The hum of tires against asphalt filled the car, a steady rhythm that seemed to sync with the gentle sway of the vehicle. Carnival lights had faded into distant memories, and the faint smell of cotton candy and fried food lingered as a reminder of their earlier escapades. Slouched against the window in the backseat, Cassandra rested her head on the cool glass, drifting in and out of a sugar-induced stupor. Beside her, Daniel clutched a plastic bag, groaning softly as the combination of too many rides and far too many snacks took its toll.
Up front, Jack O'Neill adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, throwing a quick glance in the rearview mirror. "Everyone still alive back there?" he asked, his voice teasing but laced with concern.
A weak wave from Daniel served as a response, accompanied by a muffled groan. Cassandra mumbled something unintelligible, clutching the medium-sized stuffed toy—a peculiar creation Teal'c had won for her—against her chest. The stuffed toy looked like a unicorn had vomited out a chaotic blend of colors and features that might've been a dinosaur—or a dog. Cassandra had insisted on choosing it, her reasoning straightforward. "It's for Sam," she'd declared with absolute conviction earlier. "She'll like it."
The memory tugged a soft chuckle from Jack, though it faded quickly.
"You're a good sport, Teal'c," he remarked, stealing a sideways glance at his friend.
"The activity required precision, O'Neill," Teal'c replied with calm certainty. "Cassandra demonstrated promise, but it was necessary to illustrate proper technique."
Perched in the passenger seat, Teal'c maintained his usual stoic demeanour, though the pink rabbit-ear hat atop his head added an undeniable layer of absurdity. The sight of Teal'c adjusting the floppy ears with his characteristic dignity nearly made Jack laugh outright.
Jack's smirk grew at the memory of the large jaffa hanging effortlessly from the rotating bar, earning cheers from the crowd and utterly outclassing his own feeble attempt. "Yeah, yeah. Show-off."
An incline of Teal'c's head acknowledged the playful jab without irritation. "It was most gratifying."
A small bump in the road jolted the car slightly, causing Cassandra to stir. Her grip on the stuffed toy tightened, and Jack's expression softened. The thought of Carter—back at the base, asleep in a bed that made his tough 2IC look tiny as she drained the SGCs stock of morphin—lingered in his mind. Cassandra's determination to win something for her had been both sweet and quietly heartbreaking. He could just imagine the colourful monstrosity sitting next to Carter on the bedside table.
In the back, Daniel groaned and pulled Jack out of his thoughts. "Don't hurl on my seats, Jackson," he warned, his voice hovering somewhere between joking and serious. "You're the one cleaning it up if you do."
A feeble glare from Daniel accompanied his muttered response. "I hate carnivals."
Teal'c's calm baritone cut through the moment. "Your discomfort, Daniel Jackson, was self-inflicted. The quantity of funnel cake you consumed was excessive."
"Yeah, what he said," Jack added with a snort, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement.
The car rumbled steadily down the road, the group settling into a comfortable quiet. Cassandra clung tightly to the stuffed toy in her lap, holding it as though it were the most important thing in the world. The faintest smile tugged at Jack's lips as he focused on the stretch of asphalt ahead. The ride felt peaceful despite the lingering scents of sugar, sweat, and the questionable state of Daniel's stomach. It had been a good day—messy and chaotic, sure, but good all the same.
After a beat, he glanced over at Teal'c and couldn't help the grin. His stoic face mixed hilariously with the bright bunny ears perched on his bald head.. "That hat really brings out your eyes, by the way."
"Indeed," Teal'c replied, keeping his gaze ahead. "Cassandra insisted it suited me."
"She's got an eye for these things," Jack replied, his tone teasing. "You should wear it to the next briefing."
A subtle twitch of Teal'c's eyebrow—a gesture that might have passed as a smirk—was his only response. "I shall consider it."
The tires hummed against the road, the rhythm steady and soothing as the dark ribbon of highway stretched on. Silence fell between them again, not awkward but easy, the kind of quiet that didn't need filling. After several moments, Teal'c's deep voice broke the stillness with a question that hung in the air like a spark.
