For most people returning to consciousness comes in stages. First you slowly wake, not quite sure of what is happening around you. Next, you have the sudden urge to go back into the land of the unconscious. Then, slowly, you begin to gain your bearings and rise fully into the land of the living.
Xander, however, is not most people. Years living with abusive parents had taught him a valuable lesson of waking up immediately. Then, after living in a never ending battle for the past few years, the habit of becoming fully conscious immediately had been ingrained to the point that it was now of a second nature.
The first thought that went through Xander's aching head was that he was on a bed. 'I don't remember ever checking into a hotel last night.' The second was the smell of antiseptics. 'Ah crap. Someone took me to a hospital. I hope the police aren't involved. All I need is to be charged with public drunkenness or something like that.'
He was silently cursing himself as he opened his eyes. Taking in his surroundings, he quickly dismissed any and all of his previous conclusions. For one thing the place was far too pristine and sterile to be a hospital. That fact, combined with the multiple number of beds lining the room, brought him to the conclusion this was more of an infirmary than a hospital.
The same thought that, 'None of this is of the good' kept repeating in his mind. He was a whirlwind of thought. And that had the unwanted side affect of bringing on a mind splitting headache.
He had to pause in his though process for a moment in order to concentrate on dulling the pain into a manageable pulsing throb. Having had to do this many times in the past, it was accomplished in very little time. Trying to stay calm, he once again took in his current situation.
He was in a bed, covered in hospital sheets. Lifting up the sheets he could see that his chest was bare, though someone had done an excellent job of wrapping his ribs. 'A point in there favor.' He was also wearing a thin pair of pants that one may see on a surgeon.
His attention was taken from observing himself when the door to his current locale was opened. A middle aged woman with hair slightly darker than Willow's was approaching him. There was definite concern in her eyes that was laced with professionalism. She got to be the doctor.
She began to fuss over him for a moment while asking questions. He wasn't paying her enough attention. That was occupied by the man standing at the door. There wasn't anything particularly interesting about the man himself. Well, other than the fact that he was in some military garb and he was currently wearing a holstered sidearm.
Noticing that her current patient was otherwise preoccupied with his gaze at the armed guard, she gave a quick nod of her head. The guard stepped out of the room. He quickly turned to another guard, who was stationed outside the door. After speaking a few quick words they saluted each other before the second took up his position guarding the entrance while the first went to contact the Colonel and his team.
Now that there was no longer the distraction of the guard, Xander's attention was brought back to Doctor Frasier as she checked over his wounds.
"How are you feeling, Mr. Harris?" As with her eyes, her voice was laced with both concern and professionalism.
Xander inwardly winced at being called, 'Mr. Harris.' That was his father's name, and there was no way he wanted to be reminded, no less associated, with that man. Outwardly he only lightly pressed his hand against his bandaged ribs.
"I think I feel better than I have any right too. I have a slight headache, but my chest feels surprisingly comfortable. There's some pain, but all things considering…I've faired worse." He figured that when unsure of your current situation, play nice with the locals. He looked up at her with a grateful expression. "Did you wrap these?"
She nodded and smiled. "Thanks."
"It's what I do." Well, this is going pretty good. "We just took some X-rays to make sure, but I don't expect to find anything broken. We just finished wrapping your ribs a little while ago." He smiled and nodded.
"So…where am I?" He looked at her expectantly.
Janet sighed inwardly. 'Well, that didn't last long.'
She looked at him with a sad smile. "I'm sorry, Mr. Harris, but I'm afraid that's classified."
His smile slowly left his face, only to be replaced by a closed and guarded expression. It was at that time that the doors to the infirmary opened admitting Colonel O'Neill and the rest of SG-1.
