Author's Note: Many thanks to those who have taken the time to read and drop me a line so far. Equal thanks to those, also, who have chosen just to read along - I hope you enjoy. I try, as often as possible, to respond to reviews - especially when specific questions are raised. Anonymous reviews are enabled but please remember I cannot respond if you don't sign in.

A note for those who are new to my work - I write because I love it. I write because I physically have to. My stories are precisely what they are. I don't change my route based on feedback (though I will correct mistakes when they're pointed out and I'd love it if you told me when you found one!). I don't write for the reviews (though they're lovely) and will never hold my readership hostage for them or badger you for them. But most of all, rest assured that it will all come together. If some characterization doesn't make sense or if a plot point doesn't yet make sense, rest in comfort knowing an answer is coming your way. And no, I'm not going to spoil my work by telling you ahead of time - where's the fun in that?

As you may have noticed, I'm not posting on a schedule. I write and post as I have enough in the "bank" that if I have a dry spell it won't bring the story to a grinding halt (I've learned my lesson in that department). So, with all that said, on with the real reason you're here - the story.


Natalie's first meeting with Major Carter didn't go well. She found the woman wholly distrustful of new people but isn't sure if the issue is related to Major Carter's recent trauma or some previous issue.

The second meeting wasn't much better, but at least the Major hadn't scowled at her the whole time. While she was still disinclined to share information, she hadn't been rude.

But, Natalie is nothing if not persistent and she's always been a big believer that the third time really is a charm.

When she knocks on the slightly ajar door and sticks her head into the private room Major Carter is occupying, she's pleasantly surprised to see all of SG-1 present. By happy accident she's caught her patient in a moment of relaxation and, perhaps, levity. But as soon as the group notices Natalie's presence the low chuckles cease entirely.

Doctor Jackson is the first to find his manners. He clears his throat before he speaks and, for some reason, she thinks it's annoying. "Doctor Jordan. Hi."

Natalie flashes a smile. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I can come back later." She gestures over her shoulder as if she's prepared to just up and leave. She isn't.

Colonel O'Neill surprises her. "Eh, c'mon in, Doc. We were just headed out to pick up some not-made-on-base food for picky here."

She'd have thought he'd be slightly protective of the Major. Had thought he'd, perhaps, try to stick around and get a little inside information. But then she takes in the dynamics of the room. The large man whose name she can't remember – the one with the gold snake on his forehead – stands at parade rest at the foot of the hospital bed. Doctor Jackson sits on a stool right next to the bed at Major Carter's waist. But O'Neill… O'Neill is standing at Major Carter's shoulders, feet at shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his chest. Moreover, he'd been standing that way when Natalie walked in. Either he wasn't getting the information he wanted from the Major or he'd gotten some information and wasn't feeling very good about it. And considering the situation, either was as likely as the other.

Daniel and the other man leave the room while shooting Natalie polite smiles. Well, Daniel smiled. The other man just sort of…nodded. But then Colonel O'Neill surprises her again. When it's just him and the two women, he says loud enough for Major Carter to hear, "I've got an appointment tomorrow morning, first thing. See you then, Doc." And then he's gone, too. Interesting, but she's not sure what to make of the time or placement of his statement.

Without her bodyguards, Natalie notices Major Carter suddenly looks uncomfortable. So, she decides to ease into conversation if she can. "How're you feeling today, Major Carter."

The blonde woman blinks and Natalie finds herself transfixed, momentarily, by the blue of her eyes. Natalie's own eyes are the very same blue. She gives herself a mental shake – don't identify with the patient, Nat.

Samantha Carter doesn't break ranks. She's just as abrupt today as she's been previously. "As well as can be expected."

Natalie moves further into the room and takes a seat on the stool that Doctor Jackson vacated. "You're looking better everyday," Natalie tells her. And she does. Actually, Natalie's surprised by how quickly the woman's bruising is fading and minor lacerations are healing.

Major Carter takes a moment to size her up and apparently doesn't find her too lacking because she shares, "My father's here. He's tok'ra."

"Ah, I see."

Inexplicably, the Major cracks a smile. "I thought you guys only said that in movies."

Natalie can't help but laugh. "Well, it's cliché for a reason."

"Just don't use that line on Colonel O'Neill. He hates clichés."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." How strange the woman would share something like that. And she must have a puzzled look on her face.

Major Carter's voice takes on a conspiratorial tone. "Actually, he's kind of nuts about clichés. He's full of them. He'll roll his eyes if you use one. Might even give you hell for it. But he's got a good sense of humor and he'll talk to you if you don't pretend to be his friend or get too high and mighty about psychological treatment."

"Thanks. Again." But Natalie can see this for what it is and so changes the subject. "You mentioned your father's a tok'ra. I'm sorry…but I'm not really sure how that pertains…"

Major Carter sighs and Natalie knows then that she was right. The interlude on Colonel O'Neill was meant to be a diversionary tactic. But to Natalie's surprise, Major Carter answers honestly. "The tok'ra are a divergence of the goa'uld line. That means they can use goa'uld technology. In this case, a healing device. But my injuries are so severe…"

"…That it's going to take a little while," Natalie surmises.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad he's here and able to help, then."