"O'Neill, what is your opinion on same-sex relationships?"
The unexpected inquiry made Jack's head snap slightly toward Teal'c, caught off guard. "Uh... what now?"
"Same-sex relationships. I am enquiring about your stance towards them."
The words hung in the air for a moment as Jack tried to process them. He shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling like the steering wheel was the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm flattered, Teal'c, really," he said, attempting to lighten the moment. "But I don't think we're compatible like that."
"I am not inquiring for personal reasons, O'Neill," Teal'c clarified, his expression as steady as ever.
A strained chuckle escaped as Jack adjusted his grip on the wheel. "You're serious. That's what we're doing now? Late-night existential Q ?"
With unyielding steadyness, Teal'c gaze shifted toward him, making it clear he was, in fact, serious.
"Alright, fine," Jack muttered, still taken aback. Apparently humour wasn't going to sidestep the conversation. While he had no idea what prompted the question nor Teal'c stance on the topic, Jack would not belittle other people's life only because the military and some prissy politicians didn't agree with it. "Look, I'm... I don't have a problem with it, okay? People can do whatever they want. Not really my business. But, uh..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly. "Why are we talking about this? "
Hands folded neatly in his lap, Teal'c focused on the road ahead. "It has come to my attention that the Tau'ri have laws penalising same-sex relationships. This is troubling."
Neck relaxing slightly, Jack twisted it to get rid of the last of the strain. "Troubling, huh? That's one word for it. Look, Teal'c, Earth's not... Look, things are complicated here. Different cultures, different rules. You can't just—" He paused, running a hand over his face as though trying to find the right words. "It's not like I can snap my fingers and fix it."
"Among the Jaffa, such unions are accepted and revered," Teal'c continued, his voice steady. "I find it dishonourable that the Tau'ri, who pride themselves on freedom, would enact such restrictions."
"This is unacceptable," came the firm reply. Teal'c turned slightly, his gaze direct and unyielding. "I have decided these laws must change."
The sincerity in Teal'c's tone made Jack glance over. "You're not kidding."
Silence fell over them and Jack switched lanes and took a turn. Colorado was only another five minutes away. Part of him considered skipping the rest of the conversation but he felt Teal'c gaze on him and a judgemental jaffa did little for your self-esteem. "Ack!" Jack snapped. "Stop glaring at me, Teal'c. Can't a guy think for a minute?" Even as he tried to deny it, Jack's curiosity already got the better of him. The grin already spread on his face. "You realise what you're saying, right? The brass would lose their minds over this kind of talk."
"That does not concern me," came Teal'c's steady reply. "If the Tau'ri truly stand by these laws, they should defend them before their allies. And if they cannot, then these laws are unjust and must be changed."
"You're not just talking about shaking things up. You're talking about stirring a pot that's been sitting on the stove since... forever." A hand lifted off the wheel, gesturing vaguely in the air. "This is the Air Force, Teal'c. Don't Ask, Don't Tell? Not sure if you've heard buddy, but that's not just some slogan; it's a rule. Breaking it isn't a little deal."
Unflinching, Teal'c's voice remained calm but firm. "Then the rule is dishonourable. Do you not agree, O'Neill?"
"Hell yes I agree. But it's not that simple. People—" A sharp exhale punctuated his words. "There's a reason things are the way they are. It's... politics. Tradition. The whole 'that's just the way it's always been' excuse. Don't Ask Don't Tell? It's a joke. Always has been. Everyone knows it, but nobody's got the guts to call it out. "
"Injustice does not become just because it has persisted."
A laugh slipped out, low and tinged with disbelief. "Charging headfirst into this? Not exactly what I'd call a cautious approach."
"I seek justice, not caution," Teal'c stated, his gaze unwavering. "If the Tau'ri cannot defend these laws, then they must abolish them."
