--

"Ladies can never look ill."

Emma

--

Janet was not a doctor, but she was the closest they could do on short notice—and Sam had a long history of trusting Janet and her herbs over doctors and their leeches, anyway. Still, when she emerged from Samantha's bedroom with a drawn and worried face, Cameron knew that this was no trifling cold they were dealing with.

Jack O'Neill sat in the corner, head in his hands and refusing to say a word, cordial or otherwise—but refusing to move, as well. A small gray puppy curled up on his lap, as though it too was waiting for whatever would happen next. When Janet exited Samantha's room and shut the door behind her with a final-sounding click, they both raised their heads, and the cold desperation painted across O'Neill's features struck Cameron as the worst sort of feeling that could possess a man.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Janet took a moment to gather herself before speaking. "I fear that the situation is very dire. The cough that has worried us for so many weeks—"

At this point, O'Neill interrupted, looking vexed in the extreme. "She has had a cough? Why has no one done anything for her?"

The insinuation that he had not been attentive to his friend's health was vexing, and Cameron did not take to it well. "Samantha does not take kindly to those who interfere where they are not wanted. We watched as vigilantly as possible, but what was to be done? Should we have tied her to the bed, forced her rest and drink broth until it dissipated?"

"If you had to," O'Neill snapped.

Exasperation filled Cameron—even though he had admittedly considered a very similar course of action. "Yes, because she would have taken that so well!"

"Would it matter, as long as she was healthy?" O'Neill's tone was defiant and Cameron could have sworn that even the dog was glaring at him. Come to think of it—

"I'm not the one who let his dog run wild!"

"Gentlemen! This is not helping Samantha, and it is certainly not endearing to the rest of us," Janet interjected, looking between them so sternly that Cameron could not help but feel sheepish. "Now, as I was saying, the cough that has so persistently plagued her has now evolved into a particularly virulent bronchial fever. I will do what I can, but I fear that she is in an extreme state of danger."

"What is to be done?" asked Vala quietly from the corner where she had ensconced herself.

"The fever must be broken before there can be much hope, and that shall be no small task." Here Janet hesitated, as though saying her next words would make the situation even more serious. "It may be wise to bring her father home—just in case things do not turn."

Harsh reality began to settle low and heavy in Cameron's gut, and the idea that he had been so preoccupied by his own silly machinations that his friend's life was now at stake weighed heavily on his mind. Luckily, O'Neill took charge.

"Mitchell, do you know where General Carter is stationed? It's about a day's ride, if you leave now," he asked, looking resolute upon this course of action.

"Of course. I shall leave at once."

O'Neill nodded, face now stoic with the resolution of what must be done. "I shall stay here to aid Mrs. Fraiser in her efforts."

Unconventional, to be certain, but judging from the defiant expression in his eyes, O'Neill would not be swayed. To Cameron's surprise, Vala spoke up once again. "I shall also stay, to help in whatever manner I can." With a surprising amount of sympathy, she moved towards Cameron then, as though to comfort him. "Cameron, I…."

He took her hands, bringing them to his lips and pressing them there for a brief moment. "I must go."

--

So began one of the longest nights in Jack O'Neill's life. After Janet and Vala had managed to change Samantha into dry clothing, he was allowed into her bedchambers—though admittedly, Mr. Siler tried to prevent such a breech in etiquette. Jack would not be deterred however, and once inside her room, there he stayed, stationing himself resolutely at her bedside. While Mrs. Fraiser busied herself with teas and poultices and Miss Maldoran took charge of boiling water, rinsing out laundry, and making broth, Jack simply sat, watching and waiting.

Normally healthy skin was now unnaturally flushed, tendrils of golden hair sticking to a sweat-covered forehead. When she was still, he wiped her skin with a damp cloth, trying to chase away the fever that held her in its grasp. When she shivered violently with chills that wracked her body, he made sure the covers were tight around her. When she coughed and gasped for breath, he propped her up, smoothing a gentle hand down her back in an attempt to ease the spasms. When she thrashed with fever-induced nightmares, he could only hold her hand and wait.

