The world came back to Sam Carter in fragments, each one hitting her like a distant echo of pain and memory.
A dull, relentless ache pulsed in her head, keeping time with the soft beeping of a monitor nearby. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, dry and unresponsive as she tried to swallow. Groggy awareness seeped in slowly, her senses piecing together her surroundings. A faint antiseptic tang hang in the air, the rustle of fabric as she shifted slightly, and the sharp protest of pain from her arm and leg.
Pain flared sharply as she shifted her hand, and Sam's body tensed instinctively. Her eyes fluttered open, but the bright fluorescent lights above made her wince. Panic started to creep in as she tried to move, her body protesting with every twitch of her muscles. She felt confined, her right arm and leg immobile, heavy with casts. The small groan that escaped her throat turned to a sharp gasp as she shifted too quickly, the movement sending jolts of pain through her side and ribs.
The quickened beeping of the monitor pulled her attention, and Sam's breathing sped up, her chest tight with confusion and discomfort.
"Sam." The voice was firm and familiar. Her eyes darted toward the source, and relief tempered her rising panic. Janet Fraiser let the door fall shut behind her, her white coat slightly crumpled at the edges. With a relieved smile, the doctor strode across the room and muted the beeping.
"It's okay. You're safe." Janet checked the machines beside Sam's bed, her movements practised and precise as she flipped through different functions and jotted down notes.
"Hurts." Each breath felt like a chore, aching and it was as if the air itself tried to choke Sam.
"I'm tweaking your pain meds a bit. This will help. Just give it a minute to kick in," Janet continued as she adjusted a syringe on the IV.
Something felt off. Beyond the pain echoing in her body and the white stiffness of her arm. Blinking, Sam stared at the yellow stripe drawn over her friend's white coat. It seemed to move and it took Sam a while before she realised it was Janet moving and the block remained stationary. No, not a block. Light. Pale, late-morning sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting long beams over the striped blanket draped over a body that hardly felt like her own.
A bed and railing to both of her sides, a white cast wrapping around her right arm. Testing, Sam wriggled her fingers and a distant ache mirrored the shift in the blanket at her side. Raising her other hand, limb trembling, Sam stared at the line going to her elbow. The IV.
"Hospital," Sam rasped, the word barely audible. Her throat burned with the effort, and she winced.
"That's right." Janet stood next to her now, her hand touching Sam's shoulder ever so lightly. "You're not at the SGC right now. You've been here for about a week."
A week. Bile tasted at the back of her throat as her mind tried to absorb the information. It made no sense and her head swam with foggy memories and dull pain. The sunlight beyond the windows suddenly felt surreal, almost too normal for the state she was in.
"You're still in bad shape and we didn't dare move you before now. However, your vitals have stabilised and your brain swelling has receded. You've been waking up more and more often and we will be moving you to the SGC today."
The explanation barely registered. Sam's attention wavered, fragments of memory surfacing in the edges of her thoughts—the icy air, the roar of an engine, the jarring impact. Her breath hitched. She could still feel the cold asphalt beneath her, the weight of the stars above pressing down as she lay there, certain she wouldn't survive.
"I'm alive," she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken.
Janet's brow softened, her smile returning as she leaned closer. "Yes, you are. And you gave us all quite the scare."
Lips parted as though she wanted to respond, but instead, her eyes closed, and a shaky exhale escaped her. The ache in her body was dulling, replaced by a spreading numbness that carried with it a strange taste—chemical, faintly bitter, sitting at the back of her throat.
The sound of Janet pulling a stool closer brought her back to the present. A penlight appeared in Janet's hand, its polished surface glinting in the sunlight.
"Hold still," Janet said, her tone shifting to something more clinical. "I need to check your pupils. Follow my finger."
The bright beam made Sam squint, her good hand twitching reflexively at her side. Janet murmured a quiet apology, her practised focus evident as she worked.
Normally, the instructions would have been easy, but Sam found herself struggling to follow them. After two attempts, Janet reached out to still her head by grasping her chin. Concern had dug between her brows but it eased slightly when this time, Sam managed to follow her finger.
