Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: The Bar

The dimly lit bar just off the main drag of Colorado Springs was filled with the familiar hum of quiet conversation and clinking glasses. Daniel Jackson sat at a corner table, nursing a glass of beer. It was a cozy little dive, far removed from the clinical, secretive halls of Cheyenne Mountain.

Here, no one would ask questions about government clearance or secret programs. It was just people talking about work, life, and sports—simple and straightforward. And for Daniel, simplicity was a rare and welcome luxury.He looked across the table at the man seated opposite him, Matt Fisher, an old friend from his days in academia. Matt had a grin plastered on his face, the kind of grin only a few beers deep could create, as he recounted one of the more infamous memories from Daniel’s past.

"You know, Danny," Matt said, pausing to take a swig of his own drink, "I still can't believe you. The guy who spent years trying to convince the world that pyramids were landing platforms for aliens. And now here you are—working for the government. Deep space radar telemetry, of all things! You? With the military? You gotta admit, it's pretty hilarious."

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, believe me, Matt, I never thought I'd be working for the military either. But here I am." He took a sip of his beer, carefully avoiding any further elaboration.

"Come on, though," Matt pressed, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes. "You’ve gotta see the irony in it. The academic world thought you were a joke—‘Dr. Space Alien,’ they called you. And now you're deep in the thick of classified government work? I mean, who would've guessed?"

Daniel smirked, resting his chin on his hand. "Yeah, yeah, it's a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? And trust me, sometimes I think back to those days and wonder how the hell I ended up here."

Of course, the reality was far more unbelievable than Matt would ever know. Not just working with the military, but traveling through a Stargate to distant planets, meeting alien civilizations, and occasionally saving the world. But Daniel couldn’t exactly share that over a beer. Instead, he just nodded and played along.

Matt shook his head, still grinning. "I remember the first time I read your paper. Hell, most of the department laughed, but I thought—'This guy’s either crazy or he's on to something.' I mean, aliens building pyramids? That’s some next-level sci-fi stuff. But here you are, making it work. I’m proud of you, man. You stuck to your guns."

"Thanks, Matt," Daniel said with a warm smile. "Appreciate it."

As the conversation drifted toward more mundane topics—like Matt’s current research and how the academic world hadn’t changed much since Daniel left—Daniel's attention wandered for a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone enter the bar.

It was Captain Samantha Carter.

She stood in the doorway, looking flushed, as if she’d just finished a long ride. Her helmet dangled casually from her left hand, and she wore black leather biking gear that hugged her athletic frame. Her blonde hair was slightly tousled, and there was a lingering intensity in her eyes. She scanned the bar briefly, but didn’t seem to notice Daniel sitting tucked away in his quiet corner.

Daniel blinked. He had barely ever seen Sam outside of their professional setting, much less looking so... relaxed. Or was "intense" the better word? He couldn't quite decide. She had an openness at work, sure, a warmth that contrasted with the rigidity of military formality. But here, outside the confines of Stargate Command, she seemed... different.

She walked further into the bar, taking a seat at the opposite end of the room, still clutching her helmet. It was clear from her slightly flushed cheeks and the glint in her eyes that she had been riding to clear her head. He couldn’t help but feel a little curious. What had driven her out here, and so far away from the base? And why this bar, of all places?

He considered going over, saying hello. After all, they got along well at work, and Sam was the kind of person you could have a conversation with about pretty much anything. And yet, he was here with an old friend, and it felt like the two worlds—the academic past and the top-secret present—were too far apart to mix. Or maybe it was that seeing Sam outside the structured environment of Stargate Command made him realize how little he actually knew about her life beyond the SGC.

In any case, she hadn’t noticed him, and Daniel wasn’t one for intruding on someone’s personal time. Instead, he quietly settled back into his seat, taking another sip of his beer as Matt continued to talk about his latest academic frustrations.

But his mind kept wandering back to Sam.

He tried to picture her—Captain Carter, the astrophysicist, the brilliant mind who could dismantle alien technology with ease—sitting at that bar, leather jacket zipped down, lost in her thoughts. It was strange, seeing someone so driven and focused in their work appearing like a normal human being outside of the professional walls of the SGC.

