The stars laughed at her broken body, their mocking light burning into her eyes. Hard, unyielding ground pressed against her chest, each breath a sharp, suffocating agony as her ribs screamed in protest. A motorcycle's roar shattered the air, sharp and cruel, dissolving into hollow, distorted laughter. Reaching out, her fingers found only the void, an empty expanse swallowing her whole. Movement eluded her. Breath abandoned her.
Sam jolted awake, gasping, the nightmare gripping her chest like a vice. The infirmary lights buzzed faintly overhead, but the sterile calm of the room was drowned out by the relentless beeping of her heart monitor. Too fast. Too loud.
Air refused to fill her lungs. Each shallow gasp was agony, her ribs screaming, her hand clawing desperately at her throat. The stars from her dream lingered, flashing in her vision, haunting her mind with their cruel indifference.
"Sam!" Janet Fraiser's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding as she hurried into the room. The quick rhythm of her footsteps echoed against the tiles, and within moments, she was at Sam's side.
The oxygen mask was firm against her face as Janet pressed it into place. "Breathe, Sam! It's oxygen—just breathe!"
The mask felt suffocating, foreign, and wrong. Sam's hands fumbled against it, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto Janet's. She shook her head frantically, trying to pull it away, her muffled protests spilling through the mask.
"You need this, Sam!" Janet's voice held a steady authority, but her expression softened, an anchor in the storm of panic. "Focus on me. It's just oxygen. I promise."
Cool, clean air brushed past the panic, easing it for a fleeting moment. Trembling fingers loosened their grip, allowing her to take a shallow, ragged breath. The fog in her mind began to lift, but the reprieve was brief.
A violent twist in her stomach brought a fresh wave of terror. Panic flashed in her eyes as she struggled to form words behind the mask. "Mmm-need—"
Recognition flickered across Janet's face, and with swift precision, she ripped the mask away just as Sam heaved. The convulsion wracked her body, vomit spilling onto the bed as the acrid taste burned her throat. Each retch sent sharp pain radiating through her broken ribs, her body trembling under the strain.
"Damn it," Janet muttered under her breath, steadying Sam as she doubled over in agony. "Stay with me, Sam. I'll be right back."
The urgency in Janet's voice carried into the hallway. "Get me alprazolam now! IV—move!"
Footsteps pounded away as Sam continued to retch, her body heaving even after her stomach was empty. Janet returned immediately, her hand firm on Sam's shoulder, murmuring words of reassurance though her tone betrayed her worry.
"You're okay," she said softly, her hand never leaving Sam's trembling form. "Just hold on. You're okay."
The nurse rushed back moments later, carrying a syringe of alprazolam prepped for IV use. Janet took it without hesitation, her eyes briefly meeting the nurse's. "Thanks. Set up an emesis basin and a cool compress, now."
She quickly inspected the syringe for air bubbles, tapping it once and expelling a tiny droplet of liquid before attaching it to Sam's IV port. "Okay, Sam," Janet murmured, her voice low and steady, more for reassurance than explanation. "I'm giving you a dose of alprazolam. It's going to help calm your system and stop the panic response. You'll feel it in a few seconds."
Sliding the syringe into the IV port, Janet pushed the medication slowly and steadily, careful to ensure it didn't overwhelm Sam's already fragile state. She watched Sam's face intently, monitoring her pupil response and the subtle shifts in her expression. "Deep breaths now," she coached gently, keeping her hand on Sam's arm to ground her.
Sam's breathing hitched briefly, but the alprazolam began to take effect almost immediately. Like coldness spreading through her body starting in her arm, a layer of cotton wrapping around her mind. Everything dulled. The rapid beeping of the heart monitor slowed, the chaotic rhythm easing into something more regular. The tremors in Sam's hands softened, and the wild, panicked look in her eyes began to fade.