"You had a pretty bad go of it," Janet said as she leaned back, shoving the penlight back into her front pocket. She never admonished Sam for failing twice. "You've been in the ICU until now. This is the first time you've been stable enough to wake up for more than a few minutes."
Sam frowned faintly, the timeline struggling to make sense. "A week?"
Janet nodded. "Yes. You've been through a lot, Sam. But it doesn't matter now that you woke up. It's good to see you again. Awake, that is." The doctor winked as if that had been a joke though Sam knew it wasn't.
Her thoughts drifted again, fragments of voices coming back to her. A deep, steady tone. Another, warm and familiar. "Teal'c? Daniel?"
"They've been here," Janet said, her smile softening. "As has Colonel O'Neill. You woke up briefly several times. You weren't exactly coherent, but they'll be glad to hear you're improving. Your brain is looking good and you're talking much better already."
The memory felt like it was wrapped in fog, indistinct but comforting. Once more, Sam struggled to hold into the memory and her thoughts drifted. She saw the stars again, crisp in the dark sky. The image of Mel came to her, the bartender with the dark curls that framed her face so perfectly. Sam could almost feel the warmth of her, the softness of her hair as she buried her face in it, giddy from a shared kiss. The way Melanie's eyes had lit up when she smiled, her scent—a faint mix of perfume and of the stale alcohol and fried foods of the bar—lingered in Sam's mind, pulling her into a moment of peace. She smiled at the memory. Her left hand moved, searching for pockets. She'd promised Mel she'd call.
"Cassie has been asking about you every day," Janet interrupted her cautiously and Sam swallowed, blinked as she turned her head to watch her friend. "I told her you'd pull through, and she didn't doubt me for a second."
Cassie. That little precious girl. Her fingers trembled and Janet's eyes narrowed at the machine that doubtlessly picked up on her elevating heart rate. Janet reached out and caressed Sam's uninjured arm. But all Sam thought of was Cassie; the girl's smile in stark contrast to the cold certainty Sam had felt during the accident.
"Sorry," Sam managed. "Tell Cass, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to worry her."
The doctor's shoulders relaxed and when she looked back down on Sam, Janet smiled. "I will. Don't worry about that, Sam."
"I'm going back to the SGC?" Exhaustion crept up on Sam and her eyes started to feel heavy but she groped in the air for something solid.
"Yes." Warm fingers slipped into Sam's palm and gave her a reassuring squeeze to supplement the simple word.
Sam nodded slightly, her head barely moving against the pillow. The sunlight streaming through the window seemed a little brighter, the sharp edges of her fear blunted by Janet's presence.
The steady hum of fluorescent lights filled the silence in General Hammond's office. Jack O'Neill sat stiffly across from the desk, arms crossed, tension evident in his posture. The folder resting beneath Hammond's hands was labelled with Captain Carter's name, an unwelcome reminder of the conversation Jack sensed was coming.
Hammond leaned forward, his gaze steady but heavy with the weight of his words. "Colonel, we need to address the situation with Captain Carter's status on SG-1."
Brows knitting, Jack shifted slightly in his chair. "Sir, she's only been out a week. She's still in the hospital. Are we really doing this now?"
The general sighed, a faint trace of sympathy softening his stern demeanour. "You've read the medical reports. Her injuries are severe—broken bones, the skull fracture, brain swelling. The doctors are clear: her recovery will take months, maybe longer. The fact is, we don't know when she'll be cleared for duty, or if she'll ever be ready for fieldwork again."
The words landed like a blow, and Jack sat up straighter, his jaw tightening. "She's still fighting, sir. This feels… premature. She's not even out of casts yet."
"It's not about giving up on her," Hammond said firmly. "It's about keeping SG-1 operational. We've got missions lined up, and the work can't wait indefinitely. I need to assign someone to fill her role in the meantime."
A bitter laugh escaped before Jack could stop it. "Great. Just swap her out like she's a spare tire, huh?"