"So, what do you actually do in that mountain, anyway?" Matt's voice cut through Daniel’s musings, drawing him back into the present.

"Deep space radar telemetry," Daniel repeated, smiling. The practiced answer slipped out automatically. "Really boring stuff."

Matt snorted. "Yeah, sure. I bet it’s top secret alien-hunting, knowing you."

Daniel raised his glass. "If only you knew."

As Matt launched into another story, Daniel glanced back across the bar one more time, seeing Sam sit at the bar, ordering with a wide grin and setting the laminated menu aside. 

The night was winding down. The soft chatter in the bar had begun to quiet as the crowd thinned, leaving only a few scattered patrons at the tables. The jukebox in the corner hummed a low tune, adding a comforting backdrop to the dwindling conversation. Daniel glanced around the room and noticed Sam again, still at the bar. This time, she had a plate of food in front of her—a burger and fries—and she was tearing into it like she hadn’t eaten in days.

He stifled a grin. It was funny to see Captain Samantha Carter, usually so composed and disciplined, demolishing a plate of greasy food like it was her last meal. The sight brought a certain warmth to her; it was a reminder that she wasn’t just the military’s golden girl or an astrophysics genius—she was also human, with the same cravings and needs as anyone else.

Across from him, Matt was still going on about his daughters, two bright-eyed girls that Daniel vaguely remembered meeting years ago.

“They’re both growing up too fast,” Matt said with a sigh. “Sophie’s starting high school next year, can you believe it? And Emma’s already talking about colleges. I’m not ready, man.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know how you do it. Two teenage girls? That’s gotta be a battlefield all its own.”

Matt groaned. “Oh, you have no idea. But they’re good kids. Mostly. You know, I was always more worried about work when they were little, but now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve prepared more for this stage.”

As Matt’s voice trailed into more details about parenthood, Daniel’s attention drifted again. Sam had finished her meal, pushing the plate aside, and was now engaged in a conversation with the barkeep.

The bartender, a striking woman with chestnut-brown hair tied back in a casual ponytail, looked about Daniel’s age. She was tall, with a confident air, and had a warm, easy smile that seemed to come naturally to her. Sam appeared relaxed, leaning slightly on the bar, her body language open as they talked. 

It didn’t seem like they knew each other, judging by the snippets of conversation that drifted over. The barkeep asked about Sam’s food, something along the lines of, “You worked up quite an appetite there, huh?” to which Sam laughed lightly, “Yeah, I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

The topic shifted to Sam’s drink—something strong from the looks of it—and the bartender raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “A girl who knows her whiskey. That’s rare around here.”

Sam smiled and shrugged. “I like the burn. Clears my head after a long day.” She tapped her helmet lightly, which was resting on the bar next to her. “And a long ride.”

The barkeep’s eyes lingered on the helmet. “Nice bike, by the way. What are you riding?”

Sam’s face lit up in the way Daniel had only seen a handful of times—usually when she was talking about something technical or exciting back at the base. “A Triumph. Bonneville. Just got it tuned up last week.”

The bartender leaned forward a little, clearly interested. “I’ve always had a soft spot for vintage bikes. My ex used to have a Triumph. Maybe I’ll take a ride on yours sometime.” She said it with a teasing lilt, her eyes twinkling.

Sam raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at her lips. “Oh? When are you free?”

The barkeep chuckled, and it became obvious that the conversation had shifted from small talk to something else. The subtle brush of Sam’s hand against the bartender’s as she reached for her glass, the way the two leaned in closer as the bar grew emptier—all the telltale signs of casual flirting were there. Sam’s smile had widened, and she was clearly enjoying herself, the tension from earlier seemingly gone.

Daniel grinned to himself, hiding it behind his beer. He’d never really thought of Sam as someone who flirted—probably because he’d only ever seen her in a professional setting. But here she was, relaxed and engaging, clearly charming the attractive bartender. It was nice to see, really. Sam had earned some time to unwind, and he didn’t think much of it beyond that.

He turned his attention back to Matt, who was still talking about his daughters. “Emma’s thinking about becoming a marine biologist now, can you believe that? This is the same kid who wouldn’t even go near the ocean a few years ago.”
Daniel smiled, nodding, though his mind was still half-focused on the scene at the bar. “That’s great, Matt. She’s got the passion for it?”

