Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime / Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. Not to be archived without permission.
(How Grace should have played out for Sam & Jack, with help from Janet, Daniel and Teal'c. Contains what I think are mising scenes from Death Knell, Heroes, Lost City and New Order.)
Carter lay in her infirmary bed, still slightly sleepy. She gingerly touched her head, which still throbbed though it had been two days since she'd come off the Prometheus.
"Doc Frasier says that won't leave a scar." O'Neill said, watching her from a bedside chair.
Carter laughed slightly, and then winced. "I'm not in the running for any beauty contests."
O'Neill smiled at her. You'd win anyway. "Do you want anything? Jell-O?Astrophysics Today?"
"No, thanks, I'm not hungry. Just a little tired." She smiled at him. He glanced down at his hands.
"She says your CT scans show the hema- " Jack paused and waved his hand beside his head, "Head thingy has stabilized. I guess they're not going to have to drill a hole in your head after all."
Sam grimaced. "You have a very- graphic way of describing things, sir."
"Yes. It's a real gift." Jack smiled and leaned back. There was silence. "Sam, I'd like to know something."
"Yes, sir." She sensed he was a little uncomfortable.
"You've never said what happened on board thePrometheus. I heard the captain's log, and aside from it sounding eerily like Star Trek, you never say how you came up with your idea to get out. Captain Ronson said you just went straight to the infirmary and slept."
Sam looked down. "I dreamed it up."
"Well, of course you did, but how?" Jack inquired.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I really did dream it up. I had hallucinations. They helped me figure out… figure out how to get out of the cloud."
"They?" O'Neill raised his eyebrows.
Sam bit her lip and looked at him. She looked down and picked at the blankets.
O'Neil suddenly felt badly for pushing her. She'd been through a hell of a lot, saved a lot of lives. Maybe someday she could tell him how, but obviously something bothered her. He knew what kind of crazy things could happen out there.
"It's okay Carter. He touched her arm briefly, and stood up. "I'll let you get back to sleep."
"All, right, Colonel."
He turned to go, then looked back, his hands in his pockets. "Carter…"
"Yes, sir." She looked up.
"Don't ever do that again." O'Neill said, looking steadily into her brilliant blue eyes. Sam nodded. The look in his eyes scared her.
A few days later, O'Neill walked into the infirmary only to find himself in the middle of an argument.
"Janet, please, let me go home. I'm tired of being here, I don't have anything to do." Carter pleaded.
"No, Sam." Janet stated firmly.
"I won't get up. I'll stay in bed. I'll be very good, please."
"I don't believe one word of that, Sam. You know very well that you can't lie around and do nothing, which is why I'm forcing you to."
"She's got your number, Carter." Jack said, smiling.
Sam glared at him. "You're no help."
"I didn't know I was supposed to be." Jack said, but her comment made him think.
"You need at least 48 more hours of bed rest. If you were up and around, got dizzy or passed out and fell, you could re-injure that area and no one would know. You could die." Janet was resolute.
"But you're not doing anything." Carter flopped back on the bed.
"Sam, doctors hate it when their patients think careful observation isn't 'doing anything'." She put Sam's chart down. "Now, if Jacob hadn't had to go back so soon, he could watch you. But you need round-the-clock assistance and observation. You have a nasty subdural hematoma."
"Well, doc, I- I mean we- SG1, we could watch her. We could take turns." Jack said, thoughtfully. "If you think it's safe. Because Carter here bonked her head, we're all on leave for a few days, anyway."
"Colonel, that's not necessary…"
"Uh." Jack raised a hand. "Let's hear what the doc has to say."
Janet raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. "It could work. You're not on any monitoring and only taking oral medications."
"Take it or leave it, Sam. It's the only way you're getting out." Jack smirked.
Sam pressed her lips together. "All right. It's a deal." She was embarrassed, but her desire to get out of the dreary infirmary was stronger.
A few hours later, she was ready to be released. An orderly helped Sam into the wheelchair. Dr. Frasier turned to the clerk and asked for an airman to bring a car around to pick up Major Carter.
"I'll take her home," O'Neill said, "They don't have to send a car."
"Oh, there's going to be one disappointed airman up there," Janet teased. Carter rolled her eyes.
"He can take her car home, then." O'Neill suggested.
"Sir, I rode my bike." Carter said, looking up at him with concern.
"Uh oh." O'Neill's eyes widened. "Forget it then. I'm authorizing the use of deadly force if anyone gets near the bike."
"Thank you, sir." Sam smiled and settled into the chair.
"Remember, Colonel, Call me if she starts to behave oddly in any way." Janet cautioned, unlocking the wheelchair brakes and pushing Sam over to where Jack stood.
"We'll be able to tell?" He wheeled her out of the infirmary and headed toward the elevators, an airman trailing behind with her duffle bag.
Dr. Frasier followed quickly behind them. "Back yourselves into the elevator, sir. And no popping wheelies," she warned, only half-jokingly. Jack turned and gave her a wry grin. Janet stopped there, watching them go, a concerned smile on her face.Don't mess it up, Jack.She turned and went back into the infirmary.