"Teal'c, I've been in this game long enough to know when something stinks. I might not've shouted it from the rooftops before, but yeah, I've thought about it. A lot of good people have had their careers wrecked over nothing. And you know what? If they can't handle a little Jaffa-style honesty, then maybe they don't deserve to call themselves allies."
"You are prepared to support this cause, then?" Teal'c asked, his tone steady but with a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Support it? Damn right, I'll support it," Jack said, the excitement building in his voice. The Air Force wasn't exactly a breeding ground for open-minded discussions on these topics, and Jack knew it. Yet Teal'c's conviction had a way of cutting through the static. "I'll back you all the way. Hell, I'll even help you strategise. You've got the Tollan, the Nox, maybe even the Asgard on board—nobody's going to be able to sweep this under the rug. You have a point. A big, messy, career-ending point, but still."
Grinning, Jack pulled up on the long wide road leading to the mountain. The trees blurred past the road and he glanced into the rearview mirror before honking the horn. Daniel flinched awake and Cassie stirred, hugging Carter's plush toy closer to her chest. The carnival had wiped the girl out good.
"What's up!" Daniel asked, voice groggy and husky. He blinking owlishly and adjusted the glasses that had slipped down his nose in his sleep.
"Teal'c and I are about to start a revolution. You in?"
"Uh, sure," Daniel made, rubbing at his eyes. "As long as it doesn't involve more funnel cakes, I'm in." His glance went past Jack's mischievous grin in the rearview mirror and towards the base gates stretching over the road before them. "We already back?"
"Yeah, sleepy-pants," Jack agreed, slowing down to a crawl. The car shifted as he drove over the speed bumps and he rolled the window down to talk to the armed guard at the entrance.
Samantha Carter lay back against the raised hospital bed, the sharp ache in her arm and leg a constant reminder of just how close she had come to losing everything. She could still see the stars above her. Cold and distant and utterly beautiful as they mocked her with laughter. Always had. Since she was a little girl, the stars had been her dream. A dream she had fought for, had lived.
Part of her, despite the pain and fear, had felt at peace in those final moments beneath their light. It had made sense in a way she couldn't quite explain. She had always imagined dying in battle, or from some alien disease on a distant world, or in the heat of some catastrophic accident. But this? To die beneath Earth's own stars, alone on the roadside, the ghost of warm, gentle lips lingering on hers, the burn of Mel's gaze still tracing shivers across her skin—it had felt like an ending.
Only it hadn't ended.
The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Survival was a blessing. But whether she deserved it was another matter entirely.
She stared at the stark ceiling, letting the white noise of the infirmary lull her into a strange calm. It was rare for her to have time to simply be—no missions, no crises, no deadlines. Only the burning pain woven through her broken bones and into every single rasping breath. Endless, thrumming pain.
Her thoughts wandered to the hit-and-run. Wrong place, wrong time—she kept telling herself that, but the sense of vulnerability, of how easily it could have ended differently, lingered in her chest. She pushed the thoughts away and instead focused on the sound of her breathing. In and out. A burning sensation accompanied each rise of her chest. She didn't realize how tightly her good hand gripped the blanket until her fingers began to ache.
The faint sound of footsteps drew her attention to the door. At first, she expected to see Janet Fraiser or one of the nurses. Instead, the door opened, and Mark stepped in.
For a moment, Sam thought she was hallucinating. Again. She blinked, her tired eyes trying to reconcile the sight of her brother standing in her doorway with the memory of their last argument. Two years ago. At his house. He had been angry—no, furious—with her. Said she prioritised her career over family. That she didn't care enough to make time for him and his kids. She'd said things, too, things she regretted the moment they left her lips. But pride had kept her from calling to fix things. Until dad had been in the hospital dying of cancer. And then, Mark hadn't picked up her call.
And yet here he was.
At the SGC.
She must be high as a kite still.
"Mark," she croaked, her voice dry and rough. It felt like an apology, a question, and a plea all wrapped into one word.