A guttural gag escaped her throat as the last remnants of bile forced their way out, her body shuddering with the effort. Sam coughed, a wet, rasping sound, and spat into the empty emesis basin Janet had grabbed and positioned just in time. A thin stream of saliva and bile dribbled from the corner of her mouth, and Sam gagged again, the bitter taste forcing her to retch reflexively. No more bile came up, but the violent motion left her gasping, her ribs protesting each convulsion with sharp, searing pain.
"Easy," Janet murmured. With one hand bracing Sam gently, she reached for the damp cloth the nurse had brought. Starting at Sam's mouth, Janet wiped away the bile with deliberate care, folding the cloth to a clean section and brushing it over her patient's flushed, damp face. The coolness seemed to bring a measure of relief; Sam's laboured breathing began to slow, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Her breathing hitched despite the soft cotton of medication wrapping around her mind. Tears traced silent, burning trails down her cheeks, mixing with the sticky residue of bile she could still taste on her lips. The wet cling of her hospital gown made her shiver, its sour stench rising with every shallow breath she managed. It plastered to her skin like a vile reminder of everything she'd just lost—control, dignity, strength. She hated this. Hated the loss of control.
A hoarse whisper broke from Sam's cracked lips. "S-sorry…"
"No apologies," Janet said firmly, her eyes meeting Sam's with calm insistence. She dabbed at the corner of Sam's mouth one final time before tossing the soiled cloth aside. "You're doing just fine. Focus on breathing—just slow and steady." Her tone softened, carrying quiet reassurance. "You're through the worst of it."
The room was heavy with the sour stench of bile, and Sam's half-lidded eyes locked on the mess staining her blanket. Vomit smeared across the pale fabric with her failure, bile spreading in a vile pattern that only deepened her shame.
She couldn't escape the smell. Couldn't escape herself. She had lost it. Completely and utterly lost it. The thought echoed like a relentless drumbeat. Her medicated haze dulled the sharp edges of her horror, but not enough to stop the tears still welling in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Janet appeared completely unfazed and worked with clinical precision. Tugging the soiled blanket free, her movements were quick and efficient, betraying nothing but care.
"Okay, Sam," she murmured, her voice steady as she reached for a fresh blanket from the cabinet. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit."
A faint whimper of protest came over Sam's lips, the sound more reflexive than intentional. Her limbs felt like lead, every muscle heavy and uncooperative. Janet didn't ask her to move, instead draping the clean blanket over her with practised ease, tucking it gently around her trembling frame. The sodden gown beneath clung to Sam's skin like a second layer, cold and damp, but Janet said nothing about it yet. Her priority was clear—stabilise Sam first.
"I'll deal with the gown soon," Janet said. "Right now, I just need to check on you."
Setting the emesis basin within reach, Janet picked up the oxygen mask that lay momentarily discarded on the bed. Before replacing it, she held it up to inspect it closely, turning it over to ensure no bile or debris had found its way inside. Satisfied it was clean, she wiped the edges with a fresh cloth and adjusted the straps before bringing it back to Sam's face, ensuring a snug but comfortable fit. After a slight flinch, Sam yielded to it. The steady hiss of the oxygen filled the air, blending with the now even cadence of the heart monitor. Janet leaned closer, her tone softening further, though it retained its firmness. "There we go. Let the oxygen do its job. Slow breaths. In and out. Just like that."
Glassiness dulled the clarity in her gaze as her eyes fluttered open, faintly meeting Janet's steady one. "It's...better," the words emerged muffled and strained, the oxygen mask pressing gently against her face distorting her voice. Each syllable was quiet, her exhaustion pulling the strength from her tone.
Relief softened Janet's features. "Good," she replied, her voice low but firm. "Let yourself rest now. Your body's been through enough."
A sluggish blink signalled Sam's acknowledgement, the weight of exhaustion dragging her eyelids downward. Fragile calm descended on the room, only the sound of rubber soles against the linoleum floor audible over the hiss of oxygen and the rush of blood in Sam's ears. The nurse moved around the room but Janet didn't leave, her sharp eyes flicking to the equipment. The doctor double-checked the IV flow, scanning for any signs of irregularity, but her gaze always returned to Sam's face to ensure no new signs of distress surfaced.
