II. Bates

--...--...--...--

As the orange line squealed to a halt at the Foggy Bottom Metro Station, Jenny Kempers resisted the urge to tap on the doors, knowing they wouldn't open any faster. She couldn't believe this was happening; she'd seen her sister this morning, and Susan had been fine. Well, not fine, but as close to it as Susan seemed to get since she'd gotten back from Antarctica.

When the doors finally opened, Jenny was out like a shot, cursing her inability to remember which end of the station the escalators were on as she sprinted the length of the platform. The police had said "car accident" and "critically injured", but they hadn't given her any details aside from the polite version of "get your ass to GW Hospital." She had spent over an hour in transit, between a breakdown on the red line and single-tracking on the orange; every minute that passed left her more and more anxious. She'd finally gotten used to having her sister around again, for the first time in ten years, and now this happened.

As Jenny allowed herself to be escorted to the surgical waiting room, she desperately wanted to believe the nurse who said "she's going to be all right, dear." Susan was all she had left at this point, even if their relationship was still closer to estranged than the blood-sisters that they were. Sitting in one of the plastic chairs, Jenny grabbed the first magazine she saw and stared at the cover, unable to bring herself to read even the headlines. Instead, she found herself thinking back to her sister's abrupt appearance four months earlier.

A month before the semester started, Susan had shown up at Jenny's hell-hole apartment with a shy smile and an offer to share a townhouse in Cleveland Park. No phone calls, no letters, no communication of any kind for six years, and then suddenly BOOM! There was Susan and her really expensive townhouse and her shiny new teaching position at AU. It had only taken Jenny half a cup of coffee to decide that free rent was free rent, and if her sister was feeling guilty and wanted to attempt belated sibling bonding in exchange for said free rent, who was she to argue?

Of course, Jenny hadn't realized that Susan was stepping down from a war zone, or she might have reconsidered. Well, it might not have been a war zone, but it was definitely something strange. For someone who claimed to have spent the last two years in Antarctica doing research on the sociological effects of micro-communities, Susan was messed up. Really messed up. When Jenny thought about it, and she found herself thinking about it far more than she wanted to, she was reminded of something one of her journalism professors had spoken about: journalists who adapted to life in a war zone and were never able to leave, to the point where they quit their jobs if their agency tried to transfer them elsewhere. Jenny was pretty sure Susan hadn't been in an active combat zone - even with her newly discovered reticence, Susan would have said something about it - but Jenny couldn't figure out what it had been. She'd tried the subtle approach, but that had gotten her nowhere. She'd tried the direct approach, but all that had gained her was a haunted look and "don't worry, Jen-jen, it's just been a few rough years. I need a little time to adjust. Don't worry about me; worry about your thesis."

Jenny still worried, and the use of her childhood nickname hadn't assuaged that concern in the slightest. She worried about her sister's mind, and she worried for her future. Even three months in, Jenny still woke in the night to find Susan walking aimlessly around the living room, flinching at shadows. To find her sister curled up on the patio, crying into the phone at three in the morning about topics Jenny was never near enough to discern, with people Susan refused to name. And every time the garbage truck came by, or helicopters flew overhead, another glass or plate went into the trash in pieces. At least as concerning, however, was what Susan didn't do. Three months into her position at American University, and she hadn't mentioned her coworkers in more than the vaguest of terms; Jenny still wasn't completely sure what it was that Susan even taught. She didn't date, didn't like going out, and the closest thing Susan had to a friend, aside from the mysterious phone calls and emails, was a student she was advising on the side - Charlie B-something or other. It was disturbing for Jenny to see her once chatty sister so withdrawn, but there wasn't much she could do about it. She was trying desperately to balance a part-time job and grad school, and didn't even have time for a social life herself.

Now, sitting in the cold waiting room as Susan fought for her life, Jenny promised herself that if her sister made it through this they were going to talk. Susan would tell her what had happened, either in Antarctica, or before - wherever it was that had damaged her so badly. Because Jenny wasn't going to lose her.

--...--...--

One hour turned into two, two into four, and when someone finally called her name it had been close to eight hours in that godawful plastic chair. "Ms. Kempers?"

She was on her feet before she was even aware of it, approaching the man standing in the doorway wearing scrubs. "Is she all right? Is my sister all right?"

"Your sister should be fine. We're moving her to the ICU right now, but she came through the surgery very well. She's a fighter."

"What happened? Why was she in surgery so long? No one has been willing to tell me anything, and I'm her sister! I have a right to know!" She could hear herself getting louder, but she didn't care. It had been eight hours with nothing more than a "they'll be done soon."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. The police were supposed to have briefed you; I don't know what happened on that end. At this point, all I can do is tell you what I do know. If you'll step in here, please?"

