Chapter 9

Janet Fraiser's residence
Colorado Springs
17 September 1995

When Janet Frasier had settled down for a stiff drink and a mindless movie after a long, hard shift at the hospital patching up broken patients, she hadn't expected even more battered people showing up at her doorstep.

Jack O'Neill was looking the worse for wear, and at his side was the same Captain – bleeding in the arm – with whom she had conversed barely a week ago and looking at her in stunned surprise.

Her doctor's instincts kicked in.

She ushered them in quickly, pushing them onto the couch before they could say another word and left to get her first aid kit. The questions could wait a while.

When she returned, they hadn't moved, sitting together in stoic silence.

"OK," she commanded gently. "Jack, you first. And if you don't mind me saying, you look like –"

"Crap? Hell? Shit?" he snorted. "I've had worse."

It dawned on her then. Of course, how could she have forgotten? Russia, Iraq…and who knew what more?

He sat uncomfortably under her hard scrutiny, waiting for her to bring out the needles he dreaded, or that penlight he hated. Janet saw his discomfited expression and let an amused smile slide across her face.

That part, she knew too well. His fidgety nature was never more apparent every time he was forcibly medically examined.

"Contrary to what you might think, I won't be giving you any shots this time, Jack," she said dryly, applying gauze to stem the residual bleeding. "You have a slight nasal fracture, but it's more bruised than broken, which is good news for you. Now, where else hurts?"

Jack opened his mouth to argue, but thought the better of it when she sent him an admonishing look.

He lifted his shirt slightly and she winced at the darkening bruise that looked like it was going to hurt like hell in the next few days. As far as she knew, Jack O'Neill typically refused medical help, or at least did so when he thought that he was well enough to escape a doctor's clutches.

"From what I can see, you have bruised ribs. I don't know if they're fractured; the severity of your injury can't be determined until I can get your chest x-rays, or a CT scan –," she suggested.

"No hospital, doc," he interrupted firmly. "Which is why I'm visiting you here. In fact," he broke off and stole a glance at Carter, "we'll need to be going very soon."

Janet stared at him steadily, knowing that Jack O'Neill had enough secrets to keep in his life. He looked haggard and worn since she had last seen him – which was, admittedly, a very long time ago – and was quite unmistakably, radiating underlying anxiety and tension from the way he sat and held himself rigidly. She also knew that he probably still worked in the background, doing things that many other people couldn't do. But his convictions were strong and his stubborn streak a mile wide when he acted on them. All too often, his instincts had been proven right. He'd also made decisions that weren't always perfect, and she'd seen him punished for them, sometimes unfairly so. It was a darkly attractive trait; one that many had been drawn to, also being the reason why men would follow him willingly to the death.

She finally nodded in grudging acceptance. "Applying ice is your best option. It's particularly effective in the first seventy-two hours after an injury. Ice will help reduce the pain and swelling so that the bruised tissue can heal. If you can spare me ten minutes, I'll get you one right now."

"Thanks, doc," he called out as she headed towards her kitchen.

When she came back with the ice-pack, Jack was fiddling with the packet of gauze, looking at his badly scuffed shoes.

"Now, when the swelling goes down, you can apply a warm compress, take a warm bath or use –"

"I assisted as a field medic before. I know what to do," Captain Carter cut in, speaking for the first time since they'd entered her house.

"Good," Janet replied simply, "then I wouldn't have to worry about him." Seeing the unspoken question in the Captain's eyes, she smiled and said, "Now, Captain Samantha Carter, if I remember you correctly."

"Dr. Fraiser, we –," Sam began, only for Janet to stop her in mid-sentence.

"Captain, you have to let me look at your injuries first. The rest can wait a few more minutes."

Saline solution inundated her wound and spilled onto the light cream fabric of the couch. She held still, waiting for the inevitable sting of an antiseptic lotion.

She hissed in discomfort when it came.

"You're lucky. A bullet graze damages the first couple of layers of skin, but as you can see, it isn't life threatening," Janet announced, before dressing Sam's arm efficiently. "It's just a deep, deep scrape and there would be a considerable amount of bleeding, initially. Nothing that painkillers and antibiotics won't take care of, if you want to be sure."

"Some whiskey might help."

Janet turned to Jack knowingly and stood up. "Usually, I wouldn't recommend it with the pills I'm going to give you. But you know, that may be just what we need tonight."

She returned with three glasses filled with golden liquid, watching Jack down his in a gulp.

"Thank, Janet," he said sincerely. "You don't know how much I—"

"How do you two know each other?" Sam asked, taking a small sip of hers.

She held up a hand and eyed the unlikely pair. "No changing the subject. First, I want to know what happened. And what brought both of you to my doorstep together."

"Luck?" Jack asked nonchalantly, smirking at her.

She sent him a warning glance. "Jack?"

"There's someone on my six, Janet. I also have reason to think that there's someone else on Carter's," Jack said seriously. "And obviously you know I can't tell you why."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I understand that bit. But what I don't know is how you and Captain Carter got into this together."

"It's a long story."

Janet knew hedging when she saw it. "Look, Jack," she sighed when she saw his unmoving stance. "I've not seen you in a few years ever since…well, you know. Then suddenly, both of you show up this late at night at my house, injured, together…you've got to admit that's beyond unusual."