Janet's hand brushed lightly against Sam's cast, her voice softening to a whisper as she leaned close. "You're safe. We've got you. Go to sleep."
A soft groan escaped her as she tried to deny the order despite how tempting it felt. Sleep held horror but her heavy eyelids closed completely as it took hold anyways. Beneath the fog of exhaustion, her awareness dwindled to faint sensations: the snug fit of the oxygen mask and the dry air streaming in her lungs, the sticky feeling of her gown against her skin, the warm touch of Janet's hand curling slightly around her fingers, peeking out from the edge of her cast.
Somewhere deep in the haze, her thoughts flickered. The stars still laughed at her broken body, mocking and distant, but their voices grew faint, lost in the overwhelming pull of rest.
Adjusting her gloves, Janet steeled herself for the meticulous work ahead. Cranial swelling was a dangerous thing. While the scans had shown improvement, episodes like this could quickly aggravate intracranial pressure. Especially when the initial injured involved a traumatic brain injury. And a skull fracture certainly categorised as a TBI.
The Xanax administered through the IV would help, calming Sam's system, but it wasn't a cure-all. Janet's priority remained ensuring no setbacks had occurred.
"We need to clean her up and check for any further complications. Kathy, I'll need your help lifting her," Janet instructed the nurse beside her. She moved swiftly, peeling away the second, now also stained blanket and unfastening Sam's soiled hospital gown. Her voice carried a steady professionalism, though inside, the tension of balancing her roles as doctor and friend pulled at her.
The nurse stepped in, and together they worked carefully, easing the gown over Sam's casted arm and manoeuvring around the IV lines. Damp fabric peeled away, releasing the sharp scent of sweat and bile into the room. Janet grimaced faintly but maintained focus.
"Careful on the right," she murmured as the gown slipped free. Her eyes scanned Sam's bruised and battered body, cataloguing injuries with practised precision. Years of experience had stripped away any sense of discomfort or propriety when faced with bare skin. Her attention was solely on assessing the damage, ensuring nothing was missed.
Trained eyes swept over the battered body laid out before her, cataloguing injuries with practised precision. Sam's nudity barely registered—it was a fact of the job, and Janet's focus was entirely on the medical assessment. Her attention locked onto the bruises and surgical sites, each telling the story of the trauma Sam had endured. Deep purple bruising marked her entire body, running over her arms, her ribs and abdomen, hinting at more along her back. Stark against pale skin, they only bore part of the evidence of the tremendous impact.
Several medical plasters, partially soaked with vomit and stained from earlier efforts, covered the surgical wounds. Janet peeled them back with care, revealing stitches that closed the jagged lacerations where Sam's ribs had pierced her chest under her arm, and where surgeons had intervened to repair the damage to her liver just below the curve of her ribs on her abdomen. Stitches of black medical polymer stood stark against the swollen flesh, red and angry despite the antibiotics coursing through her system. They didn't look as old as they were; the sheer quantity of wounds and surgeries impacting Sam's healing rate significantly.
With a clean cloth handed to her by the nurse, she gently cleaned the area, her motions precise but mindful. The violent vomiting episode had been unexpected, though not surprising given Sam's fragile recovery state. Progress had been slow, from sips of water to small amounts of broth and a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes. Still, Janet couldn't dismiss the strain such an episode had placed on her patient.
"No drainage," she murmured, brushing gloved fingers lightly over the stitches. They were holding firm for now, but her thoughts lingered on the possibility of complications. Infection was always a looming threat.
Another warm cloth replaced the first, and Janet methodically cleaned Sam's skin, her hands moving with care to avoid further discomfort. Sam stirred faintly, her face twitching as a groan escaped her lips.
"I know, Sam," Janet said softly, her voice steady but compassionate. "I know it hurts."
