Author's Note: Alright so, here's a pretty long chapter. As always, love to know what you guys think. Oh, and by the way:

sbz: I went back and edited chapters 17 and 18 a little bit. Not that much of an improvement but, I added some stuff in, so anyone who wants to go back and check that out is welcome to. (there's a little scene I added at the end of chapter 18 you all might want to read.)

V

"You see, this is exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of," Woolsey barked, storming across his office and back irritably.

John, Rodney and Ronon were gathered in the small circle of chairs, watching the small man pace with a mixture of resentment, embarrassment, and indifference. Jack would have been present for the sake of cussing Woolsey out again, but he refused to leave Sam's bedside. Miraculously, the bullet hadn't hit any vital organs, and she was expected to make a full recovery—at least physically. However, a bullet-wound to the stomach on top of all her other injuries was sure not what she needed at the time to speed up her recovery.

"No one got hurt," John countered in an impassive tone.

"No one got hurt!?" Woolsey asked, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "She stunned fifteen airmen, and disabled another six, including yourself and Dr. Beckett." He turned sharply to Ronon. "Mr. Dex, I believe you sustained an injury yourself?"

Ronon frowned, but the white strip over his nose made him look quite less ominous. "I'll live," he said sarcastically.

Woolsey ignored him and turned back to the other two. "And this was with quite a bit of luck. I warned you this would happen," he said, stalking over towards John. "And now she has become a threat to the base."

"A threat to the base… She was lowering her weapon!" John snapped. "It was your idiot 2IC who shot her!"

"And a good thing too," Woolsey remarked. "Or else who knows what more damage she could have caused?"

Ronon's lip rolled up slightly into a snarl and he braced his fists against the arm of the chair to control himself.

"Sorry," John interrupted. "But shouldn't you be glad she's recovering?"

"Of course I'm relieved, Colonel, but that does not mean I can ignore protocol."

"Right, like your Agent Marks?" Rodney asked sarcastically, crossing his arms in distaste.

Woolsey frowned. "I assure you, Agent Marks was not acting upon orders, and I will see to it that he is appropriately punished, but—correct me if I'm wrong—I believe disregarding orders is something each of you is quite familiar with. Haven't you, on more than one occasion, gone against orders simply because you were doing what you thought was best?"

None of the men responded. Woolsey nodded as a sign of mutual consent and rounded his desk.

"I am ordering Colonel Carter be placed under constant guard, until she can be moved to a more secure location."

Ronon stalked over to the desk and leaned on it implosively, his massive arms braced on its sleek surface. "That won't be necessary," he said matter-of-factly.

Woolsey glanced up distractedly. "Mr. Dex, this matter is not up for discussion."

Ronon grinned. "Then we won't discuss it."

Woolsey opened and closed his mouth, realizing now that he was being threatened. He looked to Sheppard and McKay, but they only smirked at him.

"…very well…" he said quietly. "Once she has fully recovered, I'll have Dr. Keller assess her condition and make a new decision."

"That sounds like a good plan," Ronon said in his rough, husky voice and cavalierly strode from the room with John and Rodney on wither side.

V

Beep... Beep... Beep... Beep...

Jack sat on the chair beside Sam's bed, hit feet propped up on the bedside table, listening to the rhythmic bleeping of the heart monitors and watching Sam's chest steadily rise and fall. He knew the pattern by now, the exact amount of time between each beep, and each time there was a slight delay he would tense up until it came.

He was content to be here with her rather than off hunting the asshole who shot her. It calmed him down, and that was what he needed—not to be all fired up and homicidal—when Sam woke up.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen her. The last time was a little while before she'd left for Atlantis, so he could check in on her and give her his little "pep-talk" before she headed out; but that had been a brief, very professional encounter. Now was different.

He hadn't really noticed before how much she'd changed; (not that today's standards were much to go on). The hair was the thing that really stood out for him. It meant she'd softened up; become more laid back. He was glad, of course, that she was finally comfortable enough in her skin; but he couldn't help feeling like it wasn't just a coincidence she'd relaxed so much only after he'd left the SGC—when she had her own team and they were all so comfortable with each other.

Of course, to think a change in hair style had anything to do with her being uncomfortable with him was simply preposterous; but it was more than that.

Jack hadn't come to the SGC much after being deported to Washington, but whenever he did he'd find SG-1, (the new SG-1) all lounging somewhere, usually Sam or Daniel's lab, just chatting and hanging out comfortably—like friends would.

On one occasion, he'd just arrived from Washington and wandered in to Sam's lab to find them all crowded around her work station, talking and laughing. No one even noticed when Jack entered, clad in his dress blues. It was the first time he had heard Sam laugh—truly laugh—and it made him sad to think he'd never heard it before. Was she really that uncomfortable around him because he was her CO?

"General O'Neill?"

Dr. Keller's voice broke into Jack's thoughts and he looked up in a sleepy haze. She was standing beside him, smiling a sympathetic smile and resting a hand lightly on his back; Jack wondered why he hadn't heard the clacking of her heels approaching.

"You've been in here all night," she reminded him. "You sure you don't want to get some rest?"

Jack shook his head, his gaze returning to Sam's pale face on the pillow. "No," he said, his voice rough with lack of use. "…I should… stay here."

Jennifer smiled. "You care about her a lot, don't you?"

Jack dropped his eyes. "Yeah, I do," he admitted.

Jennifer moved her hand to his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You know, she's not alone here," she said. "We're all here for her."

Jack nodded, and after a while, muttered a quiet, "thanks."

Jennifer smiled again and wandered out, leaving him to his silent vigil.

V

Some hours later, I awake with a pleasantly familiar feeling infirmary bed under me. My head rolls restlessly from side to side for a moment before I become aware of a familiar voice calling my name.

