General George Hammond settled into his chair at the head of the briefing table with a quiet sigh, the weight of the day already pressing down on him. The early morning at Cheyenne Mountain had been routine so far. The only hiccup overnight had been an unscheduled off-world activation, which had turned out to be SG-3 returning ahead of schedule, all of them suffering from a bout of food poisoning thanks to some ill-advised local cuisine. After a brief status check and confirmation that nothing serious was amiss, Hammond had excused himself from the control room and returned to his office.
Now, after nursing a strong cup of coffee, he was ready for the day's briefing with SG-1. First on the agenda was reviewing their next mission to P9X-56G.
Colonel O'Neill was first to stroll in; his usual air of casual irreverence preceding him like a herald.
"Morning, General," O'Neill said, delivering a lazy salute that bordered on cheeky. He dropped into his chair, stretching out as if he owned the place. "So, what's the crisis du jour? Alien invasions? Angry gods? Or, dare I say, another archaeological field trip with Daniel?" Despite his words, the thin folder bearing the correct planet name showed the Colonel was far less unprepared than he acted.
Before Hammond could respond, the door swung open, and Daniel Jackson entered in a whirlwind of disarray. Thick books ladened his arms, a precariously balanced pot of coffee perched atop the stack like the crown jewel of chaos. His glasses teetered on the bridge of his nose as he juggled his load onto the table.
"Sorry, sorry. Could you move your coffee mug, General? Thank you!" Jackson's words tumbled out faster than his footsteps. He set the coffee pot down with a resounding thunk and began shuffling his papers. "I had to grab a few references for the meeting… just in case."
Through the still opened door, Teal'c entered with his usual calm and measured presence. He inclined his head respectfully. "General Hammond."
"Teal'c," Hammond replied with a nod. Teal'c took his seat without a word, his stoic demeanor a striking contrast to the energy that radiated from the others. Jack gestured toward the Jaffa with an exaggerated flourish. "And here he is—the man of the hour, our very own silent warrior. I'll bet you didn't bring any books."
"I did not," Teal'c responded simply, folding his hands on the table. Jack raised his eyebrows as if to say, Exactly my point.
"It's just a few references," Jackson responded.
"References, huh?" O'Neill quipped, leaning forward to grab one of the heavy encyclopedias. "You know, if you are thinking of bludgeoning the Goa'uld to death when we get in the next firefight … I think this might actually work. Has a good heft." As if to proof his point, he smacked the heavy tome into his palm before dropping it on the table. Instead, eyed the towering coffee pitcher Daniel had shoved to the side to organise his references. "That's an impressive amount of caffeine, Daniel. Stockpiling for the apocalypse, or is this just your version of breakfast? Wait—don't tell me. You forgot to sleep again?" His tone was teasing, but Hammond noticed the tired slump to the archeologist's shoulders, the faint shadows under his eyes. O'Neill caught on too, his smirk widening.
"It indeed appears that Daniel Jackson did not get enough sleep. Were you kept up?" Teal'c chimed in, concern somehow showing despite his unimpressive face.
"More like he found a new scroll to obsess over until dawn, am I right?" The Colonel grinned, leaning back and stretching.
Caught in rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses, Jackson gave a small, sheepish laugh and reached to pour himself a mug. "Actually, I went out for drinks with an old friend from my university days. Matt." He glanced towards the empty seat next to the Colonel and smirked slightly. "We stayed out later than planned."
O'Neill froze mid-lean, his brow furrowing in exaggerated disbelief. "Wait, wait, wait—you have friends? Outside of the SGC? And you actually hang out with them?"
"Haha," Jackson made, rolling his eyes. but a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yes, Jack, I do have friends. And sometimes, we even—brace yourself—do normal things. Like catch up over a drink."
Acting as if the revelation had physically struck him, O'Neill pressed a hand against his chest. "This is shocking, Daniel. Truly. I thought your entire social life was right here in this very room."
Admittingly, a sentiment General Hammond had also held. Though that went for all of SG-1. As much as his favourite team made the job easier, sometimes he regretted how often he saw its members at base and how little they seemed to have anything outside of it to look forward to.
Ignoring the jab, Jackson sipped his coffee and muttered good-naturedly, "Matt couldn't stop talking about his daughters. I think I know more about their piano recitals and soccer schedules now than I ever wanted to."
Jack chuckled, shaking his head. "Kids, huh? Bet he also made you look at, what, fifty wallet photos? I'm just trying to picture you nodding along politely for hours."
The banter drew a faint smile from Hammond. Even as O'Neill teased, the dynamic in the room was clear: these moments of humor, however irreverent, made the team what it was. It was the perfect buffer while they waited for the ever-punctual Captain Carter to arrive.
