Yes, ma'am, Aria W., ma'am! –salutes– lol :) soon enough? –smirk–
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It's been hours. Sam's lucky to be alive, or so says ole Doc Fraiser. I know I said before I was content to sit by her side, but now I feel like I need more. Something tangible. I need her to wake up and tell me she's fine even though it'd be a lie.
I haven't moved, even though Dr. Fraiser has, several times, threatened me with big needles. Eventually, she huffed off – probably to find Teal'c or Daniel to convince me to give up my post. Well, tough, Fraiser. I'm not moving. I'm going to sit here at my selfish, self-appointed post like I'm on a top secret, hush-hush mission.
"Jack?" says Hammond from behind me.
Or not. I don't move my gaze from her porcelain, fragile face, but I answer, "Yeah?"
"Go get some sleep, son. She's in good hands."
"No. Sir." I hate that my voice is soft and fragile, and not vehement, but it's probably the only thing fueling his patience.
"Sir, I won't leave. I can't. Don't you see? I can't." My voice is hoarse, and I sound like a man whose friend just died, not a man whose love just lived.
General Hammond hesitates, but says softly, "Alright, son. I won't ask you to. Just…when she wakes up, don't be a fool and hide away. Tell her."
And he leaves. I should be surprised, but I'm not. He knows. "The Man" always knows.
I should be worried about careers – mine and hers. But I'm not.
All I care about is her.