"That's not what this is," Hammond replied, his tone calm but resolute. "If—and when—Captain Carter is cleared for duty, she'll have her place on SG-1. That's a promise."
For a long moment, Jack said nothing, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. Logic told him Hammond was right, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. The thought of someone else stepping into Carter's role, even temporarily, didn't sit right. His mind flashed to the sterile hospital room where she lay, still and pale, surrounded by machines.
A sharp exhale broke the silence. "Who's the replacement?"
Hammond opened the folder, his expression softening slightly. "Major Erik Wallace. He's got a strong background in tactical operations and off-world reconnaissance. He also has experience working with experimental tech. I think he'll integrate well with the team."
The name didn't ring any bells, which didn't help. "Is he half as smart as Carter?" The sarcasm in Jack's voice barely masked the lingering frustration.
"Wallace is highly capable and knows this is a temporary assignment," Hammond assured him. "But the team needs a fourth, Colonel. Missions can't go on hold indefinitely."
Grudgingly, Jack nodded, the logic undeniable but no less irritating. "Fine. Temporary. And that better mean just that."
"Temporary," Hammond repeated, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "And as soon as Carter's ready, she'll be back where she belongs. You have my word."
With a sharp nod, Jack stood, hands on his hips as he stared at the folder for a moment. "Guess I'd better meet this Wallace guy." His voice softened, barely above a mutter. "Keep me updated on Carter. I mean it."
"You'll be the first to know," Hammond said.
Turning on his heel, Jack left the office, his mind swirling with irritation, worry, and a faint thread of hope. It wasn't the answer he wanted, but it was the one he had to live with for now.
Jack turned on his heel, ready to leave the office, but Hammond's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"There's one more thing, Colonel."
Pausing mid-step, Jack pivoted back toward Hammond, his brow furrowed. "What now?"
"Doctor Fraiser has determined that Captain Carter is stable enough for transport. We'll be moving her to the SGC tomorrow." Hammond's tone was measured, but the implication of his words carried weight.
The tension in Jack's shoulders eased—just a little. "To the SGC? Isn't that risky? I mean, considering…" His hand gestured vaguely, encompassing the severity of her injuries.
"The risk is minimal at this point," Hammond assured him. "And Fraiser believes she'll recover more effectively here. She'll have everything she needs on-site, not to mention the added security."
"Security," Jack muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. "Yeah, because what she really needs right now is to be protected from all the nothing happening in her hospital room." He shook his head but sighed. "Fine. Good. At least we'll have her closer."
There was a pause, a heavy silence, before Jack raised his gaze again, his lips tightening into a thin line. "Any word on the Tok'Ra?"
Hammond's expression turned grim. "Not yet. Teal'c's attempt to contact them was unsuccessful, but SG-2 and SG-7 have been sent to two more locations we suspect they may frequent. If anyone can find them, it's Jacob Carter or someone with access to the healing device. That could still make all the difference in Captain Carter's recovery."
Jack's hand ran through his hair, frustration evident in the sharp movements. "So, we're still in the dark."
"For now," Hammond said quietly. "But we're doing everything we can. This is as high a priority as anything else on our plate."
"Yeah," Jack muttered, his voice low. "Jacob doesn't even know. And if we don't find the Tok'Ra soon, we might be too late for that healing device to matter."
The general's voice softened, though his resolve remained clear. "We'll find them, Colonel. I know this isn't easy, but you need to trust that everything that can be done is being done."
A tight press of lips betrayed the tension, and a jaw working in quiet frustration signaled the weight of unspoken thoughts. "I do, sir. I just hate waiting. It feels like we're sitting on our hands while Carter…" The sentence hung in the air, unfinished but unmistakable.
Rising to his feet, the general infused his tone with a commanding edge. "Then focus on what's in front of you. Introduce yourself to Major Wallace, make sure SG-1 is ready for what's ahead, and trust the rest of us to handle the rest. Understood?"
