Sam could only remember being this unhappy once before in her life, and that was when her beloved mother had died. But even then she didn't have the added burden of guilt. Deep down, she knew that the way she was treating Janet was callous in the extreme. But she just couldn't face her own feelings. She'd known for a very long time that she was only attracted to women, and she hated herself for that. She would have given anything to be 'normal', to be attracted to men, to find herself a good husband and to settle down. Get a dog. Have kids. Bake cakes. Well, maybe not the baking part. But she hankered after a normal family life, wanted acceptance. So she had carried on, trying to fool herself. She wondered sometimes if that was one of the reasons she had joined the military; if she hadn't worked in an environment that frowned so definitely on same-sex relationships, she may have weakened. And she couldn't allow that.
Her heart had missed a beat when she was first introduced to the beautiful and brilliant Dr Janet Fraiser, but she had tamped down her feelings. Somehow she managed to hide her attraction to the petite doctor, and the two women had developed a firm friendship. Sometimes it was difficult, working in a male-dominated environment - though she knew she was lucky with her team. None of them ever showed any hint of sexism, and they all appreciated her for her skills as a soldier and as a scientist. But Janet appreciated her for what she brought to the friendship, and she knew her as a person, someone to laugh and to cry with. She had loved that friendship more than any other before. All that was lost now, of course. Janet would never forgive her for abandoning her so cruelly. And why should she? Janet had had the courage to tell Sam the truth, and Sam had just shut the door in her face.
Sam knew the next few days were going to be hard, so she threw herself into domestic tasks. She serviced the lawn mower, stripped and reassembled her three motorcycles, painted her spare bedroom, put up more shelving in her study, and souped-up all five of her home computers. She had hoped that keeping frenetically busy would help her to keep her mind off Janet, and she cursed the general for banning her from returning to the mountain until Monday. But while her busy schedule kept her occupied, in each activity she could see Janet. Getting out her set of screwdrivers, she recalled buying them on a shopping trip with Janet. Painting the spare bedroom was something she had been going to do with the help of the doctor - Janet had even helped her choose the paint. And when she carelessly let her attention wander and cut her hand deeply on the sharp engine housing of her Indian motorcycle, she almost wept, knowing with what tender care Janet would have stitched the wound. Instead, she went to the local emergency room and got three stitches put in by a bored and frankly not very interested intern.
Sam couldn't wait until Monday; SG-1 was due to ship out to P3X-449 for three days. The mission promised to be a busy one, collecting samples, negotiating with the locals, learning about the culture. Daniel was very excited about some Mayan-looking remains, and Sam was looking forward to being busy, and to taking her mind off Janet, and off her own behavior, which made her hot with shame when she contemplated it. She wasn't looking forward to seeing Janet at the pre-mission medical, but hoped that maybe she'd get one of the other doctors. She wouldn't have to explain her stitched hand to Warner, but Janet would want to know all the details, check it was healing properly.
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Unbeknownst to Sam, though she could have guessed it, Janet was having as hard a time as she was. Janet felt foolish for declaring herself to Sam, when the beautiful scientist clearly wasn't ready for it. Should she have waited, she wondered? Would Sam ever be able to face up to the person that she was? Janet knew that the tenderness that Sam had shown her when she was infected with the virus, was the 'real' Sam showing through. Though they had been sick, confused and frightened, those few days when she was entirely with Sam, would always remain in her memory as the tenderest and most loving days of her life.
But Sam didn't want her. Actually, Janet knew that wasn't true. Sam wasn't allowing herself to want her, she was probably making herself as unhappy as she made Janet. Janet tried to understand, but kept coming back to the same thing; they were gay. Both of them. And they loved each other. And physically they had fitted each other like a glove. Despite her assurances that she had never slept with another woman, Sam had known exactly what to do, and had played Janet like a violin; Janet had returned the favor. The ecstasy that they had felt with each other couldn't be faked. They were soul mates, if only Sam would allow that to happen.
So Janet tried, like Sam, to make herself as busy as possible. She baked, gardened and cleaned the house like a whirling dervish for three days, which at least had the desired result of rendering her physically exhausted at the end of each day. But still she couldn't sleep, and kept waking in the middle of the night, haunted by nightmares of the experience they had shared. She was also haunted by the thought of what could never be.