She nodded, and bit down on her tongue to avoid saying anything else. It wasn't this man's fault that she'd just spent eight hours going out of her mind. She knew that. Sort of. She took a deep breath, and followed the doctor into small room labeled "Physician's Lounge."

He closed the door behind her. "Right. As I was saying, there was an accident on 395. I don't know the details, but I do know that your sister was hit and lost control of her car. There was a lot of internal damage, but we were able to repair most of it. She's stable, but we're going to keep her in the ICU until she wakes up, just to be sure. Since you weren't here when she was admitted, I have a few questions for you, if you're up to it?"

"Questions? All-all right. What do you need to know?"

He looked at his clipboard, and cleared his throat. "When was your sister's kidney removed?"

Jenny blinked. "Her...kidney? Um, as far as I know, Susan still has everything she's supposed to have."

He frowned, and looked up. "The healing of the associated shrapnel scars led us to believe that the surgery took place roughly a year ago, but we haven't been able to get her medical records yet for confirmation. You weren't aware?"

"I, uh, wasn't speaking with my sister at the time. She was out of the country on work. Wait, did you say shrapnel??"

"Yes, that was one of my other questions. Has your sister ever served in the military?"

"I, no. Susan was a pacifist; no matter how much she's changed, I can't believe she'd join the military. She would have mentioned it." Her earlier observations on her sister's odd behavior hovered just on the edges of her conscious mind, but she pushed them aside ruthlessly. This was Susan she was talking about.

"Are you sure? I'm sorry to push, it's just that her scarring is consistent with a grenade or land mine blast; it's not something we normally see in civilians, at least not here in the states."

Jenny shook her head a touch harder than necessary. That wasn't something she even wanted to consider, no matter what the little voice in the back of her mind said. "I'm sure. Will this affect her recovery?"

He blinked, and seemed to return to the topic at hand. "We're hoping not. If things are still questionable in the morning, we'll keep her in the ICU and start her on temporary dialysis, but I'd like to avoid that if possible. That's all I can tell you at the moment." He stood, and opened the door. "If you'll come with me, I'll have someone show you to your sister's room. In light of the confusion upon your arrival, we've waived visiting hours for you so that you can spend the night. As I said, we'll know more in the morning." He stood, and opened the door, speaking quietly to a woman in the hallway. "Nurse Gentry, if you would?"

Nurse Gentry turned out to be a plump and easily amused woman with a taste for cheesy UFO memorabilia and two sisters. Jenny learned all of this in the time it took them to cross the floor to the ICU ward. While normally the chatty woman might have been an annoyance, Jenny found herself glad of the distraction. When they arrived at Susan's room, Jenny didn't even hear the nurse leave. All of her attention was focused on the body on the bed, a frighteningly pale shell of the sister she had so recently come to know again. Taking a seat, she settled in to sit vigil over her sister. Somewhere after one in the morning, Jenny finally drifted into a restless sleep.

--...--...--

Jenny woke suddenly, and nearly fell out of her chair. Blinking in the low light, she saw a strange man standing on the other side of Susan's bed. There was something odd about him, and it took a moment to place. He was military; she'd seen enough on the metro to know what the uniforms looked like. She shifted, trying to get a better look at him without letting him know she was awake, but her chair scraped against the floor. He turned swiftly, eyes finding hers in the darkened room, and before she realized what was going on he was standing between her and Susan. His voice was scratchy, but that might well have been the hour. "Can I help you?"

She tried desperately not to gape; was he serious? "Yes, you can help me. You can tell me who you are, and what you're doing here at-" she checked her watch, "four-thirty in the morning."

He seemed to relax, although he didn't move from his position between her and her sister. "Sergeant Eugene Bates, ma'am." He extended a hand, and she narrowed her eyes before deciding that there was no harm in a shake. He had a firm grip, and Jenny had a sinking feeling that she knew where her sister had gotten those calluses, advanced yoga her ass. "I'm going to guess that you're Jenny."

She released his hand and crossed her arms defensively. "That's right. I'm Susan's sister. Care to tell me how you know Susan?"

He shifted awkwardly, and even in the dim room she could tell he was avoiding her gaze. "We...worked together. I like to think we were friends."

Bates, Bates, where had she heard that before? Jenny frowned as something slid into place. "Wait, you said your name is Bates, right? Related to Charlie Bates?" That was the kid's last name. It made sense now, Susan advising a senior at Howard instead of a student from her own university.

He nodded easily, and she could make out a faint smile. "He's my little brother. I asked Susan to keep an eye on him for me when I shipped out." Satisfied about something, he turned and grabbed the other chair in the room, shifting it so that he could brace his feet on the bed and still see the door. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, I just flew a hell of a long way to get here. If you don't mind, I'm going to kick back for a while." He closed his eyes, and settled back in the chair.

