She woke up with a pounding headache, and a cotton sweater coating the
entire inside of her mouth.
"Oh, God..." She groaned, rolling slightly to get off the arm she'd been sleeping on. What the heck had she done to herself? She rolled into something solid and warm, and realized she had her other arm stretched out and draped over it. Him. HIM?
Janet opened her eyes, and groaned again when she felt a wave of nausea course through her. What was she thinking? What had she been thinking? She sat up a little and looked at the man sleeping next to her, and realized that it was O'Neill. And she was in his bed. And he wasn't dressed. And his shoulder was covered with a bloody bandage.
"Colonel?"
She was trying to piece together what had happened the night before, but it was only coming in fragments. They'd been in the shower. They'd talked about seeing him naked. They'd... she shook her head, trying to clear it, and winced when she felt the pounding increase. Someone had crept into her head while she'd slept and was trying to get out with a pick and a hammer, and it was killing her. Janet closed her eyes with a groan, taking a moment to ascertain how badly she felt.
Her head. Yeah, that hurt. Her stomach? Oh, she felt sick, but that wasn't life threatening. Lower? No, she didn't have that ache that would have given testimony to any kind of serious physical intimacy. Whatever else had happened – and she wasn't positive exactly what they'd done – they hadn't had sex. Probably. Thank God.
"Colonel?"
He didn't respond, and Janet tried to open her eyes again, closed them instantly with a wince, and ran her hand along his belly and chest to his neck where he could check his pulse. He wasn't dead. That was good.
"Kill me... please..."
The voice was agony, and Janet winced in shared misery. If she was hung over – and she was – she couldn't imagine how much worse he was feeling.
"Colonel?"
"Doc?"
"How do you feel?"
"I think I'm dead."
"Do you hurt?"
"Yes."
"Then you're not dead."
"I wish I was."
She could understand that. She wished she were, too, right then.
"What time is it?" He asked.
"It's the middle of the night... Do you remember what happened?"
"No, what happened?" He opened his eyes, and looked down at himself, and then over at her. He wasn't dressed, but she was. Oh, God. What happened?
"Please tell me we didn't do anything."
"I don't think we did..." She said, opening her eyes again, and forcing herself into an upright position and looking over at him.
"You don't think...?"
"I'm not sure, Sir... I can't remember... much of anything."
"Me either."
"I need to check that wound. You've bled quite a bit, it looks like."
"Yay."
He closed his eyes and lay back down. He was too sore to care.
She sighed, and leaned over him, planning on pulling the bandages aside so she could see how much damage he'd done to himself, but a wave of nausea struck her again, and she closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if the headache itself was making her sick, or if the hang over was. It'd been a long time since Janet was hung over. Now she remembered why.
"Doc?"
His eyes were opened again, feeling her hovering over him, but her own eyes were closed, and she looked like she was about ready to throw up all over him. Pale and green at the same time.
She didn't answer.
"Go back to sleep, Janet..." Jack said, fairly certain that she was just feeling the affects of a hangover. Something he could relate to, but not just then. She'd feel better if she got a little more sleep, he knew.
"I need to check your shoulder."
He pulled her down next to him, and she went without argument. If he was breathing and talking, then he wasn't dying, and it could wait. She was really just too miserable to care about anything more than a life or death situation, just then, and there wasn't one present.
"Check it later... it doesn't hurt so much, now... it can wait..."
She nodded, and completely without thinking about it, she cuddled up against him, resting her head lightly on his uninjured shoulder. His arm went around her, and held her close, probably without realizing it. Janet was asleep again in moments, more than willing to escape the misery for as long as she could.
He held her while she slept, the aching in his shoulder keeping him from going back to sleep right away. He was miserable, and hurting, but she had looked so ill herself that Jack had downplayed his aches to make her go back to sleep. As she slept, he tried to go back over the night, and figure out what had happened. He remembered trying to eat pizza, and her laughing at him. And he remembered showering. With her? No. Yes? No. She was there, but not undressed, although he remembered thinking about her being naked. That wasn't the same thing, though. Jack suppressed a frustrated sigh. He didn't like it when he couldn't remember things, and he was going to make them stop giving him painkillers that did weird things to him.
Eventually, he gave up. He didn't know what had happened, and until he was feeling a little better he wasn't going to be able to figure it out. He reached for a blanket with his injured arm – careful not to disturb her, and covered the two of them, then fell into a restless sleep. Morning was soon enough to figure it out.