“Oh yeah, obsessed with dolphins now. It’s kind of adorable, honestly,” Matt said, his voice softening with that fatherly pride that made Daniel smile.

But as Matt continued talking about his kids, Daniel’s gaze drifted once more to Sam and the bartender. The two women were now standing a little closer, their conversation punctuated by soft laughter and occasional touches—Sam brushing the bartender’s hand again as she reached for her drink, the bartender leaning just a little too far over the bar to hand her something.

It wasn’t something Daniel had expected to witness tonight, but it made him feel happy for her, in a quiet sort of way. It wasn’t easy to see the people you worked with day in and day out as anything other than professionals, especially at the SGC, where everything was so serious, so life-or-death. Seeing Sam loosen up, laugh, flirt—it reminded him that they all needed those moments of normalcy, those brief escapes from the insane world they dealt with every day.

“So, Danny,” Matt said, snapping him back to the present conversation. “What about you? You ever think about settling down? Or are you still married to your work?”

Daniel chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, you know me. Married to the job, as always.” Explaining Sha’re was always too complicated but Daniel’s heart ached at the thought. It had been months since he last saw his wife. Suddenly, sitting here and enjoying his evening seemed like a selfish thing to do and he swallowed the bitter taste in the back of his throat.

Matt gave him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, well, maybe one of these days, you’ll surprise us all. Someone’ll sweep you off your feet, and we’ll all say we never saw it coming.”

Daniel raised his glass, smiling. “Stranger things have happened.”

The bar had quieted even further, and the flirting between Sam and the bartender was no longer just light banter. Sam leaned in as the bartender bent to write on a slip of paper that bore all hallmarks of being a phone number. There was an unmistakable electricity in the air. Sam commented something and the bartender grinned widely, clearly pleased, and gently placed the paper—her phone number—into Sam’s hand, their fingers lingering together. Sam took the slip of paper with her other hand and curled her fingers around the other woman’s, holding it for far longer than necessary, warmth radiating the small action. When the bartender shifted closer, Sam playfully kissed her knuckles, gazing into her eyes as she did before letting go of her hand. 

Sam laughed softly, a genuine sound that Daniel hadn’t heard from her often, and she tucked the number into the inside pocket of her leather jacket. But as she did, her eyes carelessly scanned the room one time—and that’s when she spotted Daniel, sitting in the corner.

Her entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

Daniel had been casually watching the interaction unfold, more amused than anything. He grinned apologetically, raising his beer in a friendly toast. He wasn’t Jack and he saw no reason to tease her about this.

Sam’s face drained of color. The smile vanished, replaced by a wide-eyed look of alarm, and she stiffened so visibly that Daniel could almost hear her spine snap straight. She instantly pulled away from the bartender, who, sensing something was wrong, reached out to touch her arm. This time, Sam flinched back as if the touch had burned her.

“I—uh, sorry,” Sam mumbled, her voice strained and unnatural. “I have to—” She motioned toward Daniel with a quick jerk of her chin, her body language completely transformed. She was no longer the relaxed, flirtatious woman who had kissed the bartender’s hand just moments ago. Now, she looked panicked, almost on edge, her eyes darting between Daniel and the exit.

The bartender, clearly confused, took a half-step back, giving Sam space. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice soft, clearly concerned by the sudden shift.

Sam gave her a tight, almost mechanical smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… work stuff. I need to—uh—go.”

Without another word, Sam stood up, brushing her jacket straight, and crossed the room toward Daniel and Matt, leaving the bartender looking bewildered. Daniel frowned, not sure what had just happened. A moment ago, Sam had been having a great time, and now she looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“Hey, Sam,” Daniel greeted her as she approached, trying to keep the mood light. He gestured to the empty chair at their table. “Why not go back to her? Looks like you could’ve had a really good night.”

He said it with a good-natured grin, but instead of lightening the mood, Sam’s face grew even paler, her eyes darting nervously around the room before settling on him. She looked like she wanted to disappear.

"Hi," Sam said, her voice flat and hollow. She pulled out the chair and sat down, but there was a noticeable tension in her posture, like she was ready to bolt at any second.