Jenny was annoyed; this guy, this military man shows up at her sister's bedside out of nowhere, gives her a bullshit explanation, and then goes to sleep? No way. "Don't you even want to know how she's doing? What happened to her? Anything? Or are you just here for appearances?"

He reached up and scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. She wondered idly where he'd been stationed, and just how many strings he'd pulled to get back so quickly. "There was a car crash. She broke four ribs and her right arm - they were concerned about nerve damage in the hand - and they removed half her spleen, one lobe of her liver, and about a foot of small intestine." He sighed, and shook his head ruefully. "She never could drive worth a damn." He caught Jenny's gaze. "I miss anything?"

It took Jenny two tries to get her mouth to function properly instead of hanging open. "I, um, no. I mean, they didn't tell me that much; how the hell did you find out?"

He closed his eyes again, and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm her next of kin."

Before Jenny could think of a response that wouldn't bring the hospital staff down on them, he started to snore. She settled for waiting until he (or Susan. Preferably Susan) woke up so she could get an answer that made sense. After all, she was the sister, the only living blood relative; didn't that automatically make her next of kin?

--...--...--

Six hours later, Sergeant Bates and Susan were both still asleep, and Jenny was considering asking the hospital staff where the cafeteria was - one could only live on Nutrigrain bars from one's purse for so long, and coffee was beginning to sound like a godsend. Except before she could follow through on her newly conceived plan, the door opened and in walked two men in military uniforms - MP clearly visible on the sleeves. She might be a civilian, but she had a pretty good idea that they weren't there to offer their sympathies.

"Sergeant Eugene Bates?"

The sergeant blinked, and frowned at the MPs. "What's going on?"

"We're taking you in, soldier. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. It's in your best interests to choose the easy way."

Bates was on his feet in a flash, and he looked mad. "Now wait just a minute here; I filed my paperwork! My CO told me I was free to go!"

MP 1 shook his head. "I'm sorry, sergeant, but that's not what we've been told. According to official report, you have been officially AWOL as of 2200 zulu last night. A JAG officer will meet with you to discuss the specifics ASAP, if you'll come with us?"

"AWOL? But how - that doesn't make sense!"

"Sorry, sergeant. Orders are orders. We're just the messengers." MP 2 threw a meaningful glance at Susan's unconscious form. "Let's go." He nodded to Jenny. "Sorry for the interruption, ma'am."

Jenny was relieved when the sergeant left with no further argument. She didn't know what exactly was going on, but it didn't sound like something she wanted her sister involved in. Or at least, anymore than she already was. Feeling a bit better about things, and not quite sure why, Jenny stood herself and walked out to the nurses' station to find out where she could get a cup of coffee.

--...--...--

Coffee was apparently the magic ingredient in Susan's recovery. Not five minutes after Jenny returned to the room with her paper cup of caffeinated goodness steaming away, Susan's eyelids fluttered and she returned to the land of the conscious. Well, more or less. Jenny set the cup down on the nightstand and clasped her sister's undamaged hand. "Susie?"

It took a long moment for Susan's eyes to focus on her sister. "Jen-jen? What-?" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and Jenny worried that she'd fallen back to sleep.

"Susie?"

"Mmm here." She opened her eyes again, but they were less lucid than they had been the first time. "Anyone get the number of the dart that hit me?"

Jenny frowned, confused, but then realized that her sister wasn't completely awake; there were probably any number of drugs in her system, and Susan had always been sensitive to painkillers. "You were in a car accident, Susie. A bad one." Jenny took a deep, if shaky, breath. "You scared me, Sue. Scared me bad." She squeezed her sister's hand gently, and felt an answering squeeze in return.

"I'm sorry, Jen-jen." Susan giggled and turned her head, dropping her voice to what she must have thought was a conspiratorial whisper. "Gene's gonna be mad. He told me not to drive, said I was shit at it. Don't tell him, kay?"

Gene. Short for Eugene. So the sergeant really had known her sister. Not that she'd doubted it, exactly, not given his claim of being next of kin, but it had all seemed like a bad joke. "I, uh, I won't, Susie." Jenny bit her lip, and debated the ethics of what she was about to do. However, curiosity eventually outweighed her compunctions about questioning her drugged sister. "Um, Susie? Can you tell me how you know Gene?"

"Hmm? Gene? He's nice. Proper. Always brings his people home." Susan's expression saddened, and it took Jenny a moment to realize that 'home' didn't necessarily mean 'alive'. "Was my team leader. Told good jokes, once you got him drunk. Probably still does." Susan's expression softened, and this time when her eyes closed her breathing evened out.

Jenny sighed. "Sleep well, Susie." There would be time enough for questions later.

--...--...--

Half an hour after Susan woke up, the on-shift doctor proclaimed her blood work good enough to avoid temporary dialysis, and she was moved to a standard recovery room. While they wheeled her sister to the new room, Jenny took the opportunity to call in and explain the situation to her boss, requesting a few days off, and professors, explaining that she'd be missing at least one day of classes. When she closed her cell phone, she realized how greasy her hair was, and debated running home for a shower before deciding against it; she could go one more day without being a biohazard.