On Sunday morning, to make things worse, Janet awoke with a bad headache, and stiffness in all her limbs. Perhaps she had overdone the physical work she had been doing, she thought. It had been a long time since she had spent five consecutive hours digging in her garden, and it now seemed that it was taking its toll. So she got up, vowing to take things easier during the day. After all, she was due back at work on Monday, and was already worrying about seeing Sam again at the SGC.
However, even though she took it easy during the day, Janet continued to feel worse and worse. By mid-afternoon, her head was pounding, her joints all felt bruised and tender, and she just couldn't get warm. So she headed back to bed, took two Tylenol and wrapped herself in several quilts.
By 0400hrs, as she stumbled weakly back to her bed having thrown up for the second time, Janet realized that it was more than just stress and exhaustion. She had stomach 'flu, she reflected bitterly. If life wasn't tough enough, she now had this to contend with. She 'phoned the infirmary at the SGC and told them she wouldn't be coming in the next day, that they would have to get someone in to cover. Great, she thought, now Sam would think she was avoiding her. If just she could get warm, she might start to feel better.
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Dr Francine Michaels was walking to her car, on her way to the Academy Hospital, when her cellphone rang. She learned that she would be required at Cheyenne Mountain today instead, one of the doctors was off sick and she was needed to conduct some pre- and post-mission medicals.
Michaels guessed immediately that it was Janet who wasn't coming in, though she was wrong as to the reason why. Janet wasn't avoiding a difficult situation, she was genuinely sick. So Michaels was surprised that Janet didn't turn up mid-afternoon, having had a miraculous recovery. Maybe she really was sick, she wondered. So she picked up the 'phone to call her colleague.
The 'phone seemed to ring for an age before Janet's weak voice finally answered, "Fraiser."
"Janet?" Michaels asked. "That you? Frankie Michaels here. You sound dreadful."
"Not one of my ten best days," Janet's voice was small and shaky. "Stomach 'flu."
"Oh shit, Janet," Michaels said. "Is there anybody there? Don't tell me you're on your own."
"M'okay," Janet lied. "Jus' need to sleep."
"I'm coming over now," Michaels' tone was sharper than she intended. Janet sounded terrible, and the 'flu could really knock a person out.
"In my garage. There's a denim jacket. House key is in the inside pocket," Janet sounded as though she was struggling to keep it together. "In case I'm asleep."
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Within the hour, Frankie Michaels and Janet's head nurse Sharon were letting themselves into her house. Entering her bedroom, Michaels saw the small form, under a pile of quilts. First, she thought she was asleep, but as she approached she saw that Janet's eyes were open and fearful. She was also bathed in sweat and shaking.
Michaels put her hand on her forehead. "Shit, Janet, you're burning up," she told her.
"Yeah," Janet said weakly.
"Have you been sick?" Michaels asked her, as she took her pulse.
"Uh huh," Janet said.
"Just a little, or a lot?" Michaels was worried about dehydration.
"Fair bit," Janet admitted. "Can't keep anything down, not even water."
Michaels noticed the jug of water on the night stand, as well as the bucket by the bed.
"Okay, I think we should get you to the infirmary."
"No!" Janet's voice was panicky. "Please no. I'll be okay." The pallor of her skin and the weakness of her voice gave the lie to that statement.
"I can stay, Frankie," Sharon said in a quiet voice. "I'm on leave for three days now, I can look after her. And I'll bring her in if she gets any worse."
Janet looked at her gratefully. She just couldn't face being in her own infirmary right now.
Finally, Michaels agreed. Sharon was a skilled nurse, and could hook up an IV in seconds, which was good as that was the first thing they did, to try to rehydrate the sick doctor. Michaels also gave her some strong antibiotics, as well as a light sedative. After giving a list of instructions as long as her arm to Sharon, she finally left, promising to return the next morning on her way to the mountain.
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Sam had been nervous as she made her way to the infirmary on the Monday morning for her pre-mission medical, so her relief when Warner checked her over was immense. Usually she did all she could to avoid Warner. She found his manner off-putting, and there was no warmth at all to the man. Anything was better than facing Janet though.
She heard from Daniel, who had been in more of a mood to chat with the infirmary staff that morning, that Janet had called in sick. Like Michaels, Sam suspected that her illness was 'political' and that she just wanted to avoid Sam. She couldn't blame her, and it made her feel even more guilty.