Matt, oblivious to the awkwardness, smiled and extended his hand. “Hi there. I’m Matt, old friend of Daniel’s. And you are?”

“Sam,” she replied curtly, shaking his hand. “I, uh… work with Daniel.”

Matt raised an eyebrow, noticing her tone but not commenting on it. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Daniel, still confused by her sudden change in mood, leaned in a little. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked softly, his smile fading as concern took over. “You okay?”

Sam glanced at him, and for a moment, her eyes flickered with something close to desperation. “Daniel,” she whispered, leaning in so Matt couldn’t hear, “please don’t say anything. Not about the bar, not about her.” Her voice was almost pleading, and Daniel felt a pang of confusion. “Please. You can’t… you just can’t.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Don't Ask Don't Tell

Blinking in confusion, he struggled to understand her agitation. "Why? It’s no big deal, I—”

“Daniel.” Her voice, low but firm, cut through his words. Hands clutched tightly in her lap, she leaned in. “I’m serious. Please.”

Though the reason for her distress eluded him, the genuine worry in her eyes prompted a quick nod. “Okay, okay. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

A shaky breath escaped her, but tension lingered in her posture, her fingers fidgeting with an anxious energy.

Across the table, Matt picked up on the unease and leaned forward, trying to lighten the mood. “So, Sam, you and Daniel work together, huh? What do you do?”

The pause stretched as she processed his question. “Yeah, we… work together,” she replied, leaving it deliberately vague.

He caught the hesitation, casting her a concerned look. “Sam, what’s going on? Why are you so freaked out?”

Her gaze flicked around, landing briefly on the bartender now occupied with another customer. “It’s… complicated, Daniel. You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice was gentle, urging.

A hard swallow preceded her reply, eyes brimming with worry as they shifted back to him. “I’ve worked so hard, Daniel. For everything. And if someone finds out, if they…” Her voice cracked, leaving the sentence unfinished. “I’ll lose everything. My career, my—”

His frown deepened, piecing together her words with growing concern. “Sam, what do you mean? You didn’t tell her about—”

A sharp look cut him off, her voice trembling with unmasked fear. “You don’t get it. It’s different for me. I can’t let people know. Don’t ask, don’t tell—it’s not just some rule, Daniel. It’s… it’s my whole life.”

Her words hit him like a punch. The reality of her situation suddenly dawned on him, and he felt a wave of guilt for being so clueless. It wasn’t about the SGC in particular. It was because of the military. For Sam, it wasn’t just about casual flirting. For her, not only as a woman in the military, but someone as accomplished and high-ranking, being outed could destroy everything she had worked for. “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”. Daniel never considered its effects, but for someone like Sam her sexuality wasn’t just personal, it was dangerous.

“Oh, Sam,” Daniel whispered, his heart aching for her. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

Her gaze dropped, fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of the table. “Just… please don’t say anything. Not to anyone.”

A serious nod confirmed her request. “I won’t. I promise.”

Though a small, grateful smile touched her lips, tension clung to her features. Across from them, Matt watched the exchange in silence, sipping his drink with a puzzled look as he glanced back and forth, clearly missing the undercurrents.

Straightening in her seat, she put on the familiar, stoic mask Daniel had seen so often in the field—the one that declared nothing could touch her. But cracks showed in the way her hands fidgeted, fingers curling and uncurling against the worn leather of her jacket. Her eyes occasionally darted toward the bartender, who was casting a watchful gaze from the other end of the bar, silently asking, *Are you okay?*

Abruptly, she stood, as if her decision to leave had just crystallized. “I should go,” she murmured, her voice tight and hurried.

A gentle hand on her wrist stopped her mid-step. “Sam, wait. Please.”

For a heartbeat, she froze, her eyes darting from his hand on her wrist to his face, and he quickly released her, showing his open palm. “Please, Sam. Just give me five minutes.”

Hesitation flickered over her face, torn between flight and staying put. After a tense breath, she sank back into her seat, casting another anxious glance toward the bartender, whose eyes held a protective glint as she monitored them. Her concern, only increasing Sam’s unease, was unmistakable.

Leaning in, Daniel kept his voice low and gentle. “Look, Sam… I don’t care. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I did. I didn’t realize what you were really saying earlier. But I swear, I’m not going to tell anyone. Not the military, not anyone.”

