0745

Siler craned his neck to see the man working beside his bed, but the mattress blocked his view. And raising his head wasn't an option. "What's the plan, Airman?"

"Just checking connections, sir," the young man answered. "All your monitoring gear is being migrated to the building network for remote viewing. We've cleared the sections just above and below this one, and the control center is way over in C119. We don't believe this radiation can leech through the concrete, but the buffer zones will be monitored. We can evacuate further out if there's a problem."

"119 isn't very far."

"There are two additional rooms already patched through if we need to move out, sir."

"Good work, Airman." Motion to the right caught his eye, and he looked over to find a nurse unhooking the curtain that divided him from the last two remaining members of SG-11. Captain Menard slept, his skin a nasty gray. Paris wasn't sick but didn't look much better. "Sergeant. Keep your chin up," he called softly.

"Trying, sir. I hope this'll be done soon, sir. My wife's in full-on panic mode."

"That's why I'm single."

The nurse worked her way around, dropping the curtain neatly into a rolling canvas hamper and revealing the rest of the stripped-down infirmary. Airman Boyle lay across the room to his right, Peterson to his left, and Colonel Reynolds was visible if he tucked in his left foot. Baker and Bosco were directly across, but he couldn't see them – well, except for Captain Baker's poor mangled hand, which the medical staff had rigged into a traction device for elevation. Siler had suffered a lot of injuries over the years, but the very thought of having a car door slam – and latch and lock, from what he'd heard – on his hand made him a little nauseous.

The nurse pulled down the last section of curtain to Sergeant Siler's right, and SG-1 was right where he'd expected, huddled around Colonel Carter's bed. The commotion of an hour before had concerned him, but it had been quiet since. He wanted to ask how she was doing, but he didn't want to interrupt their moment. The eight remaining patients would have plenty of time to themselves during treatment.

"If you've completed your tasks, please head out," Doctor Lam ordered from the middle of the room. "They're standing by on P4X-124."

"Just one more minute, ma'am," a technician called as others began to file out. The visitors said their goodbyes and followed, and soon enough, it was just the doctor and her patients.

And General O'Neill.

"I'm staying," he said.

"No, you're not."

"No, Jack." Colonel Carter's voice barely carried.

"Someone has to stay with them. Give me a suit, but I'm staying."

"No one is staying," Lam responded firmly. "I promised to protect the rest of the people on this base, and that includes you."

"And if something happens?" he challenged. "And they're alone?"

"What do you plan to do about it if it does?" she shot back. "We can have this argument all day, General, but you won't win. You'll delay treatment for a lot of sick people, but you won't win."

There were few things Jack hated more than giving in, but lives were too high a price to pay for his ego. Turning back to Carter, he told her softly, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmured back. "I'll see you in a few hours."

She didn't expect him to do it with no curtains and no privacy to be had, but she didn't protest as he leaned down and pressed his lips to her hair for a long moment.

Of course, there was a team of Marines across from them, so the whoop that went up shouldn't have been unexpected. She shot him a wry smile as he pulled away.

He made it as far as the center aisle and fully intended to leave in peace once he said, "Hang in there, fellas."

But Peterson shot back, "We'd better. Wouldn't want you going after our wives, sir."

Jack credited the sleep Carter had made him get for his immediate – and sharp – reply. "Would I want to? Is she hot?"

He thought for half a second that he'd gone too far, but SG-3 weren't the only people to laugh. He could hear Carter's soft snort behind him.

"I got nothin' to worry about, Peterson," Reynolds spoke up. "He's not Veronica's type."

"I know," Jack shot back with a nod. "Strong, manly men never were her thing." In the groans that followed, he offered, "That was harsh. Go ahead – hit me."

"No, no. You're my superior now," Reynolds bemoaned dramatically. "I'll just take that wound to my grave."

"Are we done measuring, gentlemen?" Doctor Lam asked.

"Yes, they are." That was Carter, her voice tired, but loud enough to reach the room. And then, to everyone's surprise, she added, "But I'm changing the ruler. Bye, Snuggie Bear."

There was a moment – just half a second – of complete and utter silence before SG-3 burst into laughter. Jack spun on her, slowly, and mimicked pulling the knife from his chest. But it was clearly good for morale, so he couldn't complain. Much. "Bye, Sweet Cheeks," he shot back and, wrapping an arm around Doctor Lam's shoulders – who was not pleased to be a pawn in this game – he strode out of the room.