((Once again thank you for the reviews))
Denver
Palace Hotel Room # 317 - 4:00 am
She crossed the threshold, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. Switching her attaché to her left hand she quickly opens the door holding it ajar with her foot; taking the elegant Do Not Disturb sign off the back handle and places it on the outer doorknob. Letting the door swing shut with a soft click she quickly chains and bolts the door, further locking the out the world for a few hours.
Turning on her heel she walks further into her new temporary home. The softly lit room itself was lavishly decorated in period Victorian décor, a style designed to draw guests back to late 1800's with a warm mix of mauves and burgundies that was designed to complement the period furniture along with soothing the troubled spirit of a weary traveler.
She didn't care; she'd been in countless hotels such as this in the 1800's. The pessimistic part of her mind chides that if the hotel wanted to give their guests a real taste of life in the 1800's then they should rip out the posh and very modern bathroom she was now standing next to. Nothing stripped away the nostalgic veneer then having to go to the bathroom by dim gaslight in a chamber pot.
Shaking her head she runs her slim fingers through her auburn hair knowing full well that her melancholy had nothing to do with lack of sleep but with the fact that she despised starting over, especially under such abrupt circumstances. She had loved her life and her friends; she had felt a contented peace working at the Stargate Command. But she knew the risks every time she went through the Stargate, which she might come back in a body bag... or worse revive before her friends.
Walking further into the room and sets the black attaché down on the small tasteful black walnut coffee table positioned before the elegant dark burgundy couch. Letting the backpack drop onto the plush cushions she absentmindedly toes the old tennis shoes off and kicks them aside.
Taking the two magazines out of her left from pocket she drops them together on top of the attaché with a metallic clatter. Pulling the roll of money she had taken from the case and tosses it on top of the complementary business magazines left for the hotels guests.
Turning around she moves across the room back towards the bathroom. Flicking on the lights she pulls the sweatshirt and flimsy linen surgical scrub top off together and tosses them to the cold marble floor. Her hand moves automatically to the small of her back and she pulls the cold black steel of the Hi-Power out and sets it within reach on the overlarge bathroom counter.
Looking up she studies her reflection in the large mirror, standing there in the black and grey marbled bathroom; topless and only clad in a pair of weathered denim jeans. The face looking back at her is tired, a bone deep weary that radiated from the almost ebony circles under her eyes and her slightly slouched posture.
She realizes now why the clerk at the front desk had not complained when she left a sizable deposit and was going to pay for her indefinite stay in cash; she had the air of a battered woman on the run. And the clerk had probably surmised since she had chosen this hotel out of the myriad of other less expensive hotels in the downtown area that she was escaping from a wealthy but abusive husband.
Considering the heavy duty disinfectant that she had helped design for the SCG to ensure that nothing unwanted left the controlled environment of the Mountain, the clerk probably thought she had just come from an emergency room given the unmistakable chemical odor that she must radiate.
Walking towards the large glass enclosed shower she turns it on. Taking a few moments to adjust the temperature to what most would consider scalding. The need to wash the last vestige of her past life off her body, a visceral need to be clean suppresses the rational side of her mind. As the torrents of steam billow out and start to cloud the room.
Her mind numb to the pain that assaults her skin as she steps under the showerhead; standing motionless under the steady downpour the hot water stripping the chemicals from her hair and skin. When the water starts to mellow in temperature she comes out of her morose self-chastisement, leans over and picks up the small bottle of jasmine scented shampoo quickly lathering and rinsing out her hair. Shutting off the water she steps out into the still steamy room, the cold marble a welcome shock to her bare wet feet.
Picking up one of the thick terrycloth towels she quickly dries her short hair and wraps the soft cotton around her waist, picking up the Hi-Power she moves out of the bathroom leaving her cloths in a heap upon the floor. The cool air of the room a welcome relief to her exposed skin after the hot shower, but any damage from the scalding water to her body already healed before she even finished shampooing her hair.
Switching off the only light in the room, she welcomes the embrace of the darkness and pads softly over to the large queen sized bed and pulls back the blankets including the duvet and lets her towel fall to the floor. Slipping into the cool crisp sheets she burrows under the blankets, the pistol tucked under the other pillow within easy reach.
Sleep claims her quickly as the mental and physical trauma of the past 24 hours coupled with the shower combine to sap her reserves sending her into a gratefully dreamless oblivion.
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Stargate Command
Level 21 Medical Intensive Care Unit – 4:23 am
The steady artificial beep was a comfort to her at this hour; coupled with the mechanical hiss of the respirator each sound brought to her a morose comfort for each indicated that there was still a chance... a chance that he would make it to an uncertain tomorrow.
Maj. Samantha Carter sits in the plastic chair next to the small bed; the occupant of the bed looks so small to her. It was hard for her to imagine someone as robust and full of life as Col. Jack O'Neill being reduced to the small and tragically frail individual as the one she is holding silent vigil next to.
God how could so much go so wrong and in less than 12 hours. SG-3 and SG-13 took massive causalities but the most tragic and unexpected loss to her and most of the SGC was Janet's death.
From the after-action reports and the video from the documentary crew's confiscated tapes the Colonel had fallen back and was covering Janet while she was stabilizing a wounded marine from SG-3 for transport when first Colonel was hit in the chest then shortly later Janet was struck as well. Mercifully she was told that the wound had been instantly fatal and she hadn't felt a thing. That knowledge was a cold comfort, especially to Cassie.
Cassie. The thought of what to tell her causes her stomach to lurch; the young woman had already lost her original family... her entire planet to the Go'a'uld and now to lose her mother again to the same enemy.
Running her hand slowly through her short blonde hair she's too wrapped up with her internal dialog to notice that she is no longer alone in the intensive care room.
"Major, how's he doing?" General George Hammond spoke in a soft tone, as he motions with his hand for her to remain seated, her body radiating exhaustion both mental and physical.
"He's stable for now Sir, they said that the blast hit him left of the sternum over the lung." she says softly with her eyes constantly darting from her commanding officers face then back to that of Jack.
Seeing that she is close to collapse he places a comforting hand on her shoulder "Major I want you to go and get some rest," he says raising his hand to forestall any protests, "You're not doing yourself or the Colonel any good by pushing yourself to the breaking point."
Her sapphire eyes shimmer with barely contained tears as she says "Yes Sir, I'd also like to request to be present when Cassandra Frasier is notified."
Staring at the younger officer he nods, "I had planned on having Dr. Jackson and you notify her of her mothers death. But Major you need to be there for her and that means you need to take care of yourself and get some rest. Do I make myself clear?" He said in a soft but firm tone that brooked no argument.
Nodding she comes to attention and seeing the slight nod from the General that she has permission to leave, exits the room with a momentary backwards glance.
((more to come....))