A flinch from Sam made Janet pause, her touch recalibrating to ensure gentleness. She checked the heartrate monitor. They had to adjust the morphin dose if her patient still felt pain. The complications with the naquadah in the Captain's blood and the biomarkers left by Jolinar skewed all sense of dosage they would normally have applied.
After washing and drying Sam off with a soft towel, Janet set everything aside. Together, she and the nurse worked to slide a fresh gown over Sam's body, threading her casted arm through the sleeve with painstaking care.
"On three. One, two, three—"
They shifted Sam just enough to ease the gown over her shoulders, tying it into place securely but comfortably. The priority now was warmth and protection from further exposure.
The monitor beeped steadily, a rhythm Janet found momentarily reassuring. Heart rate remained elevated but within manageable limits. Oxygen saturation held steady, and blood pressure showed no alarming changes. Her gaze moved to the chart in her hands, scanning the details of Sam's current medication regimen with a practiced focus.
The morphine dosage stood out. It was necessary, given the extensive injuries, but the potential risks loomed large. Pain management was critical to avoid further physiological stress, yet too much morphine could depress breathing—a danger magnified by the lingering effects of the brain injury. The balance required constant vigilance.
Earlier, a dose of alprazolam had successfully calmed Sam's panic and brought her heart rate down. However, the interaction between benzodiazepines and morphine was another variable to monitor carefully. Excessive sedation posed its own set of risks, and Janet made a mental note to reassess Sam's responsiveness within the hour.
"Up the morphin by half a milligram per hour," she instructed, her tone steady but firm. "Let's see if we can bring her pain levels down a little more. But monitor her respiratory rate.I don't want it dropping below 12 per minute. Notify me immediately if that changes."
"Yes, Doctor," the nurse responded promptly.
Her thoughts shifted to the anticonvulsants—phenytoin and levetiracetam—that had been administered to mitigate the risk of seizures. Swelling around the brain had decreased significantly, a relief, but complacency wasn't an option. She directed her attention to another critical measure. "Get me the latest intracranial pressure chart," she said, glancing at the nurse. "I want to review the pre-episode readings."
The nurse moved quickly to comply, and Janet stepped back to the bedside. Her gloved hand brushed lightly against Sam's forearm in an almost instinctive gesture of reassurance.
When the chart arrived, she scanned the data, noting the spike in intracranial pressure during the earlier panic attack. Though brief, it had been significant enough to spark concern. A quiet curse escaped her lips, frustration flickering across her face. "This is the last thing she needs," she muttered, shaking her head.
Her eyes shifted to the list of medications. Antibiotics were performing as expected, helping to ward off potential infections from the many open wounds. Still, Janet made a note to schedule another dose of cefazolin later in the day. IV fluids were running smoothly, maintaining hydration and electrolyte levels. Each element of Sam's care required meticulous oversight, but so far, everything was holding steady.
Adjustments to the oxygen tubing came next, ensuring it fit securely without causing discomfort. Sam stirred slightly, her eyelids fluttering before settling again. The movement was faint, but it reassured Janet that Sam wasn't slipping too deeply into sedation.
Turning her attention to the nurse once more, Janet gave a nod. "Let's make her as comfortable as we can."
Together, they repositioned Sam with gentle precision, checking for pressure points and adjusting the bedding to prevent further strain. Janet paused to reassess, her hands resting on her hips as she surveyed the full picture. Vitals were stable. Medications balanced. For the moment, Sam's condition was under control.
With a deep breath, she reached for her clipboard, ready to document the updates and plan the next steps in Sam's care.
The lake stretched out before them, quiet and glassy, reflecting the hues of the setting sun. Jack O'Neill leaned back in his folding chair, a fishing pole in his hands and an amused smirk on his was the kind of peaceful retreat he always claimed to crave. Yet, having company for once—real, meaningful company—made the moment feel richer, less solitary.
