Janet Frasier stifled a yawn. After she had performed the examination on Sam and persuaded the blonde to take a sedative (not an easy task in the hysterical state she was in) the previous night, she had sat down to attempt some paperwork.

But Janet couldn't concentrate on the task at hand and her mind drifted to what had happened to her friend. The panicked expression on the woman's face ate away at her. She had seen Sam beaten, seen her emotionally drained and upset, but the fear… she wished there was something she could do. And despite the initial trauma, the night had turned out to be long and fairly uneventful, giving the doctor more time to stew, more time to feel ashamed and guilty for not being able to stop it, for not being there for her best friend.

Later on in the evening, as Sam had been deep in her dreamless sleep, SG7 had arrived in for their standard post mission check up. Nothing exciting, Howard had a sprained wrist and Dobson looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, but no breaks, viruses or alien infestations.

Janet sighed. She still couldn't understand quite why Sam had kicked up a stink about those sleeping pills. She knew her friend hated medication, saw dependency on drugs as a weakness, but this was different. The doctor had assumed that she would be grateful for the medication, something to help her get some rest.

Had she done the wrong thing by forcing the drugs upon her? After everything she had been through, surely it was control Sam needed. By getting her to take the pills, she had been taking that control away again and she couldn't bear to hurt her again like she had with the swabs.

She grimaced as she skim read the report she had been working on. There was something unnerving about Sam Carter being raped like that. Not just attacked, but raped in her own home. If it could happen to her, then it could happen to anyone. Everyone knew what a seasoned and skilled officer she was. If she could be caught off guard…

Janet let the report drop softly onto the desk and held her head in her hands. What the hell was she meant to do? On the one hand, she was meant to play the good doctor, following procedures, doing the tests, pestering her to get counselling and telling Hammond what had happened. But this wasn't any patient, it was Sam. It damn near broke her heart to do that rape kit, seeing her friend so vulnerable like that. And she didn't want to force Sam into anything right now, she'd been forced enough. As for Hammond… was that not betrayal? But if she didn't do it, she was neglecting her job as a doctor.

Tears began to trickle down her face as she got stuck in the tangled arguments cluttering her mind. She couldn't see a way out of all this, and worst of all, she was being so damn selfish thinking of her own dilemmas. What about Sam? There was nothing she could do, nothing she could say that could make it better. It wasn't fair. She had become a doctor so she could sort things out, make things better, reassure people with conviction. Not so she could perform humiliating examinations on her friend after she had been attacked.

Hearing a rustling, Janet rose from her desk and hastily dried her eyes. She moved into the main body of the infirmary to see Sam groggily tying her bootlaces as she propped herself against the wall.

"Sam, honey, are you sure…"

"I'm fine," Sam retorted.

Janet shot her a concerned look as the blonde started towards the door. She didn't want her friend to leave, didn't want her to be alone right now. She couldn't tell how Sam was feeling, but right now all she wanted was to keep Sam in her sights, make sure that she was okay, that no more harm could come to her. And besides, she was bruised all over, probably still half asleep from the medication, and was she really in a fit state emotionally to leave the infirmary?

"Sam," chided Janet gently, trying not to lay on too much pressure, "I really think you ought to stay here. At least for a little while."

The cold stare she received in response was in stark contrast to the crying woman she had cradled in her arms the night before. The doctor was too taken aback to argue.

"I have work to do," the major said in addition to the glare. "A few bumps and bruises never stopped me before. And besides, my reports can't wait much longer. Hammond has been waiting for weeks."

The petite redhead watched, lost and wounded, as Colonel O'Neill entered the infirmary making Sam visibly jump. She couldn't hear the brief conversation, but looked on in concern as her friend hurtled out of the infirmary as fast as she could.

"Someone's in a hurry," the Colonel remarked as he headed towards Janet.

Janet nodded distractedly, still worrying about the blonde. "Busy, apparently."

"How is she?"

"I don't know," mused the doctor quietly. "She got a good night's sleep at least, which is more than can be said for you."

Judging by the uncomfortable silence that ensued, and the way he picked up a pair of tweezers to fiddle with, Janet knew she had hit the nail on the head. She rubbed his arm gently, but her mind was elsewhere.

She felt relieved when O'Neill dropped the tweezers and left without a word. She didn't want to turn him away, but there was enough going on in her own exhausted mind.

Janet yawned again, but given the night's events, she knew she wouldn't get any sleep, wouldn't be
able to stop the worry and the mental images that were so vividly depicted in her mind. She shut her eyes briefly, then, wearily, she walked over to the shelf where the medication was kept, scanned along until she found the same pills she had given Sam. She picked up the small, plastic container and opened it, swallowing two of the small round tablets.

The petite doctor ran a hand through her red hair and looked down at the bottle. Such a small object, but an object that reminded her of the reason for the medication and why she was in that mess. She leant her forehead against the wall and began to cry.