Three steps took him across the room, his eyes scanning her, taking in every injury, every bruise, every bandage. The weight of his worry was palpable, and Sam's throat rightened. She hadn't seen that look on his face since their mother died.
"Sam." His voice was quiet, steady, but she could see the cracks in his calm, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes lingered on her casts, on the bandages holding her broken skull together. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, and suddenly two years of silence felt like nothing. Like they'd never fought at all.
"You scared the hell out of me," he said, his words sharp but filled with relief. Warm hands wrapped around hers and Samantha's gaze dipped to stare at it. Experimentally, she shifted her fingers. Real. Mark was real.
Swallowing hard did little to ease the tightness in her throat. The lump sat heavy, almost unbearable, as she tried to process the sight of him sitting there. He looked different—not physically, not really—but there was a tired, drained quality about him that threw her off balance. Ashen and drawn, and yet he smiled, his blue eyes lighting up with genuine warmth.
Wry and weak, her responding smile came without thought. "Thanks for the pep talk," she rasped in barely more than a whisper. She turned her head and her fingers fumbled toward the plastic cup by her bedside. Before she could reach it, Mark was already handing it to her.
The cup felt heavier than it should. Lifting it was an effort, her muscles slow to obey after too much time spent in a haze of medication and exhaustion. She managed to raise it to her lips, but her grip faltered slightly, and a thin trickle of water slipped past the rim, sliding down her chin. Embarrassment flared hot in her chest.
Mark didn't comment, didn't so much as react, and that somehow made it worse. With quiet determination, she steadied her hand, took a slower sip. The cool liquid hit her tongue, spreading relief through her parched mouth and throat. God, even room-temperature water had never tasted this good.
The oxygen streaming through the nasal cannula dried out her nose and throat, making every breath feel raw. The water didn't fix it completely, but it helped, easing just a fraction of the discomfort. She swallowed carefully, forcing herself not to drink too fast.
As he spoke, asking her what had happened, Sam felt the years of distance between them collapsing. She saw the fear in his eyes, the anger at her injuries, and most of all, the love he didn't have to say out loud. It hit her all at once.
He came. He came.
And apparently, he'd been here the entire time. Sam didn't remember her time at the hospital. Except for the yellow box on Janet's white coat, that stripe of sunlight that had not computed in her drugged brain. For how long had she been at the SGC? She'd slept most of the time and the concrete walls gave her no sense of the passing days.
Her throat closed up, and she blinked hard against the sudden sting of tears. She hadn't been conscious for his other visits, hadn't known he'd been here at all. No one had told her. Maybe they thought she knew. But Sam hadn't known and she hadn't expected it. After all, why would he come? They hadn't even spoken properly in so long.
When Mark leaned back, his gaze shifting to the room, she could see the tension in his body. "Speaking of 'here'… this place is intense. Do you guys really need all this for staring at stars?"
His words pulled a soft, breathless laugh from her, even as her tears began to spill over. She wiped at her face quickly, but Mark noticed. His voice softened, and his hand reached out, resting gently on hers.
Her fingers instinctively closed around his, gripping so tightly that she felt him wince. She tried to loosen her hold, but she couldn't. She needed the connection, needed to anchor herself to something real.
"Sam," Mark said, his voice cracking just slightly. She looked up, and to her surprise, his eyes were glistening too. "I'm here. Okay? I'm here."
Those two words broke something in her. It wasn't just about today, wasn't just about the accident. It was a promise, a quiet declaration that no matter how much time had passed or how far apart they'd been, they were still family. He was still her brother.
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks now. She couldn't find the words to respond, so instead, she tried a watery smile and Mark nodded.
Chair legs scraped over linoleum floor as Mark dragged the uncomfortable visitor chair closer, his hand still clasped tightly in Sam's. She had loosened her grip slightly but hadn't let go, and he didn't mind. He leaned forward. With his free hand, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Sam's ear. Soft relief smoothed the worry crinkles in his face.
