Author's Note: Written for 'World Pharmacists Day' (25 September), which encourages us "to think of those in the profession and the work that they do".
I'm not sure this story fully fits the definition, but there's a mention of Janet and there's medication involved, so… Post-ep scene for Heroes.
Sam brings the Colonel's truck to a smooth stop outside his house but she barely has time to switch off the engine before he opens the passenger door and eases himself out of the seat.
She observes him out of the corner of her eye but still jumps when he slams the door closed with more force than necessary, so she bites back a sigh and gives him a few more seconds and watches from the safety of the truck as he makes his way towards his front door. He is moving slowly and from where she sits Sam can tell it is draining every ounce of strength he has. She lets another moment pass before she pulls the keys from the ignition, takes a deep breath and prepares herself for what lies ahead.
She's had to break into a light jog to catch up with him and as they arrive at the door together he silently takes the keys from her hand but his movements are jerky and forced as he jams the key into the lock. Sam presses her lips together and decides to take a step back to give him some space, and when he finally pushes the door open – and leaves it that way – she takes it as an invitation to enter his home.
The soft click of the door as she closes it behind her is the only sound she hears and she steps forward and peers into the kitchen. She doesn't see him so she tries the den next, but as she descends the few steps towards the well-worn, well-loved living area, she hesitates when she finds her commanding officer sitting in the recliner at the far side of the room.
His head is tipped back and his eyes are closed, while his right arm has been lifted up and is covering most of his face. She hears his irregular breathing and sees the sheen of sweat that now covers his exposed skin but when she goes to take a step closer his eyes snap open and he straightens. He meets her gaze but she has the distinct feeling that it takes a few moments before he actually sees her. When he does, his eyes are dark and guarded and Sam isn't sure how it makes her feel.
"Can I get you anything, Sir?"
Her voice is quiet, and surprisingly calm, considering the internal turmoil she's currently experiencing – especially when he looks at her for a second too long before his eyes drift closed again.
"No."
She nods slowly and glances around the room. She goes to speak but decides against it when she realizes she has nothing to say that won't be defined as annoying small talk.
"I'm fine, Carter," comes his gruff voice moments later.
"I know, Sir, but –"
"No 'buts'. I said I'm fine."
His response is firm as he opens his eyes and stares.
"With all due respect, Colonel, the only reason you were allowed home was if someone was here to keep an eye on you."
"I don't need a babysitter."
"That may be," she offers reluctantly, "but I do have my orders, Sir."
She meets his gaze, refusing to look away, no matter how hard or long he glowers at her. She also knows not to ask him to repeat what he's just mumbled under his breath as he finally breaks their stalemate. Her attention stays on him, however, and she sees him try to sit straighter in the recliner, right before he grimaces when he moves just a little too fast.
"Do you need your meds?"
The words escape her before she can stop them and she chooses to ignore the piercing look Jack gives her.
"No."
She sighs because she knows he is lying, but she also knows there's no point in arguing with him about it yet and making the situation even more tense, so she just nods in agreement. However, when Jack moves to reach for the television remote on the coffee table moments later, she instinctively steps forward.
"Let me get that for you, Sir."
"I can handle it, Carter," he growls as he takes the remote from her hand.
"Yes, Sir."
"And cut that out," he snaps.
"Sir?"
He rolls his eyes and points the remote at her. "That – stop it."
"I don't –"
"The whole 'Sir' thing. I've been shot, Carter, and now I'm at home for a week to recuperate. That means no work. No work, means no 'Sir'. Understood?"
"Yes, Si – yes," she mumbles, a faint blush appearing on her face when he raises a brow at her slip-up.
He studies her for a moment later then nods brusquely, so she assumes she is forgiven but she still finds herself holding her breath as his long fingers drum out a staccato rhythm on the arm of the chair for a few seconds before he slowly gets to his feet. He brushes past her as he continues up the steps and on into the kitchen. She doesn't follow but can hear the refrigerator door opening, and the sound of something being torn from its packaging right before there's a clink of glass. She knows instinctively what is before she sees it, and when the Colonel returns to the den, she isn't surprised to discover a bottle of Guinness in his right hand.
She waits until he sits down.
"Is that wise?"
He pauses, the bottle just millimeters from his lips, then shrugs as he takes a swig.
"Probably not."
"Sir –"
"Carter."
Sam snaps her mouth closed at his warning and realizes that she can't really argue with him. After the events of the past week, she is just thankful that the man sitting in front of her is alive, so she decides to overlook the fact that he's drinking beer while on his pain meds.
