10.

Phoenix

Everything was so warm and floaty and white. She couldn't remember ever waking up quite like this before. There was a buffer between her and the world and she took her time, enjoying the separation. She started at the edges of her field of vision, taking in the pale walls and shiny floors. The room was sparse, which was oddly soothing. She noted the plainness of the covers at the foot of the bed. Clean. It was all very crisp and clean and minimal.

Finally, she focused on her hands which lay over the covers. She took in a sharp breath. It was her first uncomfortable sensation. There was an IV in the back of one hand, a sensor of some kind taped to the fingers on the other. She tried to flex them. They were stiff and she could feel the pinch from the IV needle. She scowled at it, but resisted the urge to remove it, distracted instead by the hospital tag that circled her wrist. Her wrist looked thin.

There was also a persistent beeping noise that reminded Sam of the sound a truck would make while backing up. But in slow motion. It was really annoying.

OK. It didn't take a genius. She knew she was in a hospital. Her floaty, disconnected feeling was fast becoming clouded with confusion. She tried to sit up a little, realising that her motor control hadn't fully kicked in just yet. She lay back against the pillows again. Her brain still felt foggy. She thought she'd give herself a few more minutes. A few more minutes, and then she'd start freaking out.

What had happened? She knew who she was. She was First Lieutenant Samantha Carter. She was a co-pilot with the 16th. She remembered flying over the desert. They'd been on a mission. Why did her brain feel so damn spongy? She couldn't think straight. Where was everyone anyway? She tried to call out but her voice was just a strangled whisper. What the hell?! She could feel the panic rising and she started looking around the bed. There must be one of those things you used to call nurses here somewhere, she thought. She located it and started punching the button furiously, her hand trembling pathetically.

She heard the soft clicking of shoes in the hallway. They were coming quickly. Hurried, even. They came to a stop in the doorway.

"Sam!"

The voice was familiar, and the figure swept into the room. Liz. Relief flooded through Sam's body. Oh Liz.

"Liz," she croaked. She thought her face would break in half with the effort of smiling.

Liz was by her side now, her hands moving deftly over machines, tubes, sensors, coming to rest on Sam's cheeks. They felt so warm on her skin.

"Sam," Liz smiled. "You little bitch."

Her voice was teasing but Sam could see the tears welling in her friend's eyes as she searched her face intently.

"What hap..."

"Shh, Sam. Don't say a word. I'll bring you some water."

Liz stepped away from the bed and Sam's cheeks immediately felt cooler at the loss of contact. She took a deep breath. Something was very, very, wrong. Something very, very, bad had happened. She knew that much now, even if she couldn't remember what. She felt fear growing in her chest. A weight hanging on her sternum.

Liz returned with a cup and set it down on the little stand next to the bed before turning to help Sam sit up. She fussed with the bed and the pillows, smoothing the covers. Her movements were slow and precise. Sam knew she was stalling. She cleared her throat and Liz reached for the cup, bringing it up for Sam to drink. Sam caught her friend's wrist and looked her steadily in the eye.

"What happened, Liz?" Her voice was still raspy and weak, but she put as much force into it as she could.

Liz sighed, and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

"Take the cup first," she said.

Sam lifted the cup from Liz's hand and drank. It was wonderful.

"What do you remember?"

"We were on a mission," she said, her voice smoother now.

"You don't remember the crash?" Liz's brow furrowed.

Crash? Sam thought carefully, searching desperately for the last images in her mind before she woke up in this room. Her head was so fuzzy, like it was stuffed with cotton wool. Red and orange. She remembered red and orange. She remembered those colours like she was experiencing them rather than just seeing them. Like she was being consumed by them. She shook her head.

"My head doesn't feel right."

Liz leaned over and gently disconnected the IV.

"That might be the morphine, hun."

"Ah." Sam could tell Liz was trying not to grin, but she really wasn't finding any of this very funny. "Liz, please?"