"By the way," he said, his tone almost conversational but laced with curiosity, "I met your Colonel O'Neill. And Daniel Jackson. Weird bunch."
Sam pressed out a laugh, but it caught in her chest, morphing into a wince as pain lanced through her ribs. Mark immediately started to rise from his chair, his concern back in full force.
"Hey, hey," she said quickly, gripping his hand tighter to keep him seated. "I'm fine." Her voice was firm despite the ache in her chest and the throbbing in her head, her leg, her arm. Everything.
Mark hesitated, then slowly settled back down, his frown making it clear he wasn't convinced.
"Seriously," she added. "And yes, maybe my team's a little… unconventional. But they're good people." Her lips twitched into a faint smile. "The best."
As if summoned by the compliment, the door swung open, and Colonel Jack O'Neill strode in, a lopsided grin on his face and a big cup of bright blue Jell-O in his hand. He came to an abrupt halt the moment he noticed Mark sitting beside Sam's bed, his eyebrows shooting up.
"Whoa. Did I interrupt some Carter family bonding time?" he asked, his eyes darting between them.
Sam sighed. "Sir—"
"Nope, nope," O'Neill interrupted, waving the cup of Jell-O around like a baton. "Don't mind me. I come bearing gifts." He strolled right in, ignoring any potential protests, and plopped himself down in a chair opposite Mark. With an exaggerated flourish, he held up a plastic spoon. "Carter," O'Neill declared, his tone mock-serious, "your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to eat this delightful cup of artificially flavoured gelatinous goo."
The glare she shot him could have burned straight through the mountain. "Sir," she warned, voice edged with just enough bite to make most men reconsider their life choices.
Not him. He didn't even blink. If anything, his grin widened as he leaned in, undeterred. "Come on, Carter. Open up. It's blue. Your favourite." The spoon hovered expectantly.
Slower than usual, she reached up and snatched it from his hand, meeting his gaze with the kind of look that could have withered a lesser man. O'Neill just leaned back in his chair, nodding in satisfaction. "See? That's the spirit."
Lifting the spoon took more effort than she wanted to admit. The tremble in her fingers wasn't lost on her, nor was the way both men watched, subtle but attentive. The gelatin itself was cool, overly sweet, and hardly appealing, but she forced down a small bite. After days on IV fluids, even this was progress. The effort, however, was exhausting. As soon as the spoon left her lips, she let out a slow breath and sagged back into the bed, hand dropping to her lap.
Polished boots underneath a scrubby trouser-hem lifted to cross on the edge of Sam's bed. Holding the cup at an angle awkward for him but within easy reach to her, O'Neill smirked. "Well, look at that. Real, actual food. Sort of. Not just ice chips and mystery broth. I was starting to think you'd never graduate past the liquid diet."
A tired smirk flickered across her lips. "Still debatable. The porridge Janet brought yesterday gave me a stomachache."
"Well, Fraiser says you're officially moving up in the world. You already started with sludge. Sorry. Porridge. Next stop—vegetables." He made a face. "Which, for the record, are cooked so far past recognition that even the military thinks they're a crime against nature. It's more of a paste than actual food. But hey, progress."
She groaned, letting her head fall back against the pillows. "Sir, that's the least motivating thing you could have said."
O'Neill grinned. "I aim to please."
"Unconventional is really putting it too mildly, Sammy," Mark quipped in from the side, echoing Sam's earlier explanation.
"Alright," Sam acquiescenced, rolling her eyes but her lips tugging up. She had to give it to him, O'Neill did not help her attempt at reframing it. "You win, Mark. Weird it is."
Eyes narrowed and O'Neill plucked Sam's spoon from her hand to point it at Mark in mock offence. "Weird? I prefer 'charmingly eccentric.'"
He shifted his attention back on Sam, raising a brow: "Speaking of Carter's health," he mused, the spoon switching targets, "Doc Fraiser made it very clear that I was to remind you that you are, in fact, still a patient. Something about 'taking it slow,' 'not pushing yourself,' and, oh yeah, 'not being a stubborn pain in the—' well, you get the idea. ‚Eating at every meal', too."