Her gaze stayed on the table, jaw clenched tight, her posture defensive. Though her silence spoke volumes, she was listening.

He pressed on, voice unwavering. “I mean it. I don’t care if you’re a lesbian or bisexual, whatever. That’s not what matters to me.” A brief pause as he chose his words carefully. “What matters is you, Sam. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I want. And back there, you were happy with her. That’s enough for me.”

A swallow caught in her throat, her eyes lifting for a split second.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he promised again. “Least of all the military.” He let out a soft chuckle, hoping to ease the tension. “They’d be foolish to lose someone like you over something like this. You’re brilliant. The best. Anyone who doesn’t see that… they’re the ones missing out, not you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched to a reluctant smile she didn’t quite trust herself to release.

“You’re not just a great soldier—you’re a great person. And anyone who tries to take that from you… they’re idiots.”

Having quietly observed so far, Matt finally spoke up, voice thoughtful. “He’s right, you know. I was reading that homosexuality is natural, even in animals—dolphins, lions, penguins. Discriminating against people for it? That’s complete bullshit.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes as she looked at Matt.

Leaning forward, Matt’s expression was earnest. “I’m with Daniel. What someone does in their personal life? Nobody else’s business. It doesn’t make you any less of a person, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you any less of a badass at your job. The military—or anyone—would be blind not to see that.”

Gratitude washed over Daniel as Matt’s support landed just when Sam needed it. Though Matt barely knew her, he was defending her without a second thought, and slowly, her tension started to ebb as both of them tried to reassure her.

“And trust me,” Matt added, nodding in Daniel’s direction, “he won’t say anything. I’d vouch for that. He’d rather die than betray a friend.”

A soft smile tugged at Daniel’s lips, feeling grateful. “Yeah,” he said, eyes back on Sam. “You don’t have to worry. I’ve got your back.” And he would repeat it however often Sam needed him to. This was about something so fragile and vulnurable, she deserved his effort and patience.

A pause hung in the air, thick with the emotions they’d yet to voice. Her hands still shook slightly, but her breathing calmed, and she seemed to be absorbing their words. At last, she looked up, meeting Daniel’s gaze with a tentative question in her eyes.

“You really don’t care?” she asked quietly, voice so fragile it seemed to teeter on disbelief. It did not fit the self-confident woman he had gotten to know in the last year and it bothered him to hear that vulnurability with none of her normal snark or easy manner.

He shook his head. “Not at all. You’re still Sam, and you’re still my friend. That’s all that matters.”

Her face softened, a hint of relief lighting her eyes. The nod she gave was small, hesitant, but genuine.

“Thanks,” she whispered, barely audible. “I didn’t realize you’d be… so understanding.”

“Of course I am,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’m your friend." He would say it another fifty times if he needed to

Another flicker of her gaze toward the bartender, who continued watching, brow knit in concern. Heat crept up her cheeks and Daniel supressed a smirk. Had Jack seen her like this, he would not let his 2IC live it down. Damn it, Jack would have a field day with Sam oogling that woman and Daniel knew for a fact his friend wouldn't mind Sam's sexuality beyond the teasing it would allow him to do. But still, he'd promised he wouldn't tell.

He smiled reassuringly. “You should talk to her, you know,” he suggested gently. “You deserve to be happy. Don’t let anyone—or anything—take that from you.”

As if sensing their conversation, the bartender approached their table, her eyes lingering on Sam with a look that was both gentle and focused, checking in on her without pressing too hard.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, her voice steady. “Everything okay over here? Anyone need anything?”

The prior playful banter absent, she spoke with a warmth that reached through her gaze. Daniel could see she was really asking if Sam was okay.

Straightening a bit, Sam smiled, the faint blush stubborn on her cheeks. “No, thanks,” she replied softly. “I’m good.”

With a nod, the bartender glanced between them. “Just thought I’d check. I could call a taxi or something if you need it,” she added casually, her hand moving to rest on the back of Sam’s chair, clearly ready to intervene if needed. Daniel winced at the idea how the scene might have looked from an outsider’s perspective.

Shaking her head, Sam waved her off, the shadow of a smile on her lips. “No, no, I’m fine. Really.”