Liz's face became more serious than Sam could ever remember seeing. She dropped her eyes to the bed and took Sam's hand into her own, squeezing very gently. Sam tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Your crew answered a call for air support. The plane was hit by surface-to-air fire and you crashed."

Well, Sam had already gathered that there'd been a crash, but that obviously wasn't the whole story. She waited for Liz to continue.

"You suffered a really serious head injury and you've been unconscious for a while."

"How long is a 'while'?"

"Nearly six weeks now."

Sam felt her eyes widening. Everything else froze. Six weeks? Her shaky hands. Her wasted limbs. They told her that it was true. It was a shock, but she supposed it could have been worse. She didn't think it explained Liz's behaviour. She was still missing something.

"How's everyone else doing?"

Liz looked around the room. Everywhere but at Sam. And there it was. The moment the pieces fell into place. And Sam knew. Someone hadn't been as lucky. She gripped Liz's hand.

"Who died, Liz?"

"Sam," Liz finally met her gaze. "You were the only survivor, and we came very close to losing you too."

Sam dropped Liz's hand immediately, rolling over and pulling her knees up to her chest. It wasn't easy. Her body resisted. She felt so small. She was overwhelmed with guilt and wanted to cry, but it was like her body was desiccated. Maybe it was the meds. She didn't know. It was several minutes before she even registered that Liz was stroking her hair.

"I promised your dad that I'd call him if your condition changed. I should go do that," she said softly. "And I'll get one of the other nurses to come help you get cleaned up in the meantime."

She nodded her head against the pillow. She wasn't even sure if Liz could see the gesture, but the bed bounced gently when Liz stood up. She heard her leaving the room.

"Liz?"

"Yeah?"

"Where am I?"

"You're at Eglin," she said. "I'll be right back, OK?"

Sam didn't reply and Liz left.

So she was in Florida, thousands of miles from where it had happened. She had so many questions. Six weeks might not have been a very long time in the grand scheme of things, but it was like she'd been watching a movie that had a pivotal scene missing. A big section taken right out and lost on the cutting room floor.

She was sure it would take a while for the morphine to leave her system, but her head felt a little clearer anyway. She really wanted to remember those last minutes before the crash, but now she was afraid. Maybe it would be better not to know.

She closed her eyes. The first time she'd done so voluntarily for a very long time. The light from the window was bright and filtered through her eyelids. Red and orange. Why was this the only thing she was able to recall? She focused on it. Heat, there was heat. It was intense. She remembered sitting in warm sand. She laughed at herself. Sounds like a day at the beach Sam. She tried to refocus herself. Why was she sitting in the sand? She'd fallen, that's why. She'd fallen because something had knocked her off of her feet. There'd been an explosion. Someone had told her that, she was sure. There was a fireball in front of her and it had been her plane. Her crew, her friends, going up in flames. She wanted to be unconscious again, because now that the image had materialised, she couldn't shake it. She couldn't see anything else.

The tears started to flow. Her body jerked awkwardly as she sobbed silently, and she turned her face away from the light. She knew she was in shock. It was coming over her in waves. She'd opened the floodgate and the full impact of the situation was finally hitting her. After six weeks, they'd probably already had the funerals. But what had they buried? Nothing. There was nothing left of them but a headstone in Arlington. She should've been with them.

She blew out a shuddering breath. She wasn't used to being so overcome with emotion and she tried to rein it back in. She'd always been better at thinking than feeling, and her analytical mind fixated on one question.

If the plane had exploded, how had she made it out?

A/N: As always, many thanks for the reviews! I hope people are really enjoying this story. I have a little confession to make. I now write these chapters to 'backing tracks'. I find it helps inform the tone for me. This one was primarily written while listening to Purity Ring's Crawlersout. On a loop. Yes, I know it's weirdly obsessive and I don't know why I'm even mentioning it. Maybe if you like/have the song, you can test it out and let me know if it works/doesn't.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Stargate franchise. All other characters mentioned in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.