A grim nod followed, the determination evident despite the weight of uncertainty. "Understood."
The halls of the SGC had the usual quiet hum of activity as Jack O'Neill walked toward the briefing room on level ten. The occasional soldier passed him, nodding briskly, their boots echoing against the concrete walls. Somewhere in the distance, the faint rumble of machinery reminded him they were buried under thousands of tons of rock. Despite the familiar surroundings, an edge of irritation lingered in Jack's chest.
The thought of meeting Carter's replacement—a replacement for Carter—left a bad taste in his mouth. It wasn't fair, not with her still laid up in the hospital, fighting to recover. Hammond's reassurances that it was only temporary didn't help. Nothing about this situation sat right with him.
Pushing open the briefing room door, Jack found Major Erik Wallace lounging casually at the table, one foot resting on the chair rung, leafing through a mission report. The man had the kind of relaxed confidence Jack usually associated with fighter pilots—his uniform neat but not overly polished, his short brown hair slightly tousled like he hadn't cared enough to use a comb.
A quick grin flashed upward. "Colonel O'Neill, right? Thought you'd be taller."
An arched eyebrow followed the door clicking shut. "And you must be Wallace. Thought you'd be less chatty."
The chuckle that answered carried no hint of offense as a folder was set aside. "Fair enough. Nice to meet you, sir." A gesture toward the chair across the desk invited him in. "Grab a seat, unless you prefer to pace ominously while judging me."
A faint twitch of lips betrayed a flicker of amusement breaking through irritation. "Pacing's tempting, but I'll sit. For now." The chair scraped lightly as it was pulled out and claimed.
Relaxed posture accompanied a casual elbow rested on the table. "I've been reading up on SG-1. Quite the team. Guess I've got some big boots to fill, huh?"
"Not just boots," Jack said dryly. "There's a lot of science-y stuff in there too. Hope you brought a calculator."
"I'm more of a 'collect everything for later'- kind of guy," Wallace replied, smirking. "But hey, I'm good at calculating, if you need numbers."
The response was smooth, casual, and a little too comfortable for Jack's liking. He narrowed his eyes slightly, assessing the man. Carter would've either smirked at that or made a sarcastic crack about how gracious it was he allowed her a calculator and holding physics together by tape if she had to. Wallace, meanwhile, seemed to think a laid-back attitude was enough to slide right in.
"You've been through the mission files?" Jack asked, nodding toward the folder.
"Most of them," Wallace said, flipping it shut with one hand. "Enough to know what I'm walking into. Goa'uld, hostile natives, weird tech. Sounds like a party."
"Party," Jack repeated, voice flat. "Sure. Just remember: it's not a party until someone starts shooting."
"That's when things get interesting, right?" Wallace quipped, his grin widening.
Jack resisted the urge to sigh. The guy wasn't trying to be annoying, but the forced casualness grated in a way that reminded him how much he missed Carter's steadiness. She's been overeager, sure-hell, she still was! What he'd thought of as a desperate thirst of one-upping them when they first met had quickly turned out to just be a reflection of Sam's Carter-ness and her willingness to fit that into a team worked out surprisingly well. Because she wasn't a prick about it and knew regulations.
"So, you're what? A tactician? Engineer? Diplomat?" Jack asked, gesturing vaguely.
"A little of everything," Wallace said with a shrug. "Mostly field operations. I'm good at keeping things running under pressure. And I've got some experience with alien tech—nothing like your Captain Carter, though. Heard she's a genius or something."
"She is," Jack said, his tone steady enough to cut through Wallace's easygoing demeanour.
The major raised his hands in mock surrender. "Didn't mean any disrespect, sir. Just saying, I know I'm not her. I'll do my best to keep up."
Jack stood, pushing the chair back with a scrape. "You'd better. Finish your homework, Major. First mission's coming up, and I don't have time to babysit."
"Yes, sir," Wallace said, giving a lazy salute that toed the line between respectful and irreverent.