"Carter... Carter..."

Dazedly, I open my eyes and turn towards the source of the voice, and it takes a moment for my eyes to focus.

Jack is sitting beside my bed, his face in his hand and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile. I blink and try to concentrate on the last thing I remember.

"Sir?" I ask, and my voice is parched and dry with sleep deprivation. "What are you doing here?"

Jack sits up, looking confused by my question. "What am I doing here as in the infirmary or here in general?" he asks, pointing at the floor as he mentions the infirmary.

I smile slightly and close my eyes with impatience "What are you doing here in Atlantis, sir?" I repeat, hoping my question came out clearer.

"I was worried about you, Carter. After all, you've been gone for three weeks."

I frown as my mind registers his statement. "Three weeks?" I repeat doubtfully, and my head falls back on the pillow. "I could've sworn it was longer."

Jack doesn't reply to that, but instead lets a short silence fall between us. I suddenly realize how thirsty I am, and make an attempt at sitting up, but my stomach protests with a searing pain and I fall clumsily back against my pillows.

"Easy, Carter," Jack orders, his hand on my shoulder to hold me down. "You've been shot, remember?"

I think about it a moment and my eyebrows pull together in thought. "Who shot me?"

Jack sighs, sitting back in his chair. "Some little weasel of a man, Agent Marks," he says with distaste. "Don't worry about it though; I've made sure he's locked up and far away from you." Then to himself, "I swear I'm going to shoot that little bastard."

"Marks?" I repeat. "Never heard of him."

"Ah, well, Woolsey seemed to think he would make a nice addition to the expedition," Jack says sarcastically.

"Woolsey's here?" I ask, my voice unintentionally venomous as the name forms on my lips. Then the interrogation in the holding cell comes back to me and I groan, a sudden feeling of nausea washing over me as the next wave of memories from the past three weeks return.

Jack presses his cool fingers lightly to my arm. "Sam? You ok?"

I nod, closing my eyes as I wait for my stomach to unravel itself. "Yeah, I'm fine," I lie. "Can I get a glass of water?"

"Sure."

Jack makes quick work of locating the glass on the bedside table and helps me sit up before handing it to me. I drink tiny sips from it but it tastes sour in my parched mouth. I wrinkle my nose and hold the glass in my lap while I force the liquid down my throat. Jack waits patiently for me to continue.

"The last three weeks are just coming back to me," I explain. Jack nods in understanding and begins rubbing soothing circles on my back.

"Yeah, I can understand how Woolsey in charge might not be the best thing to wake up to," he says, and I laugh lightly.

"Still holding a grudge then, huh?"

"Not a grudge," he protests innocently. "That thing with Kinsey, that's a grudge. This is just a general dislike."

I smile and stare down at the contents of my glass for awhile.

"You know," he continues in a cheerier tone of voice. "I promised Teal'c and Daniel and all them I'd let them know how you're doing. I practically had to order them not to leave the SGC before I left..." he trailed off. "Then I remembered that wouldn't really do any good for anyone except Mitchell."

I chuckle lightly. "That's what you get for commanding a team that's half alien and civilian."

Jack frowns. "Yeah, how was that working out by the way?"

"Cam and I sort of shared a command," I say with a shrug. "Of course, since no one technically had to take orders from us, it just got to the point where we just bossed each other around."

We both laugh.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you've finally been given a command position, Carter. You deserve it."

I frown, staring into my glass, and I sense Jack realizes he's said something wrong, though I don't blame him.

He clears his throat and gently slides his hand, which I realize has been supporting my back the whole time, back into his lap. "Look, Carter…" I look up. "I really hate to do this to you but… I have to go back to Washington for a while. Apparently I have an important meeting with the Pentagon or something…"

I am nodding in understanding before he finishes. "I understand, sir."

Jack nods, and seems to consider it for a moment. "You know, you've got a good team here," he says, and I continue to bob my head slightly.

"I know."

"Promise me you'll let them help."

I look up at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm fine, sir."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "No you're not. Promise me you won't try to be brave on this one."

I frown, looking down into my glass again.

"Carter…" he says. "You've been through a lot. Let them help you."

Finally, I give a reluctant nod. "Yes sir."

Apparently satisfied, he touches me lightly on the shoulder and silently makes his way towards the exit, but pauses in the doorway.

"Sam?" he says, turning around.

I look up, hoping he might have reconsidered.

He hesitates a moment. "...You know, you're more than welcome to come take some time off at the SGC..."

I am shaking my head before he finishes. "No, sir," I say, smiling weakly, and he nods in understanding. "Thank you, sir."

When he is gone, I put the water back on the table and curl into a ball under the thin layer of sheets, being careful of my still tender injuries. I want to be able to confide in them, but it's not as easy as Jack makes it sound. I feel like such a hypocrite—after all, I expected them to be able to confide in me as their new leader. Why shouldn't they expect the same from me?

It's just—they aren't my team. SG-1 was like family; we could confide in each other for everything. We trusted one another with our lives everyday and have been through hell and back together. Now I need them more then ever and they're not here—none of them are.

I know I can't possibly blame them or believe they've forgotten me. They all want to be here... And Jack had no choice but to go back. Our jobs aren't exactly easy, and I have to put myself in their positions.

But the fact that my team isn't here isn't the point; the point is that I could never feel the same level of trust with my new team as I did with SG-1. I'm an outsider to them. What can I expect?

I don't want to be overly dramatic, but I don't feel like I'll be making any kind of instant recovery. While Jack was here, I had some distraction from all the flashbacks and nightmares. Now I'm going to be alone with them, and I'm afraid I won't be able to fend them off for long.