"Oh, God..." She groaned, rolling slightly to get off the arm she'd been sleeping on. What the heck had she done to herself? She rolled into something solid and warm, and realized she had her other arm stretched out and draped over it. Him. HIM?
Janet opened her eyes, and groaned again when she felt a wave of nausea course through her. What was she thinking? What had she been thinking? She sat up a little and looked at the man sleeping next to her, and realized that it was O'Neill. And she was in his bed. And he wasn't dressed. And his shoulder was covered with a bloody bandage.
"Colonel?"
She was trying to piece together what had happened the night before, but it was only coming in fragments. They'd been in the shower. They'd talked about seeing him naked. They'd... she shook her head, trying to clear it, and winced when she felt the pounding increase. Someone had crept into her head while she'd slept and was trying to get out with a pick and a hammer, and it was killing her. Janet closed her eyes with a groan, taking a moment to ascertain how badly she felt.
Her head. Yeah, that hurt. Her stomach? Oh, she felt sick, but that wasn't life threatening. Lower? No, she didn't have that ache that would have given testimony to any kind of serious physical intimacy. Whatever else had happened – and she wasn't positive exactly what they'd done – they hadn't had sex. Probably. Thank God.
"Colonel?"
He didn't respond, and Janet tried to open her eyes again, closed them instantly with a wince, and ran her hand along his belly and chest to his neck where he could check his pulse. He wasn't dead. That was good.
"Kill me... please..."
The voice was agony, and Janet winced in shared misery. If she was hung over – and she was – she couldn't imagine how much worse he was feeling.
"Colonel?"
"Doc?"
"How do you feel?"
"I think I'm dead."
"Do you hurt?"
"Yes."
"Then you're not dead."
"I wish I was."
She could understand that. She wished she were, too, right then.
"What time is it?" He asked.
"It's the middle of the night... Do you remember what happened?"
"No, what happened?" He opened his eyes, and looked down at himself, and then over at her. He wasn't dressed, but she was. Oh, God. What happened?
"Please tell me we didn't do anything."
"I don't think we did..." She said, opening her eyes again, and forcing herself into an upright position and looking over at him.
"You don't think...?"
"I'm not sure, Sir... I can't remember... much of anything."
"Me either."
"I need to check that wound. You've bled quite a bit, it looks like."
"Yay."
He closed his eyes and lay back down. He was too sore to care.
She sighed, and leaned over him, planning on pulling the bandages aside so she could see how much damage he'd done to himself, but a wave of nausea struck her again, and she closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if the headache itself was making her sick, or if the hang over was. It'd been a long time since Janet was hung over. Now she remembered why.
"Doc?"
His eyes were opened again, feeling her hovering over him, but her own eyes were closed, and she looked like she was about ready to throw up all over him. Pale and green at the same time.
She didn't answer.
"Go back to sleep, Janet..." Jack said, fairly certain that she was just feeling the affects of a hangover. Something he could relate to, but not just then. She'd feel better if she got a little more sleep, he knew.
"I need to check your shoulder."
He pulled her down next to him, and she went without argument. If he was breathing and talking, then he wasn't dying, and it could wait. She was really just too miserable to care about anything more than a life or death situation, just then, and there wasn't one present.
"Check it later... it doesn't hurt so much, now... it can wait..."
She nodded, and completely without thinking about it, she cuddled up against him, resting her head lightly on his uninjured shoulder. His arm went around her, and held her close, probably without realizing it. Janet was asleep again in moments, more than willing to escape the misery for as long as she could.
He held her while she slept, the aching in his shoulder keeping him from going back to sleep right away. He was miserable, and hurting, but she had looked so ill herself that Jack had downplayed his aches to make her go back to sleep. As she slept, he tried to go back over the night, and figure out what had happened. He remembered trying to eat pizza, and her laughing at him. And he remembered showering. With her? No. Yes? No. She was there, but not undressed, although he remembered thinking about her being naked. That wasn't the same thing, though. Jack suppressed a frustrated sigh. He didn't like it when he couldn't remember things, and he was going to make them stop giving him painkillers that did weird things to him.
Eventually, he gave up. He didn't know what had happened, and until he was feeling a little better he wasn't going to be able to figure it out. He reached for a blanket with his injured arm – careful not to disturb her, and covered the two of them, then fell into a restless sleep. Morning was soon enough to figure it out.