Here you are, a little more action, and a little angst. I'm sorry! There has to be a way to keep the tension somehow. Especially after the last few mushy scenes that I've put up.

A few weeks later . . .

They had walked into an ambush. All of the members of SG-1 had received some kind of injury, but Sam had been hit the worst.

Jack had held his own; Teal'c took care of himself and Daniel, but when Jack looked over toward Sam, he felt physically ill. She had been hit by a staff blast in her right leg, and was lying on the ground, helpless.

She was playing dead, wasn't she? Those damn Jaffa were kicking her in the side, but he was powerless to stop them while he fought his own battle.

"Fall back!" He had cried.

Daniel had run back to the DHD and begun dialing.

"O'Neill, you go! I will get Major Carter!"

Jack shook his head. His bum knee hurt so badly, and his shoulder was throbbing with the pain caused by his own staff weapon injury, but he was not going to leave her behind.

"O'Neill, you are injured! I will get Major Carter!"

Teal'c reached Carter before he did, anyway, and Jack laid down cover fire. Then, they went through the Gate, desperate for the safety it provided.

Once through, they had been rushed to the infirmary, separated, and treated.

Now, Jack sat at Sam's side, hoping she would wake up.

"Colonel?"

Jack turned to find General Hammond standing in the entrance.

"Oh, hello General."

"Colonel, somebody has to call Pete Shanahan."

Jack cringed. "Give me his number," he responded, dutifully.

"The only phone number we have listed for him is Sam's phone."

Jack nodded, wearily. "I'll go and call him in a few minutes."

The General stayed there. "Son, it wasn't your fault. None of us knew that the goa'uld were waiting for you."

Jack continued staring at the unconscious Samantha.

"Son, if I'd know, I wouldn't have authorized that mission."

Jack nodded. "I know. But all she wanted to do was mess with her gizmos and gadgets and figure out the mysteries of the universe. That's all she's ever wanted to do. So, why her?"

Why not me? He added in his mind.

He got up and went to one of the telephones. He dialed Sam's phone number, but there was no answer. Suddenly, the answering machine picked up. "Hi! You've reached Sam and Pete. Leave a message!"

He stood there for a moment, a lump forming in his throat. He might never hear that voice again.

"Pete, this is Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Air Force." He said, after gaining his composure once again. "Sam's been injured, and I wanted to let you know. Give us a call at the base, and we'll fill you in on her condition. Pete, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

He hung up the phone. So, they're living together now, he thought. Well, he had lost his chance, and he wasn't going to ruin Sam's happiness if she ever did wake up.

Those thoughts only added to the weight of his previous depression.

Read and review. There you have it, the formula for a writer's inflated ego!