To his left, the sound of fumbling broke the quiet as Daniel Jackson struggled with his fishing pole, examining it like an artifact from a dig site instead of a simple tool. On the other side, Teal'c sat poised and composed, his fishing line perfectly steady in the water. The contrast between the two made Jack shake his head, an amused chuckle escaping before he could stop it.
"This," he began, gesturing broadly to the serene surroundings, "is something I never thought I'd see. The three of us, sitting at my cabin, fishing. No alarms, no explosions, no impending galactic doom. Just… this."
Daniel glanced over, arching an eyebrow. "Don't get too comfortable, Jack. I'm still not entirely sold on the idea that this qualifies as fun."
A dismissive wave accompanied Jack's smirk. "You showed up. That's all that matters." He cast his line with a practised flick, settling deeper into his chair. After a beat, he added thoughtfully, "Next time, we'll bring Carter. She'd probably love this."
Teal'c inclined his head, his deep voice resonating with quiet agreement. "This environment could greatly aid Captain Carter's recovery. The tranquillity would be most beneficial."
A soft snort came from Daniel's direction. "Sure, but sitting still? Not exactly her forte, Jack. You know that."
Jack laughed, the sound full and unrestrained. "You've got a point there. Carter and sitting still mix about as well as you and sports."
"Touché," Daniel muttered, rolling his eyes.
The spark of an idea lit Jack's expression. "Fine. We bring her out here, but I'll toss in a power reactor or some other gadget for her to tinker with. Keep her occupied while we fish."
The thought drew another laugh, this one more spontaneous. "Hell, I've got a busted lawn mower in the shed. Carter can mess with that while Teal'c mans the grill, I handle the beer, and you"—he pointed at Daniel with mock seriousness—"amble around doing… whatever it is you do."
Feigned offence splattered over Daniel's face. "I don't amble."
"Oh, you amble," Jack retorted. "It's your thing."
Teal'c, ever composed, regarded Jack with a raised brow. "Captain Carter's proficiency would undoubtedly restore your lawn mower's functionality. However, would this not detract from her opportunity to relax?"
A casual shrug was Jack's response. "Fixing things is her relaxation. You've seen her in action. Give her some wires and a soldering iron, and she's happier than a Goa'uld with aplanet to rule."
Daniel's quiet laugh broke the momentary silence. "Hard to argue with that."
As the evening settled further into its gentle rhythm, Jack leaned back, eyes scanning the lake's unbroken surface. In his mind's eye, he could see it all: Carter on his porch, the innards of a lawn mower spread around her. Unless of course she'd already gone beyond that and was already well into repairing something that probably didn't need fixing in the first place. Teal'c standing by the grill, flipping burgers with practiced precision. Daniel off in the shade, immersed in a book no one else could make sense of. And Jack himself, right here, a beer in hand and his team nearby.
Well, not the current team. The idea of bringing Wallace along on a similar outing felt wrong. The man had improved towards the end of their mission, but 'delighted' was the last word Jack would use to describe how he felt about their new teammate.
"Well," he muttered, his tone wry, "today sucked."
The remark earned a snort from Daniel, who turned his gaze away from the lake. "Understatement of the year," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Hey, give the guy some credit," Jack said, shrugging.
His answer was a derisive snort "The guy tried to tell me how to do my job and he acted as if Sam is our own personal damsel in distress."
The faint arch of Teal'c's brow spoke volumes. "His progress is... measurable."
"That's your way of saying he's still a mess, isn't it?" Jack asked, smirking slightly.
Teal'c gave a slight nod. "Indeed. In critical situations, his current skills remain insufficient. I do not trust him."
A resigned sigh escaped Daniel. "He's trying, but Teal'c's right: it's hard to imagine trusting him out there when everything's on the line. Not after how he talked about Sam."
"It's not ideal," Jack admitted, leaning forward slightly, "but there's nothing to be done about it tonight."
The rhythmic lapping of the lake filled the ensuing quiet. Adjusting in his chair, Jack glanced between his teammates as a different thought took shape. "We've been so caught up in missions and Carter's recovery," he began, "that there's someone else we've completely overlooked."