Hammond glanced at the clock. His eyes drifted toward the door, but after another minute passed, it remained conspicuously empty.
That alone was enough to raise eyebrows around the table and one by one, they turned to stare at the empty doorway.
O'Neill was the first to comment, raising an eyebrow. "Carter late? That's gotta be a first. Maybe she's stuck in her lab again. You know how she gets with those... doohickeys."
The Colonel waved a hand, imitating the intricate tinkering the Captain often did with alien technology. Not one to jump to conclusions, Hammond decided to take action. Picking up the receiver of the phone at his side, he dialed the front gate.
"Sergeant, has Captain Carter entered the mountain this morning?" The question was brisk, a reflection of his growing unease.
A pause followed on the other end before the sergeant's puzzled voice responded. "No, sir. Captain Carter hasn't checked in yet today."
O'Neill's casual lounging in the chair suddenly became more tense, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Hammond. "Unusual," he muttered, concern creeping into his voice despite the attempt at nonchalance.
An unsettling feeling descended over the room. Carter was as reliable as they came; for her not to have checked in—especially with a briefing scheduled—was more than out of character. Just as Hammond was about to suggest they call her directly, the phone on his desk in his office chimed, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife.
Quickly, he stood and crossed to his office, lifting the receiver with a sense of urgency. "Hammond," he said, Carter forgotten as he braced himself for a politician or superior officer to come up with yet another difficult idea. On the other end, a woman's voice crackled through.
"General Hammond? This is Nurse Thompson from Memorial Hospital in Colorado Springs. We're calling in regards to one Captain Samantha Carter. According to her military ID, she was stationed under your command. She was involved in a serious accident early this morning."
For a moment, time stood still. The steady beat of the briefing room faded, replaced by the sharp, cold clarity that came with unexpected bad news. Grip tightened on the receiver, voice low but controlled, he asked, "How serious is it?"
"I'm afraid I can't give you specific details over the phone, but her injuries are severe," the nurse replied. "She's in surgery now and we are doing everything we can."
Surgery. Part of him wasn't even surprised as he glanced through the glass to see the rest of SG-1, now starting to fidgit as they still stared at the door, expecting their team mate to come in. Still, cold ice spread in Hammond's chest with concern and he immediately thought of Jacob Carter. They had not had contact with the Tok'Ra in several months.
"I'll be sending Dr. Janet Fraiser, our chief medical officer, to your facility immediately. She'll coordinate with your staff regarding Captain Carter's condition and determine the next steps. If it's feasible, we'll transfer her to a military facility once she's stabilized."
There was a pause. "Sir, I strongly advise against moving her right now. Her condition is critical, and any transport could put her at greater risk."
"I understand," Hammond replied, his voice firm but professional. "Dr. Fraiser will assess the situation and make a decision in collaboration with your team. Our priority is Captain Carter's health."
Another brief silence on the other end. "Understood, sir. We'll work with Dr. Fraiser when he arrives."
"Can you tell me anything about what happened?"
"An motorcycle accident of some sort, I believe. I'm not sure but for these kinds of information you should get into contact with the police. However there were no other injured parties brought to our hospital."
"I see," Hammond said.
The voice softened as the woman added, "General, we also need to know if Captain Carter has any next of kin listed that we should notify. It may be that decisions have to be made."
Chest tightening, Hammond struggled with an even tone. "Yes, she has a brother. I'll make that call myself."
"Thank you, sir. That is all from our side at this time."
"Thank you," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Please keep me updated."
He hung up the phone and took a deep breath, trying to push down the surge of emotions before stepping back into the briefing room.
O'Neill, Jackson, and Teal'c looked up at him, concern written on all their faces.
"What is it, General?" O'Neill asked, already on edge.
Hammond's eyes swept the room before he spoke. "That was Memorial Hospital. Captain Carter's been in an accident. She's in critical condition."
The room fell into a heavy, stunned silence. O'Neill's casual demeanour vanished completely, his body tensing. Jackson's eyes widened behind his glasses, and Teal'c sat even more rigid, his stoic face betraying a flash of deep concern.
"What happened?" O'Neill asked, his voice low and serious.
A slight shake of Hammond's head accompanied his words. "They didn't provide details, only that she was involved in a severe accident early this morning. She's in surgery now."
Silence enveloped the room for a long moment. Abruptly, O'Neill stood, his jaw clenched in determination. "We need to get over there."