"I'm not skipping meals, sir," Sam breathed out. "I'm trying. It's just... slow going."
Empathy softened both O'Neill's grin and his voice. "Yeah, Fraiser figured as much. Hence the Jell-O. She's also got some extra anti-nausea meds lined up for you if you need them."
With a casual flick of his wrist, he scooped up another dollop of Jell-O and made airplane noises as he shifted it through the air until it hovered in front of Sam's lips once again. "All right, Carter, chop-chop. Down the hatch."
A groan escaped before she could stop it, but any protest was half-hearted at best. Glaring at her commanding officer attempting to shove food into her mouth, she grabbed for the spoon from his hand a second time. This time though, the movement came easier and she snatched it so quickly from his hand he blinked and the blue cube tumbled from the spoon bowl. Reflexes honed enough to betray his own acting in letting Sam get the spoon in the first place, O'Neill snatched the Jell-O before it could land on her blanket and threw it into his own mouth. Eating it, he held the Jell-O cup to her. Knowing he was right and where Jell-O might have little sustenance, it did get her throat used to swallowing and her stomach used to having something inside it, Sam scooped up some of it and took another bite.
The infirmary door swung open before Sam could say anything, the sudden movement followed by the rapid squeak of sneakers against concrete. Cassandra, paused in the doorway. Done up with the elegant butterfly hair clips that Sam had bought her for her birthday, her brown hair bounced with the abrupt stop. Wide eyes darted between Sam and Mark, hesitation freezing her in place.
A faint but genuine smile flickered across Sam's pale face, softening her exhaustion. Raspy and weak, her tongue sticky with Jell-O, Sam spoke, "Cassie."
Hugged tight against her, a colourful plush accompanied Cassie, nearly as big as her torso. Dimly, Sam remembered something Janet had said about the guys taking Cassie to an amusement park.
Shifting her weight, the young teen tightened her grip on the toy, casting a brief glance at Mark before zeroing in on Sam.
"Peanut!" O'Neill's voice shattered the moment's hesitation as he turned toward her, wearing his usual easy grin. "Cass, this is Mark—Carter's big brother. Mark, meet Cassie, terror of the SGC."
Barely sparing Mark a glance, Cassie dodged beelined for the hospital bed.
"Wow," O'Neill muttered, throwing his hands up in mock offence. "Ignored. Just like that. Kids these days."
With surprising swiftness, Cassie climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as she pressed against Sam's side.
At the sudden dip in the mattress, her body shifted slightly. Hot pain laced up her side; flesh pressed against the colourful stitches in Sam's side and a sharp breath hitched in Sam's throat. Blood drained from her already pale face, fingers letting go of the spoon clattering to the floor to instead convulsively clench the blanket.
Mark instinctively started to rise. "Careful—"
For a second, only blood rushed in Sam's ears and she had to force her eyes back open. Tucked against her side, Cassie half-hugged her, her head pillowed against Sam's good shoulder. Despite the pain, Sam forced herself to move, her arm lifting—too slow, too shaky—to wrap gently around Cassie. "Hey, sweetie," she murmured, voice tight with strain.
"I missed you, Sam."
"I missed you too, darling," Sam managed, smile brittle. Still, she forced her lungs to breath against the incessant stabs of white hot needles in her right side and felt her skin cool against the air thanks to the sudden rush of heat that had caused sweat to pour out her pores.
"Hey Cassie," O'Neill quipped in, Jell-O set aside and the same relaxed caution he portrayed on missions lighting his eyes up with sharp attention. "Sam isn't really up for cuddling quite yet, alright peanut? Come on, get off the bed. You didn't even say hi to Uncle Mark."
Gratitude rushed through her and she sent her CO a smile. Despite her attempt at gentleness, Sam wanted her lovely goddaughter off her bed. It hurt too damn much.
