the cords in his neck, twitching and straining. "Really, really uncomfortable."
"So, it's discomfort derived from a pleasure sensation, rather than pain?"
She could tell he'd rather be pulling his toenails out with pliers than having this conversation. "Yeah," he said, at last.
"Good," she said, with relief.
"How is this 'good'?" he intoned darkly.
"A sustained erection is called priapism – a dangerous condition, one which would require us getting you back to the gate right now and into surgery," she explained.
"Surgery?" he yelped, the higher pitch arriving just on schedule.
"Shunts," she said simply. He winced. "But, with the symptoms being pleasure related…" she trailed off, thinking. "I'm going to give you a decongestant and see if that helps."
"My sinuses are fine, Doc, it's my—" He stopped himself, pursed his lips and shot her a quelling look. "How is Sudafed going to help, exactly?"
"An ordinary erection is a parasympathetic response. Pseudoephedrine has a sympathetic action – it is a vasoconstrictor – and since it's blood that's keeping it up…"
"Right, got it. What you waiting for then – dose me up." Considering he usually baulked at medication, his eagerness was a clear sign of how much discomfort he was in.
"What caused this? Spider bite? Something in the water?" she asked, finding the tablets in her medkit and returning to him.
"Possibly. We drank something at that male-only shindig Daniel dragged us to. He has it too, by the way." His voice held a distinct thread of vindictiveness. "And I don't socialise with spiders," he added.
Her eyebrows shot up. "Daniel? Why didn't you bring him to me as well? What about Teal'c?"
The colonel shrugged. "Junior's dealing with it." His expression turned devious. "So is Daniel. Though not in quite the same way, I wouldn't imagine."
She wouldn't have imagined either, if she could've helped it. But once it was there, the knowledge provided her medically-trained brain with an irritatingly detailed mental image. She felt a flush of heat. Fortunately Colonel O'Neill didn't notice and just chucked the tablets back with a swig of water. Mouth full of a second slower sip, he indicated the door with his chin.
"Yes, Sir," she answered, translating his desire to leave with what was left of his dignity. "That's all I can do for now. It gets any worse and I want you straight back here, alright? Otherwise I suggest you try to rest. And take your pants off. I know privacy is hard to ensure around here but giving the problem a little space," she emphasised the euphemism with her eyebrows, "will definitely help with the discomfort."
He smiled humourlessly and left, legs bowed and gait uneven. She bit her lip, then turned and prepared for bed. She was struggling with gate-lag, not even remotely tired even though it was well past sunset. Still, if she didn't get some sleep soon she'd be as good as useless tomorrow. She didn't know how the SG teams managed it on a regular basis.
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An insistent shaking woke her. It was possible she'd overslept, but she was more willing to put money on this being the other other shoe, since in her line of work it was a bit too much to ask for metaphorical falling shoes to stick to human-defined parameters.
"I'm almost ready to risk those shunts now," came a voice, the whisper not enough to hide the desperate whine.
"That would involve a long walk back to the gate, Sir," she said, a little unkindly, as her eyes adjusted. Her bedside manner often took a while to boot up and it was, going by the grey light outside, just before dawn.
The answer came as a groan. She swung her legs around and sat up. "It hasn't decreased any?"
"No. Janet, please…" His use of her first name made her pause.
"Jack. Pseudoephedrine or infirmary. Those are the options. Were," she corrected, then sighed. "The tablets had no effect at all?" She waited for the shake of his head. "Damn, I'd really hoped this would dissipate by itself overnight."
"You and me both," the colonel rasped.
"I'd suggest we ask Teal'c to half-carry you, but he can't manage both you and Daniel and I'm not exactly going to be much help on that front…"
He shook his head again. "Daniel is fine, as far as I can tell. I forced entry into his room and he was asleep sans excited body parts."
He looked at her for a long moment, then rolled his eyes, correctly assuming she'd want solid proof. Or not-so-solid, as the case may be.
"Look, the bedsheet had no unusual angles, ok? I wasn't about to conduct an invasive examination without his express permission. And probably not even then. You need confirmation, go fondle him yourself!"
Apparently Colonel Jack O'Neill could manage tactful, but only for limited periods of time. She stood up. "It appears we have a third option, then." To go with the third shoe.
"Yeah." He took a breath. "Fun as it sounds, I think these," he held up his bandaged hands, "are going put a real dampener on that plan. Also, there are no magazines by the long-drop." Even in his state, he was still trying to wind her up.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully, ignoring his jibe. "OK, so we're back to two options again."
He looked grim. "Yeah, great choice: work it out or suck it up. Figuratively speaking." Personally, she wasn't liking the look of door number one. But, she wasn't a great fan of chronic pain, either...
"It's your call, Colonel," she said, avoiding eye contact to give him a moment to deliberate.
"Only if you promise to close your eyes…"
She looked up. Was he blushing? Was she? His expression wavered between resolve and desperation. Alright then. She steeled herself. The infirmary provided a clinical setting that she found helped a lot in situations like this. Objectivity and professionalism. Of course, they were not in the infirmary now. She stood up and found her medkit and a cloth, turning her back to him and giving him more time to either undress or reassess. Somehow, she felt this was something they would both be keeping out of the mission report.
She turned back to him. He hadn't moved. She frowned as he gestured at his pants. "Managed to fasten them earlier, but might be quicker if you did it. Bandages don't bend well. You might as well get stuck in, anyway." His voice was gruff with embarrassment.
She struggled with the fastener regardless, mirrored as it was. "How about this, Sir?" she asked, moving behind him and reaching for the button again around his waist. "It might be easier. And less…visual."
He grunted and she took it as a yes, though it probably had more to do with the proximity of her hands to his crotch.
She handed him the cloth and reached for her gloves, a force of habit.
"No," he said firmly. She stopped. "Friction bad."
She couldn't argue with that, but damn, she was relying on the gloves to provide a nice clinical layer.
She took a deep breath and eased his boxer shorts down. She concentrated on rational thoughts. No problem. She was a doctor and this was a medical procedure. Of sorts. No problem.
Then he groaned deep in his throat and all she could think of was earplugs and why the hell she hadn't brought any.
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Afterwards, her main fear – besides one or other of them succumbing to morbid embarrassment – was finding Teal'c standing outside wearing a quizzical expression. Or worse: Daniel, since he had the prior experience necessary to put two and two together.
They weren't. She breathed a sigh of relief. If she and the colonel could just get through the rest of the mission without avoiding eye-contact and arousing suspicion… She winced. Innuendo, even in internal monologue form, was not helping.
She stood in the light of the breaking dawn, her breath condensing in the crisp air. She had left the colonel to recuperate, escaping the room as soon as she could. Now, with any luck…
The door creaked open behind her. She crossed everything.
The hissed voice was back to its characteristic irreverence. "The eagle has landed!"
Well, hallelujah.