Nodding in agreement, Hammond felt the urgency coursing through him. "Colonel, I need you and your team to hand over your duties to SG-5 for now. I am ordering SG-1 to stand down. For now, I will send Doctor Fraiser to liaison with Memorial Hospital and make sure she gets the best help. I need you to see if you can contact the Tok'ra. I'll ensure we get the proper clearance for anything down the road."
"Yes, sir. Daniel, do we know the location of a sarcophagus?" All joking left the Colonel and the concern dug deep into his brow as he helped Jackson to gather his mess of notes again, this time their mind somewhere completely else.
With that, O'Neill, Jackson, and Teal'c sprang into action, the briefing now forgotten. Carter was one of theirs; nothing else mattered but getting her whatever aid she needed.
As they hurried out of the room, Hammond allowed himself a brief moment of quiet concern, hoping—praying—that Captain Carter would pull through.
Dr. Janet Fraiser stepped through the automatic doors of Memorial Hospital with purpose, her dress uniform immaculate despite the early hour. She had received the call less than half an hour ago, and though she had moved quickly, the weight of what she might find gnawed at her insides. As soon as she reached the front desk, the receptionist looked up, her eyes widening with immediate recognition.
"Dr. Fraiser, you're here for Captain Carter, correct?"
Janet gave a tight nod. "Yes. Where can I find her?"
"She's still in surgery, but the surgical team is on the third floor," the receptionist said quickly. "I'll notify them you're on your way."
"Thank you," Janet said, her voice firm but polite. She turned toward the elevator, already focusing her thoughts on the task ahead.
As she approached the third floor, her sharp eyes caught sight of an elderly woman sitting in the hallway, clutching her purse as though it were a lifeline. The woman's eyes flicked up, latching onto Janet with a mixture of hope and worry. Though the woman didn't say anything, the weight of her gaze lingered.
Nodding in acknowledgement, Janet filed the moment away in her mind, but continued forward. Now wasn't the time to get distracted.
The air on the third floor was charged with the usual tension of an active surgery. Janet found the lead trauma surgeon, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair, waiting for her.
"Dr. Fraiser?" he asked, his tone crisp but respectful.
"Yes, that's me. What's Captain Carter's condition?" she asked, wasting no time.
He gestured for her to follow him toward a nearby lightbox where a series of X-rays and scans were clipped into place. As he spoke, he pointed out the damage, the severity of it nearly numbing.
"We've been working on stabilizing her injuries for the past few hours. She came in with a fractured patella and broken femur on the right side, multiple fractures in her ribs, a broken tibia, and a compound fracture in her upper arm," he explained, his fingers gliding over the X-rays. "There's also evidence of a skull fracture. We're particularly concerned about the brain swelling. There's also a liver rupture, though we've managed to control the internal bleeding for now and the remaining organ seems healthy."
As Janet absorbed the information, her clinical side took over, allowing her to focus on the data instead of the emotional storm brewing within her. She nodded as he continued, walking her through the list of lacerations and contusions.
"The surgery to stabilize her arm is just finishing up," he said. "We've had to place a rod in the humerus, and we're keeping a close watch on her vitals. But I'll be honest, Dr. Fraiser—her condition is still critical. We're doing everything we can, but the next 24 hours will be crucial."
"Understood," Janet replied, her voice steady, though a growing knot formed in her chest. "I'd like to see her as soon as possible."
"Of course," the surgeon said. "She'll be out of the OR shortly."
Minutes later, the doors to the operating room opened, and a team of nurses wheeled Samantha out on a gurney. Janet followed them silently to the intensive care unit, her pulse quickening despite her calm exterior.
When they reached the ICU, the nurses worked swiftly to get Captain Carter situated, hooking her up to the life-support machines. The incessant beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of the ventilator filled the room. Janet knew she should have been prepared for this—she'd seen trauma cases like this before—but seeing Sam like this was different. This wasn't just another patient. This was Sam. Her colleague. Her friend.
The woman lying in the hospital bed looked nothing like the vibrant, strong Captain Janet had come to know. Sam's face was pale, her skin bruised, and there was an intubation tube going down her throat, tethering her to the machines that were keeping her alive. Bandages covered much of her body, and the rigid cast on her leg and arm were a stark reminder of how serious the damage had been.
Janet swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath, stepping closer to the bed, her mind oscillating between the professional detachment she'd honed over the years and the personal anguish of seeing her friend like this. Sam looked so frail—too fragile for someone who was usually so full of life and energy.
For a moment, Janet just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of Sam's chest as the ventilator did its job. She could feel the familiar prickle of tears threatening to well up behind her eyes, but she blinked them away, steeling herself.
"Sam..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the machines. "I'm here."
She took a deep breath, her hands gripping the side of the bed, trying to summon the strength she knew Sam would need from her. Janet glanced up at the monitors, watching the beeps and numbers, grateful for any sign of stability.