However, this was the first time Cassie had seen her since before the accident and Janet had told Sam how much Cassie had worried. Instead of agreeing as she normally would have, discontent furrowed her soft brow and Cassie cuddled closer.
The sharp press of weight against her side sent fire through her ribs and skull, turning every nerve into a live wire. Sam barely had time to suck in a breath before the pain stole it away, locking her muscles in place, her body screaming in protest. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, desperate to keep her reaction in check, but the groan tore free before she could stop it.
The heart monitor betrayed her, its rapid beeping amplifying the struggle she was losing.
Cassie shifted again, shocked by the sudden noise. A fresh spike of agony twisted through her, white-hot and breathless. Her vision blurred at the edges.
Then, suddenly, the pressure lifted.
The Colonel moved faster than she could track, reaching down and effortlessly pulling Cassie away. The loss of weight sent another wave of pain rolling through her, but this time it was edged with relief. She exhaled shakily, forcing her clenched fist to loosen their grip on the blanket.
Cassie barely had time to react before O'Neill settled her onto his thigh, keeping a steady arm around her waist. Even through the haze of pain, Sam registered the ease with which he'd done it, the controlled strength hidden beneath BDUs and a perpetually relaxed demeanour.
"Whoa there, kiddo," he said, his voice light but firm. "We need to dial back the full-contact greetings for now, alright? Auntie Sam still has a lot of healing to do."
Confusion lingered in Cassie's expression as she blinked up at him before turning back, her face falling as she took in Sam's shallow breaths and the tension still coiled in her frame.
"I—" Cassie's voice wavered. "I hurt you."
Swallowing hard, Sam forced herself to blink past the lingering pain and focus on the girl in front of her. The last thing she wanted was for Cassie to carry that guilt. She forced her lips into something resembling a smile. "It's okay, Cass," she rasped, ignoring the way her body trembled with the effort. "Not your fault."
Cassie's lower lip wobbled.
The infirmary doors burst open, the long purposeful strides announcing the arrival of Dr. Janet Fraiser. Eyes already locked onto the heart monitor, she took in the elevated readings before scanning the room. Janet took in the rumbled blankets to Sam's left and her brown eyes tracked to the side, landing on Cassie. The girl hugged her toy against her chest and ducked her head as she leaned into O'Neill now, hiding her face.
Understanding dawned on Janet's face and her lips tightened, nostrils flaring as she closed her eyes and swallowed whatever worried scolding likely wanted to escape her.
"Sam." Concern didn't quite manage to soften the tight edges in Janet's tone. "How bad is it?"
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Sam tried to shake her head. The motion sent a dull wave of pain rolling through her, and she abandoned the effort. "Not—" A pause to get past the rasp. "Not too bad."
Skepticism wrote itself all over Janet's face. Warm fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist as if not quite trusting the declining numbers on the heartrate monitor, before brushing lightly over her forehead. The touch was clinical, practised—but the concern behind it was unmistakable.
Wide-eyed, clutching whatever that thing in her arm was, Cassie sat frozen.
A careful, easygoing drawl crept into O'Neill's words and smirk, one that Sam had long since recognised as deliberate. "It was an accident, Doc. Cass just got a little… overenthusiastic." He gave Cassie a reassuring squeeze, his arm still secure around her. "Carter's still in one piece."
Janet exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip on Sam's wrist tightening just for a second before she pulled back. The blanket was smoothed back into place, her touch lingering longer than necessary, giving herself time to rein in her frustration. For a moment, her gaze met Sam's and she tilted her head, a silent question to which Sam just smiled slightly and gave a tiny nod. The sharp edge in Janet's eyes softened as she turned to take in her daughter's hunched shoulders, the way Cassie all but curled in on herself, guilt radiating from every inch of her small frame.
With a sigh, the doctor reached out, fingers threading gently through Cassie's hair in a slow, familiar motion. "I know you didn't mean to hurt her," she said, firm but gentle. "But I also know I explained how badly Sam was injured before we got here this morning."
