"Ow," Jack protested as Lieutenant Bevins tightened the strap on the sling around his neck. She ignored him – the medical staff tended to do that – and tugged the curtain closed behind her as she left.

Not five seconds passed before it opened again, and Jack prepared his best scowl for whoever was coming to mess with him. But it was Daniel, a crutch under each arm and a giant bandage at his temple. "They better not be letting you go first," the older man growled. "You were out cold for a damn long time."

"Does it look like I'm leaving?" the archaeologist asked wryly, waving a hand at the white infirmary garb they'd given him. "I just have a bathroom hall pass. And a concussion."

"And your leg?"

"Sprained ankle," Daniel said. "You?"

"Crappy overall." And he knew he looked it, too; his cheek burned with pain from the butt of the rifle; his torso was black and blue. "But the only real damage is the arm."

"Good."

"And Carter?"

Daniel winced. "Which one?"

"Either."

"They're keeping Jacob sedated for a bit until some more blood tests come back. But he's…. I mean, they took two bullets out of him, but he's okay. Physically."

Jack imagined that caveat held true for his daughter, too. "And the other one?"

The wince turned to a cringe. "She's not here."

"She's not… here?" Jack echoed, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead despite the pain that caused.

"Rumor has it she's locked herself in her lab. I think she's taking it pretty hard."

Of course she was. The man in the cot pinched the bridge of his nose. The action sent stabs of pain through his right eye socket and made him frown.

"Janet says the mutated substance is still in his system. She doesn't know why he stopped." Quietly, Daniel added, "For a minute there, I was sure he was gonna kill her."

"That's because he was. Help me up."

"Oh, hey, I don't know if that's a good idea," the archaeologist protested as Jack swung to sitting.

"Yeah, well, when has that ever stopped me?"

~/~

Daniel's rumor was right: the door to Carter's lab was closed, and the little red light on the keypad indicated she'd locked it. Luckily, that wasn't much of a problem; the key card in Jack's pocket opened every door on base except Doc Fraiser's office. He knocked twice – not a request, just a heads up – before scanning his card and pushing the door open just enough to step inside and close it again.

Carter sat at her lab table, but it was empty. She hadn't been working. Her face tipped toward him, and he tried not to grimace as he documented her injuries: the black eye, the cut through her eyebrow, the fat lip. She'd obviously tried to clean herself up, but blood had smeared from a cut on her temple into her hair.

She was doing the same, he realized – scanning his arm, his face. And with every injury, the pain in her eyes increased tenfold. "Hey," he said, setting the medical kit he'd brought on her table. "C'mere."

The sling he wore was obnoxiously in the way, but she stepped into him immediately. Her arms slid around his waist, holding tight, and he returned the favor with his one good arm. Her breathing was shaky, and he squeezed her tighter despite the cast that dug into his bruised ribs. Only once she'd returned to slow, deep breaths did he murmur in her ear, "You really saved my bacon up there."

She huffed but said nothing. After a moment, though, her arms loosened and he let her go, reaching for the medical kit. Moving an alcohol wipe packet to the hand in the sling, he tore it open, pulled out the wipe, and dabbed gently at her temple with his good hand. "Hammond's back on duty," he told her as she winced. "Just an ice pack for his knee. Daniel's on crutches and being whiny." He cleaned up her eyebrow, then her lip. "Eppes has a broken leg and Gonzales is gonna be damned ugly for a few weeks, but they're okay." Gesturing for her hand, he set it gently on the lab table surface to address her bloody palm with iodine. "Johnson's doing all right. He's got a couple of broken ribs, but he doesn't need surgery. Here, hold this."

She lifted her other hand and put a finger on the end of the gauze roll so he could wrap it. And when she did, he spotted the scab where a nail should have been on her ring finger. Taping off the gauze around her palm – thank goodness for tape dispensers with cutting edges – he tucked her fingers against his chest so he could work on the injured fingertip with two hands. "Dawes has had some scans. His spine's intact, and his CT came back clear. They just need him to wake up." He dabbed iodine on the injury, then triple antibiotic, then tore open a bandage to wrap carefully around her finger.

She hadn't asked about her father yet – in fact, she hadn't said a single word – but he knew she was waiting for that condition update more than anything else. "They pulled two bullets out of Jacob, but Tok'ra, you know, so they're healing up already. Doc says there's still a little bit of the drug in his system, so she's keeping tabs on him for now. He's awake. And talking."

Carter sucked in a breath, but no words came out. And she was staring down at their hands rather than dare look him in the eyes. She repeated the breath once, twice more, and they stood in silence with his hands wrapped around hers for a long moment. Jack couldn't even fathom what she was feeling. "I should go down there," she said finally, though the words were little more than a breath. "I just…. I… don't know what to say to him right now."

"Tell him it's not his fault," Jack said. "Tell him he doesn't need your forgiveness, but you forgive him, anyway." Giving the undamaged fingers a gentle squeeze, he added, "Tell him what you needed to hear, when it was you in the infirmary. What Cassie said to you."

Her eyes flew up in surprise. He was right; she knew exactly how her father felt. She knew what it was like to hurt someone she cared about through no fault of her own. Sucking in a deep breath to screw her courage, she reclaimed her hand and gave him a nod.

"It's not yours, either."

She blinked. "What?"

"It's not your fault. None of it."

Her eyes skimmed the cast on his arm and his bruised, sliced cheek. But she nodded again.

Snapping the med kit closed, he left her to pull herself together.

~/~

General Hammond glanced up from his place at Jacob's bedside as Major Carter stepped through the infirmary curtain. He would have given her privacy, but his bad leg was propped on another chair with ice wrapped around the knee and leaving wasn't as easy as it sounded. There were two armed guards at the foot of the bed, anyway.

Jacob's gaze swept over his daughter – her bruises, her bandages. The damage he had done with his own two hands. And his eyes filled with tears for the second time that day. "Sammie, I'm so sorry."

"I know." Seeing her father restrained was going to make her cry, too, in front of her CO and two other airmen. But she didn't care. Settling a hip beside one of the wrist cuffs, she leaned in to wrap her arms around him. "I forgive you, okay?" Sam buried her face in his neck as he pressed his cheek into hers. "I forgive you."