"I know," he said. "But we needed the help, Janet. All I know is there's a lot more going on than we know about, which is why you knowing less is better for all of us."

It was going to be a statement that he was going to make quite a bit in the coming days to fend off unwanted questions.

"Jack, I can't say I like this," she paused, hesitating, wondering if her directness was going to offend him. "But I heard about Charlie and Sara from Louis Ferretti and…I'm sorry to hear it, Jack." She saw him blanch for a spilt-second, then his face was schooled blank. "I'm afraid of what's going on here. I'm afraid for you."

He looked down into his empty glass, wishing suddenly that he had more to drink. "Yeah," he said finally after a minute of silence and sighed heavily. "Me too. Janet, please. Don't ask more. I can't give it to you."

She gave him a hard look and fell silent.

Sam watched the conversation between Frasier and O'Neill with growing interest. It was obvious that they were long-time friends from the deep concern she had for him, and from the absolute trust he put in her.

"Dr. Frasier, thanks for doing this," she said, lifting her arm a bit, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen in the living room.

The doctor turned to her and smiled. "It's Janet. And Captain, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about Catherine Langford. That we couldn't do more."

"And I'm sorry about Catherine too," she replied, "She was a good person, a good friend."

"As much as we want to stay, Janet, I think it's time we go," Jack cut in, frowning at his watch.

"Hold on," she commanded and handed over several packs of medical supplies to him. "You'll need this, wherever you're going. Do what you need to do, Jack. Just stay safe."

"Thanks."

Their eyes met. His showed his tremendous gratitude, while hers reflected her trepidation and worry. Janet was the first to look away.

Sam and Jack stood up stiffly, making their way to the front door. The blond Captain walked through and headed for his rental.

He followed her, but as he stood a step over the threshold, he stopped, hesitating, lifting his hand to Janet's shoulder. "There's something else I need you to take care of. At the Captain's house."

He bent over and whispered in low tones.

"You sure about this?"

"No," he said grimly. "But it's all I can do."

Colorado state border
17 September 1995

In a few minutes, they had left the suburbs behind, the urban landscape getting sparser as Jack navigated the car away from civilisation.

"Where're we heading?"

"The car's got to go," he replied. "We need to find another means of transport."

Sam was silent for a moment. "I know a place."

They swung into a disused junkyard twenty minutes later and dumped the rental. Next to it was a small second-hand car repair shop, with several cars in different states of disrepair parked out front. She made quick work of the lock and chain that held its metal gates loosely closed and made her way to the closest sedan that looked decently fixed up.

Its engine roar was loud in the still of the night.

He looked up in surprised admiration, then turned to grab their stuff to throw in the back.

"It's tanked up," she called out.

"Good." One less problem to worry about. "Want to drive?" He asked.

"OK. Where to?"

He thought for a moment. "Head east. But let's get out of state first. Drive as much as you can, and pull up in the first motel you see after you pass the freeway."

She nodded quizzically and started to climb into the driver's seat. He stopped her. "Look, I know this is asking a lot of you. But just a while more, OK?"

Surprised at that show of sympathy, she nodded, then examined herself and O'Neill critically, having gained a measure of calm at Janet Fraiser's house. Part of his shirt had been torn away, his boots scuffed and dirty. She probably didn't look much better than him. In fact, they looked like tramps who'd gotten on the wrong side of the law. Fugitives. Illegals. Which really weren't too far from the truth, she thought morosely.

The thick silence in the car that had descended wasn't as tense as she'd expect. She looked at O'Neill. He was staring out of the passenger seat's window, lost in thought.

She turned back to the road, desperately wishing that a motel would swing into view. Moonlight bathed the road a ghostly white, its brightness growing as the lights of the city faded behind them. It wasn't everyday that she was on the run with a complete stranger; despite him seeming safe enough, she was still struggling to force her mind into a semblance of order.

"Janet served as a field medic with my contingent some time ago," O'Neill said abruptly, cutting through the building tension. "While tending to someone in the field, she got caught in enemy fire."

She risked a surprised glance at him with both her hands on the wheel. "I didn't know Janet's military."

"She was."

Asking why would have been too intrusive, his short answer told her as much. It didn't seem her place to ask more.

"So that's where you met, all those years ago?"

He nodded and chuckled humourlessly. "My team pulled her out, defying the order to retreat. It turned out to be a good call, despite us getting our ass chewed out for doing something so stupid behind enemy lines. Later, she patched us up and saved us all, including my CO who wanted us to leave her behind."

Her gaze turned speculative. O'Neill's stop at Janet's house was the biggest surprise of the night, perhaps even more so than the surprise attack earlier in the evening. It was something she understood, but probably not as well as he did. Near-death experiences tended to forge close bonds of friendship, but his familiarity with her had to have gone further than just that single mission he'd brought up. Whatever his relationship with the doctor was, the apparent camaraderie they shared was evident. "Guess you have much to be grateful for, huh?"

"You have no idea." Squinting in the dim light, he made out a weathered sign that read 'Aurora Suites, 10 miles'.

"Yeah, I see it too," she said. "Do we stop there for the night?"

"Might be the best idea for now. Regroup. Get some shut-eye."

"Yes, Sir," she responded wryly.

"For cryin' out loud, Carter."