Cassie's chin dipped, her hands twisting together. "I just wanted to hug her," she whispered.
"I know," Janet said, softer this time. Another pass of her fingers over Cassie's hair before her hand fell away. "And Sam is going to be just fine. But right now, she needs time to heal. That means we have to be careful with her, okay?"
A solemn nod.
For a moment longer, Janet studied Cassie, then let out another breath before turning her attention back to Sam. "I'll adjust your pain meds," she said, professionalism sliding back into place, though a trace of warmth remained. "And later, I'll check your stitches to make sure you didn't pull anything."
This time, Sam's smile already came a little easier. The worst of the pain had already settled into something more manageable, but she knew better than to argue.
Satisfied, Janet gave Cassie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then gestured toward the stuffed toy still clutched in her daughter's hands. "Now," she said, tone shifting into something lighter, "I believe you brought a gift?"
Ever the distraction, O'Neill nudged Cassie. "Yeah, your mom is right. We can make this up to her." His voice dropped into something conspiratorial. "Hand over the loot."
Cassie hesitated, momentarily confused, before his gaze flicked to the stuffed toy still clutched in her hands.
"The, uh… extremely unique gift you masterminded." He winked. "Technically, Teal'c did the winning, but you, kid, were the brains of the operation."
A beat passed before Cassie smiled shyly. With fresh determination, Cassie handed over the plush creature.
Sam accepted it awkwardly, Mark leaning forward to help her settle it on her lap. Her fingers shook slightly as she took in the absurd mess of colours up close. The fur was soothingly soft under her fingers and she stroked through it. A quiet huff of breath escaped—something dangerously close to a laugh. "Wow," she murmured, turning it over in her hands. "It's… something."
"The perfect Carter gift," O'Neill confirmed with a nod. "Chaotic but a lot of … stuff. Like an experiment gone rogue."
Smirking, Sam nodded slightly, failing at hiding the wince that followed from Janet's sharp eyes. Ignoring it, she smiled at Cassie. "This is amazing, sweetie. It looks so bright and colourful. It's good to have something cheery in here. I'm sure with this I will be better in no time."
Cassie grinned and bounced on her feet once, biting her lower lip with happiness before she tilted up her head to take in her mother's reaction. Sensing it, Janet looked down and smiled, caressing Cassie's hair.
"It's a very thoughtful gift, Cassie," Janet agreed. "Now, how about you and the Colonel go and see if there is any food left in the commissary? I will join you in about an hour, alright?"
Quiet but finding her spirits again, Cassie nodded. Janet kept her hand on her daughter's shoulder as Cassie came forward to very gently strike along Sam's casted arm, causing O'neill to snort in amusement though Sam honestly was just happy she couldn't feel a thing. She reached over, careful with her movements and grasped Cassie's hand and give her a squeeze.
"Thank you for the gift," Sam said earnestly.
"Come on, peanut, let's go." O'Neill gave Sam a lazy salute and held the door open for Cassie to stride through.
For two heartbeats, it was silent, then Janet lifted the plush away to set it on the now empty chair and Mark sat back.
"So, that's Cassie?"
"Yes," Sam said. "That's Cassie."
"Guess I missed a bunch of stuff happening in your life."
Suppressing the urge to shrug, Sam already felt the higher dosage of pain drugs Janet had just initiated. Her mind was growing fuzzy at the edges if not terribly so. She was just tired. "Yeah, you did. It's alright. I missed a lot in your life too."
With that, Sam closed her eyes. She heard Janet ask Mark to leave and she sluggishly answered several questions, feeling the brush of cool air against her side when Janet pulled back the blankets and raised her gown to check the stitches. Trusting her friend and the conversation having drained her, now mixing with the higher morphine dosage, Sam fell into a dim sleep.
Please review and thank you for your patience!
What do you think of this chapter? A lot of character building and character interactions in this one for sure. We'll pick up on Mel's number in the next week :)