Part Eight: Change
Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives.
~Richard Bach
Everything was fuzzy. Even the black felt… fuzzy. Opening her eyes didn't help – the black disappeared, but was simply replaced by lighter shades of fuzziness. Her headache was monumental.
"Carter."
Sam's eyes shifted toward the gentle voice, and she blinked hard a few times to bring Colonel O'Neill's face into focus. "Jack," she mumbled. She might have been drugged and half-conscious, but that was nice to hear.
"Hey."
"Wha… happened?"
"Your blood pressure spiked. Bad. But you're okay now."
She gave a soft moan of understanding, her hand automatically moving to the ever-present ache in her belly. But the mountain she expected there was much smaller than she remembered, and her eyes flew wide.
"Easy," Jack soothed quickly, his hands on her shoulders to keep her from ripping her stitches. "Carter-"
"Oh, God, the baby-"
"Is fine. The baby is fine." A small smile crossed his lips, and he didn't move back. "She's beautiful."
"I don't understand. I don't remember…"
"I know. You developed pre-eclampsia, and they had to do an emergency cesarean. You passed out on the way to the hospital."
He could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to shake off the confusion. But there was one thing she hadn't asked, and his heart pounded as he dared bring it up. "Carter… do you want to see her?"
She looked at him in surprise, as though it hadn't occurred to her at all. "Can I?"
"Of course you can," he chuckled. "She's yours." Pushing himself back, he crossed the room and carefully lifted the tiny newborn from the hospital bassinet. He laid the tiny bundle next to Sam's head, where she could see without moving. "She looks just like her mother."
He didn't mention how very glad he was for that. He watched her carefully as she took in the tiny red fingers and feet with an expression he couldn't quite place
"How ya feelin'?" he prodded finally, his voice no more than a whisper. This was the moment that would decide... everything.
Her eyes never left the infant. "Terrified." But a small smile tugged at her lips, and she awkwardly twisted an arm to touch the child. "Hello, little one," she murmured, her voice shaking.
As Jack watched, her smile grew until it was infectious, and he returned it, reaching up to touch Sam's cheek. Her eyes found his. "You did good, Sam," he breathed.
"Is it wrong that I think she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?" she asked just as softly.
Jack shook his head, relief spreading through his chest in a warm surge. "Not at all."