With the awkwardness heavy on the room, Daniel cleared his throat The bartender’s concern for Sam was obvious, and as much as he appreciated her protective instinct, he didn’t want her to think he was part of the problem. He caught Sam’s eye, silently asking if she was okay with him speaking. Sam gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, her expression still tense but a little more at ease than before.

“Uh, hey,” Daniel began, offering the bartender a tentative smile. “I just wanted to apologize for, uh… causing a bit of a disruption earlier.” He gestured vaguely between himself and Sam, trying to explain without making things worse. “I’m Daniel, by the way. We work together. Her seeing me here just caught her off guard.”

The bartender’s gaze sharpened slightly, her posture straightening. “Caught her off guard?” she asked, her tone now laced with a cool edge. “Why would that freak her out?”

Swallowing, Daniel glanced at Sam again. He didn’t want to speak for her. After a moment’s hesitation, Sam inhaled deeply and looked down at the table, her voice quiet and uncertain when she spoke.

“It’s because…” She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, but the bartender’s shifting attention seemed to give her a sliver of courage. “It’s because no one at work knows I’m lesbian,” she admitted in a low voice, just loud enough for the bartender to hear. “And if they did… I could lose my job.”

There was a beat of silence. The bartender’s expression softened, her gaze fixed on Sam with an intensity that was almost palpable. Gone was the playful energy she’d had earlier, replaced by something fiercer, more serious. She slowly crouched down so she was at Sam’s eye level, her hand hovering just shy of touching her arm, as if offering comfort but respecting the distance.

“I’m sorry,” the bartender said quietly, her voice gentle but resolute. “I get it. It’s bullshit and shouldn’t be that way but I realise it still is. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s lips trembled into a weak smile, but her anxiety was still evident. “It’s just… it’s not safe. Not yet.”

Guilt tightened Daniel's chest. He hadn’t intended to put Sam in such a vulnerable position, but seeing the way the dark-haired woman looked at her—like she’d go to war for her if it came to that—eased some of his worry. At least Sam had someone here who had her back, even if it was someone she’d just met.

To give the two women some space, Daniel leaned back but he still wanted both of them to know - if only to keep the bartender's ire off himself. “Look, I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he said softly. “I won’t out you, or anything. I would never do that. I’m sorry if… if it felt like I put you in that position.”

Sam shook her head, her expression softening as she glanced at him. “I know, Daniel. It’s okay. It’s just… complicated.”

For a moment, the bartender remained crouched, her gaze lingering protectively on Sam. Then she stood in a fluid motion and turned back to Daniel, assessing him with a newfound curiousity. “So, you’re not here to cause trouble for her?”

Daniel raised his hands in mock surrender, giving her an earnest look. “Definitely not. I’m just… a colleague. A friend. I just didn’t realize how this would come across. I’m sorry.”

The bartender studied him for a moment longer before giving a slight nod, her posture relaxing. “Alright.” She glanced back at Sam, her expression softening again. “If you ever need anything… you know where to find me. Or if you want me to get rid of him,” she added with a faint smirk, “just say the word.”

Despite her offer to get rid of Daniel, the woman lingered, her gaze still on Sam, as if deciding whether to return to the bar or stand guard. There was a quiet, almost unspoken agreement that the tension wasn’t entirely gone yet, and Daniel sensed she wasn’t leaving until she was sure Sam was alright.

"So," the bartender said, crossing her arms in front of her but keeping her posture loose. "You two work together?"

Gods, Daniel hated that part. And he'd just gotten through it with Matt. Explaining what you did for a living with all the secrecy around it was one hell of a motivator to cut ties with anyone from his former life and to avoid any new acqaintances. "Yeah, in a way. We’re part of a… team." He avoided going into too much detail. He needed to work on his delivery, it seemed, for the woman raised a brow at him before her eyes flicked to Sam, as if trying to match them into a job where they worked together. Daniel wasn't sure if he should feel insulted that apparently the idea seemed so strange to the bartender.

"Tough gig?" she asked Sam, her voice still gentle.

More relaxed now though still fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve, Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah. It can be. High stress, long hours."

"I figured." The bartender’s lips quirked into a brief smile, though her eyes stayed focused on Sam. "You attacked that steak as if you hadn’t eaten in weeks. And the fries. And the nuggets."

