It had been a long several days, and they were all tired. True, they were worried about Ian, but they also knew that Janet was with him and she was the best, which made them worry just a little less. Enough to allow all of them to eventually doze off as they waited for word.

Which came several hours after Janet had left them all waiting.

She walked into the waiting room, glancing over at the TV, which was still showing excerpts of the press conference the President had held an hour earlier, and then went over to where Jack and Sam were slumped on one of the small sofas, sleeping in what had to be incredibly uncomfortable positions. Shawn and Andrew were both sleeping in chairs, but they were younger and far more flexible, so they didn't look as uncomfortable, and Daniel had claimed the other sofa for himself, sprawled out with his head over the arm of it and his glasses skewed on his head. Only Teal'c was awake, and he turned to watch her enter, as silent as the sleepers were.

Janet nudged Sam gently, and then Jack as Sam started to stir.

"I have news on Ian…" she said, softly.

As if all of those sleeping in the room had been waiting to hear those words – which they probably were – everyone woke up almost simultaneously. Jack sat up, quickly – as did Sam.

"How is he?"

She shook her head, giving them a slight smile so they'd stop looking quite so concerned.

"He's not as badly injured as I feared looking at the ship he'd been in."

"He's okay?" Sam asked.

"He should be." She'd memorized the information on Ian's chart, so it wasn't hard for her to give them the litany of his injuries. "He has a nasty concussion – and how he didn't crack his skull wide open is beyond me. He's managed to crack a few ribs, dislocate his shoulder and jar that right knee of his. The really odd thing is, the surgeons said there was a lot of internal bleeding, but none of them could find anything worse that a serious bruise on his liver – which doesn't explain the bleeding, really…"

"What does that mean?" Daniel asked.

She shrugged.

"I don't have a clue, Daniel. It might mean he isn't as hurt as he was…"

"What?"

She shrugged again.

"I don't know what else to make of it. We know we don't have anyone around to heal him – but that's what looks like might have happened… unless there's some other explanation…"

"We'll have to ask him," Jack said, equally confused, but far too relieved to be concerned about it. "Is he awake?"

She shook her head.

"Not yet." She hesitated, then. "There's more, though, Colonel…"

"Oh?"

"From the looks of things, he and McKay have both been shot."

"They were on Anubis' ship," Sam said. "That's probably-"

"They were shot with guns, Sam…" Janet interrupted. "Not staff weapons or zats."

Jack frowned.

"You're sure about that?"

She nodded.

"Positive. Ian was shot in the thigh and the side – glancing blows, both – and McKay was hit in the bicep… I checked the wounds myself to make sure…"

"How did that happen?" Sam asked Jack, confused.

He shrugged.

"Something else we'll have to ask them when they wake up, I guess…"

Janet nodded again.

"Are you going to call his folks?"

"I'd better. They'll be worried about him if they don't hear from him."

"I'll do it," Sam said, looking at her watch and standing up. It was almost 4 AM their time, so it would be 5 or six there. That was early, but it was better not to wait. Not when it came to Nathan.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

When he opened his eyes, he knew immediately he was in a hospital. Not that he'd spent a lot of time in hospitals, really, but the room was white and bare and the ceiling he found himself staring at was covered with those built in florescent lights that you always saw in hospitals. Besides, he could hear beeping in the background, and knew that the beeping was in time to his own pulse – which meant he was hooked up to some kind of machine that was keeping track of that sort of thing.

When he turned his head to confirm it, however, he knew it was a mistake almost immediately. He hurt. Every part of him hurt and when he gasped in pain, it only caused a stabbing pain in his chest that was even worse than the aching in his head and rest of his body.

"Owwwwww…"

The word was whispered, because he didn't dare speak any louder and actually use any more of his body – including vocal chords – than he already had. Who knew what would happen if he did? Probably new worlds of pain would open up before him – and it wasn't something he was looking forward to.

Without moving his head, he looked around – and saw that he was, indeed, in some kind of hospital room. There was a stand with a whole mess of equipment on it – all of it medical. Even though he wasn't a medical doctor, he knew enough about the equipment they used to know that it was serious stuff – and the very fact that they were using it on him spoke volumes without him even speaking to anyone.

"I'm dying…" he whispered, feeling a little fear and a lot of annoyance. It just wasn't fair! He was a genius with everything to offer the world, and he was going to die before he could even become famous and get all the girls – something he knew was just a matter of time, but would now be denied him. No wonder he felt so much pain. This was what dying was like.

"Who is going to feed my cat?" he wondered aloud – still whispering, though, because his head was really pounding now, and even though he was trying to take really shallow breaths he thought his entire torso was going to explode any minute. And maybe it was. What did he know? Maybe he had developed some awful incurable disease being on the Goa'uld ship. It was possible he might have survived the crash of the ship only to die anyways of some off the wall Goa'uld fever. It was so unfair.

He turned to look up at the ceiling again, and again nearly fainted when the spasms of pain flashed through his entire body and entire galaxies of stars flashed painfully inside his head, surrounded by white hot lights.

He groaned, unable to stop the sound, and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, hoping the pain would ease.

"Easy, Doctor McKay…"

The voice wasn't one he recognized – which didn't mean anything – but he felt something delightfully cool and moist press gently against his forehead.

"Who's that?" He asked, still whispering, but now it was a little louder.

"Doctor Janet Fraiser, from the SGC… Try not to move around, okay? You're just going to hurt yourself if you do."

"I'm dying…"

What did it matter if he hurt himself? He was already dying, right?

"No. You're going to be fine."

"You're just saying that," he said, petulantly. "You're a doctor, you're supposed to say stuff like that…"

There was no way he could hurt this badly and live.

"I promise you, Doctor, you're going to be fine. I'm going to give you something for the pain, but I wanted to actually hear you speak and make sure there was nothing seriously wrong with you before I did…"

"There's a lot wrong with me," he snapped. And was immediately sorry that he did. The galaxies in his head were suddenly starting to explode and he was certain he was going to faint.

"Nothing that can't be fixed," the voice assured him. "Just relax."

Amazingly enough, the pain actually did start to ebb, and with the lessening of it came an easing of his painfully stiff muscles.

"Better?" Fraiser asked, after a moment.

He chanced a nod, and was surprised when it didn't set off new rounds of sparks in his head. Maybe he wasn't dying after all?

"Yes."

"Good. Now… can you tell me how you came to be shot?"

"What?"

"Who shot you and Ian, Doctor McKay?" Janet repeated, curiously.

McKay groaned.

He was going to die. Now he was certain of it.