Dr. Janet Fraiser stepped out of the ICU, her mind still whirring with the details of Captain Carter's injuries. As she moved into the quiet hallway, she mentally rehearsed the next steps. She needed to check in with General Hammond, see if there was any way the military could provide additional resources to support Sam's recovery. If the Tok'Ra had one of their healing devices and could send someone to help her … if they could get in contact, that was.
But as soon as she entered the corridor, the older woman she had noticed earlier—still clutching her handbag tightly in her lap—rose from her seat. Janet could see the woman brace herself, squaring her shoulders as though gathering courage before she approached.
Offering a polite, if somewhat tired, smile, Janet tried to push the heaviness of the situation aside for a moment.
"Excuse me, Doctor?" the woman asked cautiously, her voice wavering but determined. "Are you here for the motorcyclist? The young woman they brought in?"
At that, Janet's attention sharpened. "Yes, I am," she replied, her tone gentle but professional. "I'm Dr. Fraiser. And you are?"
"Evelyn," the woman said, her fingers trembling slightly as she extended her hand. "Evelyn Harper. I… I'm the one who found her. That poor girl… I called the ambulance and the police, but—" She faltered for a moment, as if replaying the scene in her mind.
Janet's expression softened. She reached out to shake Evelyn's hand, offering a small gesture of reassurance. "Thank you, Evelyn. For being there and for calling for help. I can't tell you how much that means."
The woman blinked back the emotions that threatened to spill over and nodded, clutching her purse even tighter. "I… I was driving along the road when I saw her. She was lying so still, and I didn't know what had happened at first. I couldn't see her face properly, but I just knew she was hurt bad." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "There was no sign of the car that hit her. It must've been a hit-and-run, don't you think? The motorcycle's still there… lying by the side of the road. Whoever did it just… left."
As she spoke, Evelyn's voice grew more agitated, her breath quickening as the memory clearly overwhelmed her. "How could someone just drive off like that? Leave her like that? It's terrible. Absolutely terrible."
The full weight of what had happened to Sam hit Janet with force. The thought of Sam's broken body lying on a road in the middle of nowhere at night with noone with her sickened her. While Janet had been safely asleep, Sam had bled out, in pain in the cold. Anger at the unknown driver flickered up, but she pushed it down for now, knowing she had to stay calm for both Sam's sake and Evelyn's. Reaching out, Janet placed a gentle hand on the woman's arm, hoping to soothe her.
"I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to see that," Janet said softly. "You did the right thing, calling for help when you did. You might have saved her life by acting so quickly."
The older woman swallowed hard, her lips trembling as she nodded, still shaken by the ordeal. "I just… I couldn't leave her there. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd driven by without stopping."
Giving Evelyn's arm a squeeze, Janet filled her voice with quiet appreciation. Had Sam not gotten help when she did, she could have easily died. Just a few minutes later and she might have bled out, she knew. Twenty-eight units of blood. That had been how much had been needed for Sam so far. She'd continued to bleed in surgery and they'd pumped one bag after the other into her to keep her alive.
"You did everything right, Evelyn. The doctors and nurses are working hard to help her now."
"How is she?" Evelyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the fear evident in her eyes. "Will she… will she be okay?"
For a split second, Janet hesitated, the professional in her weighing how much to say. She couldn't offer false hope, but neither could she crush the tentative concern Evelyn so clearly felt.
"She's in critical condition," Janet said honestly, her voice steady. "But the doctors have stabilised her for now. It's going to be a long road ahead, and she's not out of the woods yet, but we're doing everything we can. She's strong."
Evelyn sighed, nodding as though trying to absorb the reality of it. "Thank you, Doctor. For telling me." She paused, looking down at her hands, and then back up. "I just… I needed to know. I couldn't go home without knowing if she was alright."
Janet gave her a warm smile. "I understand. And I'm sure she'll be grateful, even if she doesn't know it yet. Your actions meant the world today."
For a moment, the two women stood in a quiet, shared understanding. Janet could feel Evelyn's relief, but she could also see the lingering worry in the woman's eyes. Evelyn had done something remarkable, stepping into a terrible situation with courage, and now all Janet could do was hope Sam would have the strength to pull through.
Evelyn wiped at her eyes, offering a faint, trembling smile. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll keep her in my prayers."
"Thank you, Evelyn," Janet said sincerely. "We'll do everything we can for her."
With a final nod, Evelyn stepped back, and Janet turned, her thoughts immediately racing back to what needed to be done next. Sam needed all the help she could get, and Janet was determined to provide it—no matter what it took.
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