Taking the stairs, she stepped out onto Susan's new floor just as the elevator chimed an arrival. Glancing at those stepping out in vague curiosity, Jenny did a double take when she recognized Sergeant Bates from that morning, albeit in a different uniform. He was accompanied by a man in a blue jacket - Air Force, maybe? She could never keep the branches straight - and headed for Susan's room. Jenny trailed slowly after, regretting her decision to skip a shower and hot meal as she compared her own state to that of the men in uniform. As she approached the room, she caught a few words of conversation.

"Thank you again, Sir."

"Nothing to it. Just...try not to do it again for a while. It's a pain in the ass to have to straighten things out from halfway around the planet, email or no email. And the lackey who's supposed to handle this with the corps is still on back-order." The man in the blue jacket shook his head. "You guys are going to be the reason I retire, you know. Too much paperwork."

"We all appreciate it, Sir. If we...if we ever go back, I'm sure there will be a place for you."

"Well, you never know. Danny boy just might force the issue on that one." Blue jacket squeezed Bates' shoulder. "Take all the time you need, Sergeant. We look after our own."

"Thank you, General." Bates' voice was hushed, but the words were clear. He moved to sit next to the bed, and the general (General?? Her sister's friend knew a general?) turned to leave. After a brief moment's thought, she moved to follow; if anyone was going to be able to give her answers, it would be a general.

She caught him just as he reached the elevators. "Sir?"

The man turned, and as she approached she could read the name "O'Neill" on his uniform. "Me?"

She nodded. "My name is Jenny Kempers. I wanted to ask, did you know my sister?"

General O'Neill shook his head. "Doctor Kempers? By reputation only, I'm afraid. She worked with a close friend of mine for several years." The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. He gave a put upon sigh and stepped inside. "Much as I would like to continue this, I'm already late for a meeting. If you'll excuse me?" He gave her a little wave, and pressed the button for the lobby.

"Wait, I wanted to know..." Jenny found herself speaking to the closing doors, and allowed the thought to trail off. So much for getting anything useful from the general. With a sigh, she turned and headed back to her sister's room to grill Bates. She was getting sick of everyone knowing things that she didn't, from the doctor to the soldier to the general. She was Susan's sister, damn it. These should be things she knew.

What she found when she reached the room, however, stopped her internal rant cold. Bates was sitting at Susan's bedside, cradling her hand within his and speaking softly. It was more the action of a lover than a casual friend, and Jenny paused outside the door, straining to hear what was being said. It wasn't what she had expected; what it was, was a little bit heartbreaking.

"Hey there, brown eyes. I hear you got yourself in some trouble."

"You weren't there to save me."

"If you'll recall, I did tell you not to drive around here. You were bad enough in a jumper, and it had an auto-pilot. Although I wouldn't put it past the Trust to attempt an assassination..."

Susan's good hand reached up and hit Bates on the arm. "You always think that. Every time I got food poisoning, it was an assassination attempt."

"In my own defense, two of them were assassination attempts." There was a pause, followed by quiet laughter and a moan of discomfort. "Hey, hey. You know better than that. Shallow breaths."

After a few moments of silence, Jenny debated entering, but her sister spoke again and she stayed where she was. "How much trouble did you get in for coming?"

"No trouble, Sue."

"One of the nurses said there were MPs, Gene."

"Nothing General O'Neill couldn't straighten out. Nothing for you to worry about, although I have to go back in a few days. You know how it goes."

"Yeah, I do. I...Thank you for coming, Gene. It means a lot, not waking up to a stranger." A stranger. Was that how Susan saw her? Jenny bit her lip, bits and pieces slipping together to form an unhappy reality. She would never know her sister. Not like she had before. She felt something on her cheek, and reached up only to discover tear tracks. She hadn't realized that she'd started to cry, but then she hadn't realized a lot of things.

"You're my team; couldn't very well leave you to fend on your own, could I?"

Jenny tried to tell herself that it was just stress - the terror, followed by endless waiting and hoping - brewing a chemical and hormonal cocktail that had thrown her common sense out the window. She tried to, but deep down she couldn't make herself believe it. Because it had been four months, and her sister had never once spoken to her with the quiet affection that she held for this stranger. Four months of slowly dropping grades in Jenny's classes, sleepless nights of her own worrying about what Susan wasn't telling her, and fewer and fewer nights out with friends as she focused more of her energy on Susan. And all for what?

For not enough, was the bottom line. She loved her sister, loved her dearly, but that wasn't enough to justify throwing her future away. She just, she couldn't...

Taking a deep breath, Jenny made the hardest decision of her life.

She walked away.

Finis