Over the next three days, Sam was uncharacteristically quiet, until eventually O'Neill cornered her. "Spill, Carter. Something's bothering you, and I want to know what it is."
Sam jumped guiltily. "There's nothing wrong, Sir," she said, in a firm voice that brooked no discussion. "I'm a little tired is all. But I'm fine."
O'Neill looked at her. "Bullshit Carter," he didn't bother to phrase his words carefully. "But if you're not gonna spill, try and pretend a bit better, will ya?"
"Is there something wrong with my work?" Sam's voice had a cold edge to it. She knew she was performing well.
"No Carter, you know there's nothing wrong with your work. Your work is perfect. Always is. You know that. I'm just worried that you've... lost your mojo."
"My mojo?" Sam tried to smile at his obvious attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "Sorry about that Sir, I'll do my best to locate it. Just for you Sir." And at this she did manage a small smile.
"That's all I ask Carter, that's all I ask." He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
Sam tried after that to pretend a cheer she didn't feel. She knew she wasn't kidding the others, not for one moment, but they all seemed relieved that she was at least trying. Whatever it was, mused O'Neill, Carter would work it out.
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Janet had a miserable three days, though she was very grateful to Sharon who looked after her tenderly, and slowly she began to feel better, physically if not emotionally. By Wednesday afternoon, her fever was way down, and after helping her bathe and changing the mussed sheets on her bed, Sharon decided it was safe to leave her for a few hours while she went to the mountain for her evening shift at the infirmary. Frankie was due to visit Janet that evening, so she would only have just over three hours on her own.
As she walked up the corridor, Sharon was surprised to see the returning SG-1 leaving the infirmary, clearly having just had their post-mission medical. At the back was Captain Carter. Sharon made her mind up, and approached the young woman. "Captain Carter, may I have a word?" she asked.
"You go Carter," said O'Neill. "Briefing's not for an hour. See you there."
So Sam had no choice but to follow Sharon into Janet's office.
"Sit down," Sharon told her in a firm voice. Despite Sam having a higher rank, she obeyed, almost timidly. Sharon looked her straight in the eye. "You've broken her heart, you know that?" her tone was accusing.
"Now listen," Sam was immediately on the defensive. "I told Janet, and I'm telling you, I'm not gay. What the hell has it got to do with you, anyway?" she felt angry, and cornered. "What have you got to do with anything?"
"What have I got to do with it?" Sharon's voice rose. "I'll tell you. I've spent the last three days looking after Dr Fraiser, holding her while she threw up, sponging her down. Listening to her call your name when she was delirious. She loves you Captain. And I think you feel the same."
"She's really sick?" Sam paled. "I thought she was just avoiding me. Crap. Is she okay?"
"Of course she's not okay," Sharon spat. "She's trying to get over the 'flu, and she's never been so unhappy. She's been betrayed. By you."
"Sharon," Sam changed tactic. "Look, even if I wanted to... It's just not possible. This is the military. Can you even begin to imagine what would happen?"
Sharon softened. She went up to Sam, kneeled by her, and took her hand. "It is possible, Sam. Nobody need know. Or nobody you don't trust. I know it's possible. *We* know it's possible. Me and Frankie, I mean."
Sam stared. "Are you telling me..?"
"Six years," Sharon nodded. "And nobody's guessed. Hammond knows."
"General Hammond knows?" Sam was dumbfounded. "What did he say?"
"He doesn't give a rat's ass, Sam, that's what I'm trying to tell you," Sharon said. "It doesn't have to mean the end of your career. But even if it did," she looked Sam straight in the eye. "Isn't Janet worth it?"
Sam started to weep; all the emotions she had kept bottled up for years just flooded out of her. Sharon pulled her into a tight hug, and held her for about fifteen minutes as the sobs wracked her slim frame. "She'll never forgive me," Sam eventually whispered, "and she's right. I've been an asshole. My behavior was unforgivable."
"I don't think that's true, Sam," Sharon told her gently. "And anyway, doesn't she deserve the chance to make that decision for herself?"
Sam nodded. "I'll try," she promised. "Thank you. For everything."
Sharon hugged her again. "You'd better wash your face before your briefing," she advised, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "And then I think there's somebody you want to visit."
"There is," Sam said firmly. "There sure is."