Daniel frowned, curiosity piqued. "Who?"
"Cassie," came the response, the name carrying a note of guilt. "She's been stuck in the middle of all this—her mom pulling every overtime shift in the infirmary, Carter out of commission, and us nowhere to be found. That kid deserves better from us."
Realization dawned on Daniel's face, and he sat up straighter. "You're right. We've barely been there for her these past couple of weeks."
"Cassandra Fraiser has faced much in her life," Teal'c said solemnly. "It is our duty to ensure she feels supported during this challenging time."
Jack rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a thoughtful hum. "So, here's what I'm thinking. We take her to amusement park. You know, Elitch gardens. Charlie always begged me to go but he was too young. Or maybe Lakeside Amusement parks."
The suggestion made Daniel blink in surprise. "Amusement park? You're serious?"
"What is -" Teal'c tilted his head "an amusement park?"
Jack's grin widened as he gestured animatedly. "An amusement park, my friend, is a place of overpriced snacks, dizzying rides, and questionably dressed mascots. It's chaos where kids scream their lungs out and eat way too much cotton candy."
The raised eyebrow Teal'c offered in response spoke volumes. "This does not sound enjoyable."
A soft chuckle escaped Daniel as he shook his head. "It's... an experience, let's put it that way. But kids love it. Cassie would probably get a kick out of it, especially if we're all there."
Leaning forward, Jack's hands moved in emphasis. "She needs a distraction. Her mom's been glued to Carter's bedside, so Cassie's likely been managing things on her own more than usual. A day out would do her good. Us too."
Thoughtfulness settled over Teal'c as his brow furrowed. "If this activity brings joy to Cassandra Fraiser, then I will join you."
"Good man." Jack clapped his hands together, enthusiasm clear. "Now, Lakeside's more like a carnival—small and old-school. But Elitch Gardens? That's the real deal. Big coasters, water rides, the whole package."
"Cassie would probably love Elitch Gardens," Daniel chimed in, his tone thoughtful. "She's adventurous, and it's bigger, so there's more for her to do."
"Perfect." Jack nodded decisively. "Elitch Gardens it is. We'll check on Fraiser tomorrow and then kidnap her kid when she is at work watching over Carter. Then we can spend the day there, and make sure she has a blast."
"Do you believe Cassandra will enjoy these rides?" Teal'c asked, his tone skeptical. "They sound... perilous."
Jack smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, she'll love 'em. And who knows? You might, too."
"I would gladly attempt these 'rides'," Teal'c replied.
Daniel laughed under his breath. "Oh, I can't wait to see that."
The trio sat in silence for a moment, the earlier tension fading into anticipation. Jack stared out over the water, imagining the look on Cassie's face when they surprised her with the trip. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to savour the thought of a day without missions, without injuries or responsibility—just laughter and good company.
"All right," Jack said, breaking the quiet as he stood and stretched. "Let's call it a night. Big day tomorrow."
Daniel nodded, gathering his things. "Agreed. I'll let Janet know we're taking Cassie off her hands."
As they packed up, Teal'c glanced at Jack. "Will there be sustenance at this amusement park?"
"Lots of it," Jack said with a grin. "Funnel cakes, hot dogs, pizza—you name it."
"Funnel cakes," Teal'c repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. "I wish to try this 'funnel cake.'"
"You're in for a treat," Jack replied as they started toward the cabin. "Just wait till you see the deep-fried everything."
With a shared sense of purpose, they headed back to the SGC, the weight of the day's frustrations replaced by the prospect of brightening Cassie's week. Jack would crash in his room on base and tomorrow they'd be ready for their adventure bright and early.
As the last chapter might have already indicated, I am going to include some PTSD into this story. Mel will be back soon but until then, all the team gets some screentime. I am quite proud of the scene with Sam in this chapter. What did you guys think?
Please review!