Waiting was the worst part. When waiting, there was nothing to distract him from the fear that had encompassed his entire being or from the heavy amounts of blame that he felt now rested on his shoulders. Once again, someone he loved was in danger, and once again, he could only see it as his fault.

It was a few hours before dawn that Mrs. Fraiser performed another examination, brow furrowed with concentration while counting out pulse beats and judging the strength of Samantha's fever. "Any improvement?" he asked, wanting to be hopeful and knowing that it was a fool's dream.

"Very little, I fear," Janet confirmed, pulling away. "You should get some sleep. I believe one of the extra guest bedrooms has been made up. Your friend Mr. Teal'c arrived a few hours ago and is now resting in one, I believe."

"No." His reply was soft, but firm.

"We can wake you if anything changes. Please. You're not entirely out of danger yourself, you know—you got just as drenched as she."

"I'm not leaving her, Mrs. Fraiser. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can get back to the work of saving your friend's life."

Exasperated, she seemed to be searching her mind for another reason to insist on his departure. Finally, she said, "You know, I don't know if it's appropriate for you to be in here with her, no chaperone in sight."

Now she was just grasping at straws. "Don't be offensive. She's hardly in any…besides, she's en…." Stumbling over his words, he finally came up with the perfect response. "We have a chaperone."

A quizzical eyebrow raise was her silent response and he managed a wan sort of smirk, pointing to the corner of the bed where Thor lay, watching over them all with his typical serious expression.

Her expression softened and finally, Janet nodded. "Fine then. Just take care—of yourself as well as of her."

He shooed her away, back to her teas and the faint hope that Samantha's strength of character would yet prevail over her deathly condition.

--

Jacob stared out of the window of the carriage, willing it to go faster, to magically transport himself to his sick daughter's bedside. Cameron had arrived at dawn, grave and serious in his summons, and news from home had not been so unwelcome to Jacob since his wife's death.

Silence echoed, heavy and foreboding in the small contained area with Cameron sitting across from him. "You know, her mother died at twenty-six. I had hoped never to be in this position again."

"Samantha is a woman of extraordinary will. She may yet pull through. Sending for you was more of a…precaution."

He was uncertain whether the optimism was reassuring or tiresome, but then a man who was facing the loss of his only child could be forgiven for not being more congenial company. "Who is with her?"

"Mrs. Fraiser is acting as her physician—the doctor is away for the month and Samantha always trusted Janet's judgment more than anything. Miss Vala Maldoran arrived yesterday morning, and was determined to stay and help where she could. And of course, Colonel O'Neill refused to leave her side."

Now there was a piece of interesting news. "O'Neill? Jack O'Neill?"

"The very same."

"But what has he got to do with this whole affair?"

"O'Neill was the one who found her, soaked and feverish. He hastened her home and has not left since." After a moment's consideration, the younger man's face softened a little. "I believe that he loves her very much."

The suggestion was a strange one at first, and Jacob could hardly believe it. "I was under the impression that their friendship was only that."

Such a concept seemed to amuse Cameron. "I am afraid that I am not privy to any details regarding their situation, but judging from the behavior I have perceived in both of them since my arrival, I am fairly confident that you are mistaken. I do in fact wonder why things have not been resolved between them previous to this, as both seem so clearly taken with the other that it is painfully evident for anyone dear to them."

Evident, perhaps, to everyone except her own father. Fearing that his misconceptions had permanently endangered any chance of his daughter's future happiness, Jacob found himself wishing even more to be home at once, feeling the deep need to judge for himself whether or not Cameron's observations held any merit.

If they did, he owed Jack O'Neill a great and weighty apology.

--

Exhausted and wondering exactly how she had gotten mired in this situation, Vala Maldoran sat in the parlor, waiting. Whether she was waiting for further instructions, waiting for something to happen, or waiting for nothing at all, she did not know—she was simply waiting.