As Jack left the room, the door swinging shut behind him, he shook his head. Wallace wasn't bad—competent, casual, and probably decent in a firefight. But every word out of his mouth made Jack miss Carter's sharp wit and steady professionalism more. For now, though, this was what they had. He'd just have to deal with it.
Daniel Jackson's office was a chaotic testament to the inner workings of his mind. Stacks of books leaned precariously on every surface, a mixture of ancient tomes and modern anthropology texts. Loose papers, some filled with hastily scribbled translations, covered most of his desk, save for a small space cleared for his laptop. Artifacts from countless missions—stone tablets, small statuettes, fragments of alien inscriptions—were scattered among the clutter, giving the room an air of organised disarray.
He sat hunched over his desk, one hand absently running through his hair as the other flipped the pages of a worn leather-bound book on early Mediterranean religions. The soft hum of the overhead fluorescent lights and the occasional distant echo of boots in the hall barely registered. Daniel's focus was absolute, his brow furrowed in concentration.
The thought of Melanie, the bartender Sam had been flirting with, gnawed at the back of his mind. Breaking the news about Sam's accident had been hard enough, but it had left him with an unshakable urgency: he needed to understand where Teal'c and Jack stood on the topic of same-sex relationships. Not just as a cultural exercise, but for Sam's sake. He couldn't directly ask them—not without risking exposing her—but he couldn't let it go, either.
His gaze dropped to a section of text discussing the Sacred Band of Thebes, a revered military unit in ancient Greece composed of paired male lovers. The author theorised that their bonds strengthened their combat effectiveness, a fascinating mix of history and human psychology. This could work, Daniel thought, making a quick note in the margin. If he framed the discussion as part of their ongoing research into the Goa'uld's use of cultural manipulation, he could broach the topic indirectly.
Another book landed in Daniel's hands, nearly toppling a pile of scroll reproductions in the process. Muttering a distracted apology to no one in particular, he opened the book to a chapter on ancient Egyptian rituals. Many gods of the Egyptian pantheon were depicted in ways that suggested fluidity in relationships and gender roles. If the Goa'uld had co-opted these identities, it might offer a historical parallel he could casually introduce in conversation.
Fingers flying over his laptop keyboard, Daniel cross-referenced notes and articles, pausing every now and then to adjust his glasses or take a sip of lukewarm coffee. His expression alternated between fascination and frustration as the vastness of the subject continued to unfold before him.
Leaning back in his chair, Daniel heard it creak in protest as he rubbed his temples. The deeper he dove, the more he realized how broad the subject was. Cultures from every corner of the Earth had stories of same-sex relationships, and their interpretations varied wildly. Some celebrated them, while others condemned them. What mattered, though, was finding a way to weave this into the team's discussions naturally.
More certain about Jack than Teal'c, Daniel still wasn't sure how things would play out, especially when it came to military regulations. He felt confident that Jack's sense of loyalty and fairness would guide him, and he knew how the once-retired Colonel felt about at least some of the rules and structure of the military. Still, Daniel wasn't certain how it would affect his friend's standing if he spoke in defence of homosexuality. Was it serious enough to bring problems for Jack, even if he wasn't homosexual himself? How far would Jack be willing to go against these regulations, even for someone on his team? Often, Jack's sarcasm and dry humour made it difficult to know where he stood on more serious issues, and Daniel couldn't help but wonder if this would be one of those cases.
Teal'c, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. Jaffa culture, as much as Daniel had tried to understand it over the years, didn't seem to place much emphasis on personal relationships in the way human cultures did. Loyalty and duty were paramount, but beyond that, Daniel wasn't sure where Teal'c stood on issues like this. He could imagine Teal'c reacting in any number of ways—from calm indifference to a deep philosophical discussion. But the uncertainty left Daniel uneasy. He also couldn't shake the thought that Teal'c, in his traditional Jaffa upbringing, might react negatively—perhaps even scornfully—toward something like homosexuality. The idea of Teal'c looking down on it, or viewing it as something dishonourable, felt just as likely as any other response. It made Daniel hesitant, unsure how to navigate the now, all Daniel could do was speculate. The more he thought about it, the more he realised just how much he still had to learn about his friends—and how much he hoped they'd understand.