She suspects he's also not likely to stop at one drink on this occasion, but that's when she'll step in and remind him of the doctor's orders.
Doctor's orders.
Without warning, Sam has to fight back tears as images of Janet pop into her head and she remembers the way her friend told her to never be afraid to pull rank on her CO anytime he failed to listen to the doctor's orders. But everything is different now and Janet is no longer here.
Instead, it was another member of staff – Doctor Brightman – that gave the orders and she is hit again with the devastating reality that nothing is ever going to be the same.
"You can sit down, you know," Jack quips as he takes another swig of beer.
His quiet voice breaks through Sam's thoughts and she absently follows the order, perching on the edge of his couch. She doesn't look at him but she can feel him watching her over the rim of his bottle and she tries to pull herself together.
"Relax, Carter. Jeez," he mumbles under his breath before he takes another drink.
An uncomfortable silence falls, broken only when Jack finishes his beer and places the bottle onto the table. He lets his head fall back against the leather of the chair and closes his eyes before his expression changes and he pinches the bridge of his nose. Quietly, Sam gets to her feet and heads for the kitchen; she grabs his medication and a glass of water and returns to the den. He takes them both from her without a word, then sets the glass down beside the bottle.
"Do you need anything else, Sir?" she asks after a beat.
He tilts his head and studies her, but the emotions in his eyes are changing and morphing too fast for her to follow and it leaves her unable to decipher what he's thinking. There's no mistaking the intensity in his gaze, however, and when it becomes too much to bear she glances down at her hands where they now rest in her lap.
She isn't sure how much time passes before he speaks, his voice heavy with tiredness and something else Sam can't – or won't – identify.
"No. Look, Carter… you don't need to hang around. I'll be fine."
"I know, but –"
"But?" he questions when she doesn't say anything else.
"I'm not leaving."
His eyebrows rise at her statement and when she meets his gaze, she sees the moment his curiosity turns into a challenge.
"You're not?"
"No."
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
She straightens. "No, actually. I don't."
"No Pete this weekend?"
Sam can hear the distaste that drips from every word and the unexpected venom catches her off-guard, leaving her stumbling over the answer.
"Uh, no. We – I – no."
"You don't sound so sure, Carter. Which is it? Because I'd hate to take you away from enjoying the life I encouraged you to get."
His words hurt but she refuses to let it show and a slow anger begins to burn within her.
"Yes or no, Carter," he taunts. "I'm waiting."
"No."
"No?"
"There is no Pete; not this weekend – not any weekend."
He watches her for a minute. "Huh."
Sam frowns. "Sir?"
"What?"
She doesn't blame him for being agitated or short but she's also exhausted and struggling to keep up with his rapidly changing mood, so she just shakes her head.
"Never mind."
"No," he argues, "if there's something on your mind, you should clearly share it. Especially since it seems you're going to be sharing my house for the next week."
"Daniel and Teal'c are also –"
"Carter –"
"Stop calling me that."
She thinks it's the slightly condescending tone which he used to utter her name that makes her snap the retort and she surprises herself as much as she does her commanding officer.
"Sir, I – Jack," she whispers, but hesitates when she sees his expression change and he closes his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
She offers a half-nod at his apology. She knows he is sorry and she's sorry too.
"It's been a really, really crappy couple of weeks."
A short, humorless laugh escapes her as she reluctantly meets her CO's gaze.
His eyes are no longer unreadable. She sees his pain and grief and guilt and she wants nothing more than to go to him and find comfort and safety in his arms. She also needs a reminder that he is really here; that the ambush with the Jaffa on P3X-666 didn't take his life.
"Carter."
The softness in his voice pulls her from her thoughts and she looks up to find him standing in front of her. He reaches out a hand which she takes and she lets him help her to her feet.
They are standing so close that his breath tickles Sam's face when he exhales and her skin feels on fire from his touch. She's on the verge of doing something reckless and she knows she needs to leave.
"I should probably go," she whispers. "I'll call D–"
She starts to pull her hand away when Jack speaks.
"Stay."
His voice is low and husky and Sam feels her resolve continue to slip.
She momentarily closes her eyes and ducks her head but Jack hooks his index finger under her chin and forces her gaze back to him.
"Stay, Sam," he whispers, his hand cupping the side of her face as he runs a thumb across her cheek.
She leans into his touch and nods, and before she can talk herself out of it, she closes the space between them and presses her lips to his.