Upstairs lay a woman who held more hearts than Vala could even hope to touch, being a recipient of the love of friends and a father and, as was becoming increasingly apparent, two good men. She couldn't help but wonder what that would be like—her current lifestyle afforded many advantages of freedom, but it also tended to be a very solitary living. Vala had no one on which to rely other than herself. While this had been part of the appeal at first, it was now, perhaps, wearing a little thin. She could not help but recollect that there had been a time not so very long ago that she may have ended up in a different position, but she had run from the implications such a connection held.

This was perhaps the first time that those implications seemed desirable rather than binding.

A figure appeared at the door and she smiled at it. "There's my Daniel," she said fondly.

"Vala!" Daniel exclaimed, looking a bit like a put-out fish. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, using the shield of bravado that came so easily to her. "I could sense from across the country that you missed me, obviously."

He scoffed, but sat next to her with a bit of a smile nonetheless. "Yes, of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Why, indeed?" she replied. "If you've come to check on your friend, I'm sorry to say that there's been no news one way or the other."

"Are you? Sorry, I mean."

"Daniel, dear. Don't be ridiculous. You know how I love news."

"Ah."

They fell into silence, and because she knew Daniel better than almost anyone and because she knew when Daniel was brooding, she ended up clasping his hand in a silent offer of support. "I am sorry she's ill, Daniel. I know she's very dear to you."

For his part, he peered at her through those spectacles of his and managed a small smile. "You know, I do believe you are. Thank you."

Feeling irked at his continual underestimation of her character, she pulled away. "Even I have a heart, Daniel."

With a gentle hand, he turned her face back towards his, blue eyes wide and sincere. "I never doubted it for a moment."

That drew a small smile from her as well, and she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I think maybe I did."

--

Dawn came and went and Jack stayed awake, if for no other reason than to ascertain the reality of Samantha's breathing, which was slowly become more regular and even. Hope began to take root, curling insidiously inside him waiting to either be vindicated or struck down.

Mostly, he sat in silence, unable to do anything but wait for what would happen. Sometimes, one of the ladies in the house would join him—Mrs. Fraiser made periodic attempts to compel him into movement and Miss Maldoran seemed not to know what to make of him at all, both touched and befuddled by his extreme behavior.

It wasn't until Jacob's arrival that Jack felt there was anyone present with whom he had things in common—here was a man who loved Samantha as much as he. Tired and drawn with unabashedly red-rimmed eyes, Jacob came to Samantha's side, a large and tan hand brushing against the dry, heated skin of her forehead. "How is she?" the general asked, voice heavy with emotion.

"A little better, I think. Mrs. Fraiser would be able to tell you more specifically."

The hand that had just been touching his daughter so reverently came to rest on Jack's shoulder, a solid and empathetic weight. "You stayed with her all night?"

"Yes." There was a defiant tone to his response, ready to take to task anyone who insinuated that his actions were less than appropriate. But instead, Jacob just squeezed his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Jack nodded, not knowing what else there was to say. Luckily, it seemed like Jacob had his own ideas on that score. "Colonel O'Neill…I believe that I owe you an apology."

Not sure what he meant, Jack waited, hoping to get further clarification. Luckily, Jacob promptly gave it. "It seems that in my great concern for my daughter's well-being, I inadvertently prevented that which would have made her—and you, I believe—the happiest."

This conversation was not one that Jack was eager to have—it revolved around a subject too private and near to his heart to be so closely examined. "That is of no consequence now," he said gruffly.

"Then you do not deny that you love my daughter?"

To that, Jack could say nothing at all. Fortunately, he did not have to, because that was the moment when Samantha's eyes fluttered and opened, her voice rough from dryness rasping out a feeble, "Dad?"

Jacob gave a shout and there was a great flurry of excitement. Jack pulled away, faded into the background to watch. When Janet took Miss Carter's pulse and felt her forehead and continued to smile, he knew that Samantha had managed it.

She had won.

It was all the information Jack required, and with that peace of mind he slipped out of the room, not hearing the nearly inaudible and somewhat disbelieving, "Jack?" that issued from the direction of the bed a few moments later.