Daniel snorted. When he'd first gotten to know Sam he'd been surprised how much the woman could eat. That had been before he knew the hours she put in at the gym, her physique mostly hidden by fatigues and now leather biking gear. And, of course, Sam forgot to eat when engaged with her science projects. "She never takes a break. Trust me, I’ve tried."

Sam shot him a sideways look, but it lacked any real bite, and he could tell she was calming down. "I do take breaks, Daniel," she said with a half-smile. "It’s just that there is a lot at stake and the quicker I figure out how everything works, the more efficient we can work."

Unimpressed, Daniel raised both brows at her. “When I came to work this morning, you still hadn’t left. And I had taken yesterday off. You’ve been there for three days and Sam, I am telling you, your house plants are dead and it’s your fault.”

The bartender stilled for a moment, and a slow smile spread across her face as she processed Daniel’s words. “Sam, huh?” she said softly, clearly liking the sound of the name. There was a warmth in her voice that hadn’t been there before, and she met Sam’s eyes with a more personal connection. “Well, Sam, since you seem to miss meals as well as neglect your house plants, can I bring you something else? On the house.”

Sam smiled again, but this time there was a touch of embarrassment in it. She knew what was coming next, and she sighed a little, her grin turning self-deprecating. “Thanks, but I’m fine. And as for the whole… working too much thing, well—" She paused, glancing at Daniel and Matt before finishing, "—I’m in the military. I have a bunk on base and we have a commissionery. It’s not that I don’t take breaks or don’t eat.”

The bartender’s smile faltered for a second as understanding dawned. “Ah.” Her tone softened even more, and her eyes reflected a deep empathy. Apparently, she understood the implications to Sam’s job immediately and drew the correct conclusions to their earlier conversation of Sam being out at work. She reached out and touched Sam’s shoulder, offering her a quiet moment of support and reassurance. "That makes sense." She paused, then asked, “Which branch?”

“Air Force,” Sam replied.

The bartender gave a soft, almost rueful smile, her eyes flicking briefly to the other customers in the bar as if checking if anyone was paying attention. Satisfied that they weren’t, she leaned in just a little, speaking quietly. “My brothers—both older—one’s in the Army, the other’s Navy.” She gave a small shrug. “My Army brother... well, he’s gay. Got booted a couple years back because of it.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly in sympathy, her shoulders visibly relaxing as the woman shared her story. “I’m sorry,” Sam said, and there was a deep sincerity in her voice. “That’s awful.”

The bartender shook her head. “Yeah, it sucked. He was a damn good soldier. But, you know, they didn’t really care how good he was.” She let out a small, bitter laugh. “It’s such crap. He worked his whole life for that, and then... just gone.”

Sam nodded, her lips pressed together tightly, clearly understanding the weight of that experience all too well. "It's the same for me," she admitted quietly. "I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, and one wrong move… I lose everything.”

The bartender nodded, her hand still resting gently on Sam’s shoulder. “I get it,” she said quietly. “But for what it’s worth, you’ve got at least one person who doesn’t give a damn about any of that.” She smiled warmly, and squeezed Sam’s shoulder, silently promising to keep Sam’s secret safe.

Watching the interaction, Daniel had a sense of relief washing over him. He had been worried about how the woman might react to Sam's complicated situation. It might have scared her away, knowing that Sam might not be able to give her what she wanted. But the woman had stepped up, offering Sam the kind of support he couldn’t fully give in this particular situation.

Seated beside them, Matt nodded slightly. “You know, it’s good to hear someone else say that. People should be allowed to just... live. Be who they are without all this judgment.” He glanced at Daniel, a smile breaking through. “I’ve got two daughters, and we try to raise them to know that love is love. Doesn’t matter who it’s with.”

Sometimes, Matt's natural ability to find the right words at the right time still astounded Daniel. Even though Matt had said nothing new, the finality of it seemed soothing and the way he brought up his daughters turned the issue into a more worldly and less personal one.“Exactly,” he added, looking at Sam with a soft smile. “The world’s changing. Slowly, but it’s changing. And it’s only going to get better from here.”