Major Carter grimaces slightly but schools her features quickly. "Me too."

Natalie decides to take an opportunity hoping it won't bite her in the ass. But she's gotten this far by being a bit gutsy and a little less than as politically correct as others in her position might be. "I did just step in to check on you today. But you know eventually we're going to have a slightly more…professional…interaction, right."

"Yes," Major Carter says hesitantly.

"I think I can help you work through these things, Major Carter. I'll tell you now, if you don't like me, don't want to work with me, we'll find you someone you can talk to. But make no mistake. The Air Force is going to demand you deal with this in psychological treatment and you will need to be cleared before you can return to active duty. I've read your report and the medical records," she pauses while Major Carter blushes a deep red, "so I know what you're starting with. I've worked with people who have had similar experiences at the hands of earth-bound terrorists. I'm not sure how it's going to differ from what you experienced but I think we can help you. Together."

"Well then," Major Carter says after a long moment, "maybe you should start by calling me Sam."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She dreams when she sleeps so she tries very hard not to sleep. But between Janet's drugs and the flu virus her body wasn't strong enough to fend off, sleep claims her more often than she'd like. When she's awake she tries to keep up the good little soldier act everyone seems to prefer. The truth is, though, that she'd rather not talk, is physically pained by smiling or laughing, pretends to find the humor in things that used to make her laugh readily, and just really wants the guys to leave her alone.

She's angry that they left her. It doesn't matter that she knows they didn't leave her on purpose. It doesn't matter that they must have worked tirelessly to get her home – of course, she doesn't know that for certain because anytime someone starts to talk about the time when she was away she promptly changes the subject. It certainly doesn't matter that they're her guys and she knows they love her.

All she can think is that they left her there to be beaten. Left her there to be tortured. To forget that there was any life that wasn't the life she had in that cell. Left her there to forget who and what she was. To forget her history. Left her there to contemplate never having a future.

Mostly, though, she's absolutely mortified that those three men, the guys she always thinks of as hers, not to mention the General and her father, and Janet, and now even Doctor Jordan… they all know. They know precisely how she'd been tortured. How she'd been violated. And she's absolutely positive no matter how much healing she does that they'll never look at her the same again. How could they? She'd been nothing more than trash to be used however the Jaffa had wanted. She'd been compost for seventeen weeks. And even if they could somehow look past that, how could they ever trust her again? Even if, by the grace of something wild and holy, she was cleared for active duty again, how could they trust that she wouldn't break? That she wouldn't falter at some crucial moment and get them all killed or worse? Because something she now knows first hand is that there are many things out there worse than death.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She's putting on a hell of an act – Jack can't help but think every time he sees her. Sure, she smiles. Sometimes she laughs. She holds up her end of a conversation. She doesn't complain about the pain she's got to be feeling – tok'ra healing device or not. It's her eyes. The light has absolutely gone out.

He shifts in the chair where he's waiting outside Doc Jordan's office. She's apparently got a parade of airman this morning, hustling them in and out for their Mackenzie mandated follow ups. He's only met the woman a few times and already he thinks she's a better fit for the SGC than that shrub ever was. She's got a spark, a little bit of feistiness, that puts him in mind of the other lady doctors he spends time around. And she gives as good as she gets. He likes that. Hell, he was here, wasn't he?

Also, he figured this was as good a way as any to size her up and make sure she really does have Carter's best interests at heart. He may not hate the woman, but he still didn't think all this psychobabble was really necessary. They were all military – they thrive on being able to stand alone, strong in their ranks. And no amount of touchy-feely crap could really help.

Except, what Carter went through was damn awful. He should know. There wasn't a thing those goa'uld-incubating bastards did to her that he didn't have done to him in an Iraqi prison. Where the Jaffa used pain sticks, the insurgents used car batteries. Just as the Jaffa had stripped her down to wear her down, so had the Iraqi done to him. Just as they had violated her, he had been violated.

As his thoughts begin to spiral into the place that makes him rage, Doctor Jordan pops her head out of her office. "Colonel O'Neill? I'm ready for you."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Natalie curls up on her couch that night she sobs. This job, these people…she's not sure how they do what they do, how they see what they see and keep going. She's brushed up against all the elements she encountered that day hundreds of times over the course of her career. But somehow the gate travel, the enormity of what they're doing, it just hits her in her solar plexus.

When Erin comes in twenty minutes later, Natalie turns her face away from a kiss. She wants the comfort, but she had a case of the ugly, messy sobs. Instead, Erin wraps her grandmother's crocheted afghan around Natalie's shoulders and presses a vanilla latte into her hand. She'll be ready to start again tomorrow.