Sam felt like an idiot being wheeled out of the base, but knew her protestations were worthless, and she did still feel fairly weak. Jack got her out to his truck without a problem. "You can toss that bag there, airman." Jack waved at the back of the truck. "Dismissed."
"Sorry, Sam, I wasn't thinking. It's a long way up." O'Neill looked from her to the high truck seat.
"Colonel, I'm not an invalid, please." Sam said, frustrated. O'Neill nodded and put the brakes on the chair, while Sam flipped the footrests away. As she got up, he put a hand on her arm. She looked at him.
"Oh for crying out loud, Sam. It's doctor's orders. Can't you just let someone help you for a change?" Jack said. He wondered why he volunteered for this. Frasier had said she'd be a very bad patient.
He shut the door, fiddled with the chair for a moment, but couldn't figure out how to fold it, and tossed the whole thing in the back of the truck. Then they drove to Sam's house.
Sam sat on her couch. It was great to be home, given the events of the past couple of weeks. Jack poked around in the refrigerator. "Carter, your fridge is worse than mine. We're going to have to order out." He came back with a coke and a beer, and sat down.
"No beer for you. Here's a coke. Do you want a glass?" Jack popped the can.
"No, the less work for you, the better." Sam said, self-consciously.
"Carter! You've got a dishwasher."
She sighed. "I'm sorry you have to baby sit me, sir." Her face was flushed with embarrassment, and she didn't realize how it made her look that much more beautiful.
Jack felt something in the pit of his stomach. He got up and sat by her on the couch. He felt helpless, and as usual, couldn't figure out what to do to reassure her.
"C'mere," he said, and put his arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder. He hoped she'd say something so he wouldn't have to.
"It was awful, Jack." Sam's voiced cracked.
"That's Colonel, to you." Jack said, teasingly.
Sam was silent. Jack sighed. He could have let it go, but to hear her say his name- it made him feel something down deep in his chest that he just didn't want to deal with.
"Want to talk about it?" Jack brushed her hair back behind her ear so he could see her face, and instantly wished he hadn't. That was behavior not becoming a CO- and there was that feeling again.
"I don't know. My head is killing me. Do you know where my pills are?" Sam said, her eyes closed, her face pale.
"They're right here." He'd put everything he thought she might want on the end table. Jack picked up the bottle and read the prescription. "Is this a one or a two pill headache?"
"Two." Sam said, simply.
Jack took his arm from around her shoulders and opened the bottle, then gave her the pills and her coke.
He took a drink of his beer. "We need to get you onto some better beer, Sam."
"Some other day, when I can drink it, okay?" She picked up his hand and drew it back over her shoulders, eyes still closed. It must be the drugs, he thought.
Sam was so still that Jack thought she'd fallen asleep, when she slowly picked up her head and looked at him. "People appeared to tell me what I should do about the ship- mostly. It was as if they were real. Not at all like a hologram. I remember that I could- " Sam stopped and swallowed hard, "touch them."
"Anybody we know?" Jack broke her gaze and took another drink.
"Well, Teal'c came to warn me about not falling asleep." Sam said.
"Sounds like him."
"Daniel told me to talk to the cloud, that it might be sentient."
Jack chuckled, "That's our boy."
"Yes, isn't it?" Sam smiled. "I think I was projecting what I thought they would think of, to get me to think of it. As if I wouldn't listen to myself, but would listen to them." She was getting dizzy, and tired. "Am I making sense?"
Jack smiled at her. "As much as you ever do." Sam put her head back down on his shoulder.
"You were there, too, Jack." This time, he didn't correct her.
"Did I tell you how to fix the ship?" He couldn't imagine what he knew about that.
"No." Sam said, sleepily.
Well, huh. Jack thought, slightly peeved.
"We didn't talk about the ship."
Jack didn't say anything. He waited for her to explain, but soon her deep, even breathing let him know she was asleep.
Jack wanted her to sleep soundly. He went down the hallway, found her room, and turned back the covers. Then he came back, picked her up and put her in her bed. Jack watched her, and when she rolled over and curled up, he was satisfied. There was a chair in there that he could sleep in, so he turned to get another beer. Just before his hand hit the light switch he looked at her bureau and stopped dead in his tracks. There, among a few other pictures of friends and family, was a small picture of him.
Well, she was entitled to heave pictures of her team around the house. They were all friends. And it was true; there was a picture of SG-1, and another of Hammond and Frasier. This picture was clearly different, though. It was a candid close-up of him in plaid shirt, smiling, with his sunglasses on a cord around his neck. She must have gotten it from Daniel, the team shutterbug, and cropped it. Jack put it back, his heart pounding.
I should just call Daniel or Teal'c now. I shouldn't be staying here. He looked back at Sam, sleeping in the twilight, her chest imperceptibly rising and falling. Then he went down to the kitchen to get that beer.