To think that all this must have run through Sam's head a thousand times … Daniel felt even worse for his initial reaction. While he'd honestly not understood the issue, to Sam, it must have been an excruciating fear as she begged him not to tell anyone. She didn't deserve that. No-one deserved that. It was love! How could anyone be so narrow-minded to begrudge that only because it took different forms for them? Sam and Melanie were two consenting adults with no form of power dynamic between them complicating the issue and nothing beyond that should matter.
He stood, stretching his back, and moved to one of the towering bookshelves. His fingers brushed over spines until he pulled out a volume on Mesopotamian deities. The text was dense, but he remembered reading about rituals that honoured partnerships between same-sex couples as sacred.
The room was quiet except for the rustle of turning pages and the scratch of his pen on paper. Daniel's mind raced, connecting threads of history, mythology, and cultural anthropology. Each piece of information was another step toward his goal: finding a way to have this conversation without implicating Sam.
As he sat back down, he glanced at the small photo tucked into the corner of his desk—a snapshot of SG-1 taken during a rare moment of downtime. Carter's smile was bright, her hair slightly mussed from the wind. Jack stood next to her, arms crossed, with Teal'c towering behind them, his usual stoic expression softened by the faintest hint of amusement. Daniel was off to the side, caught mid-laugh.
He sighed, turning his attention back to his notes. I'll figure this out, Sam, he thought. You've always had my back. Now it's my turn to have yours.
The parking lot felt suffocating, even with the cold, fresh air filtering through the slightly cracked window. Mel sat in her truck, gripping the steering wheel tightly, her eyes locked on the hospital's entrance. The ambulance was parked there, its back doors open and waiting.
When the gurney appeared, flanked by uniformed personnel, her chest tightened. She knew the person strapped would be Sam. Something in the way the group moved—the quiet efficiency, the protective care—made it clear this wasn't just another patient.
The gurney turned and Mel got a glimpse of her. Bandages still wrapped around Sam's head but it didn't hide her blond hair. Mel couldn't tell if Sam was awake or not, but her breath hitched either way.
She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling over despite her best efforts. It wasn't fair. Sam had woken up the last time she'd visited, but she'd barely been conscious. That sliver of blue when Sam managed to open her eyes and look at her. That whisper of a smile. Slurred and quiet, Sam had struggled to speak. A bittersweet smile broke through Mel's tears at the memory. Beautiful, she'd called her. Even through the haze of pain and drugs, Sam had said that. Mel was sure she wouldn't remember it. Not really.
She'd hoped to see Sam again today. Been looking forward to it all night. To speak to her when she was fully herself. But apparently she was to late and now Mel would have no chance to see her again.
The ambulance doors shut with a finality that echoed in her chest. Moments later, the engine rumbled to life. She watched it pull away, the steady flashing of its lights reflecting against the nearby buildings.
Behind it, men in BDUs filed into a black sedan and the car with the government plates followed the ambulance in close pursuit. Almost like an escort. Her heart ached as she imagined them—Sam's colleagues, her teammates—keeping her safe, even now.
Mel leaned back against her seat, wiping at her cheeks. Her hands shook as she stared at the space where the ambulance had been, now empty except for a lingering sense of loss. Sam was going back to the base. Mel knew it without needing confirmation. And that meant she wouldn't be able to see her again, not for a long time. Maybe never.
A hollow laugh escaped her as she shook her head at herself. She hadn't even thought to ask Daniel for his number. At least then, she might have had a way to stay connected, to get updates. Now, she could do nothing but hope.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, she forced herself to take a deep breath. The thought of waiting indefinitely, hoping Sam would call, felt unbearable. But that was all she had now.
As the tears subsided, her smile returned, softer and sadder this time. No matter what, she would hold onto that memory of Sam's quiet voice, those beautiful blue eyes just barely opening. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep her waiting just a little longer.
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