Sam’s eyes flicked between Daniel, Matt, and the bartender, and for the first time since she’d sat down, she seemed to relax fully. She still had her guard up, but it wasn’t quite as high as before. “I hope so,” she said, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.

With a gentle squeeze of Sam’s shoulder, the bartender stepped back. “If you need anything, just holler.”

A genuine smile broke across Sam’s face, blue eyes lighting up with gratitude and relief. “Thanks,” she replied seriously and she turned to watch the woman go. The bartender caught her gaze and this time, flirtation returned into the woman's parting grin.

They sat together in quiet conversation for another hour. Matt told Sam of his daughters and their conversation had been easygoing. However, Sam's attention kept drifting away and every few minutes, she checked over her shoulder, gaze flickering towards the bar, where the bartender moved between patrons with effortless grace. Each time Sam caught a glimpse of her, her expression softened, though she tried to mask it. The way the bartender kept an eye on their table, checking in on Sam while pouring drinks, didn’t go unnoticed. Grins exchanged between Daniel and Matt and they finally drained the last of their beer.

Reaching for his wallet, Matt raised an eyebrow at Daniel. A glance at his watch nearly prompted a curse—well past midnight, the bar had emptied considerably. Nodding to his old friend, he turned toward Sam, unsurprised to find her attention elsewhere.

With a grin, Daniel leaned over and nudged her elbow. “Earth to Sam?”

Blinking, she snapped out of whatever daydream had claimed her. “Huh? Oh, sorry.” Fingers traced the rim of her glass, lost in thought.

“We’re heading out. You coming with us, or sticking around?”

Hesitation flickered across her face for just a second before she glanced over her shoulder again. The bartender gave Sam a soft smile, not flirtatious this time, but warm, encouraging. And just like that, Daniel knew Sam had no intention of leaving.

“I think I’ll stick around a bit longer,” she said, her voice casual but her expression betraying something else—something hopeful.

Grinning, Daniel exchanged a knowing look with Matt before turning back to Sam. Leaning in closer, he lowered his voice, teasing but genuine. “Good luck,” he whispered, his playful tone underscored by sincerity. “And I want to hear every detail tomorrow.”

Another blush took over her cheeks, but she smiled back, mock-glare directed at him. “Don’t count on it,” she muttered, lighthearted, the tension around her having eased significantly.

As he stood, Daniel gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, his smile softening. “Seriously, Sam. Go enjoy yourself.”

He and Matt headed toward the bar to settle their bill before stepping outside. A final glance back revealed the bartender had noticed Sam was staying. Her smile widened, eyes meeting Sam’s in a way that told Daniel all he needed to know.

An unspoken connection lingered between them, something building that had been interrupted earlier but was now finding its way back.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Mel

As the door closed behind Daniel and Matt, Sam felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation settle in her chest. She sat back in the booth, trying to calm her nerves. The bar was quieter now, just a few stragglers nursing the last of their beers, and she could hear the faint clinking of glasses as the bartender took care of closing duties. The place would be shutting down soon, but Sam had stayed behind for a reason.

Across the room, the bartender was finishing up with a couple paying their tab, smiling politely as she took their cash. The woman glanced in Sam’s direction, and when their eyes met, the bartender’s smile shifted—softening, almost as if she’d been waiting for this moment.

Sam’s heart fluttered, and she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips in return.

With the bar nearly empty and no rush left to tend to, the bartender made her way to the counter and poured two drinks. Sam watched her. There was something mesmerizing about her. The casual confidence in the way she moved, the way her forearms flexed as she worked.

But also the care she seemed to take as she glanced back at her, as if checking to make sure Sam was still comfortable.

When the bartender finally approached the booth, she paused just shy of sitting down, holding the two glasses in her hands. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with a playful edge, like she was already teasing out the space between them.

She wasn’t pushing, though—her eyes were warm, and she seemed to be waiting for Sam to give her permission.

Sam grinned, her nerves easing as she nodded. "I’d like that."

The bartender returned the smile, sliding into the booth—but instead of sitting across from Sam, she chose the spot next to her. The move was forward, yes, but it wasn’t overly bold. She sat close enough for Sam to feel the warmth of her presence, but not so close that it felt overwhelming. There was still space between them, enough for Sam to decide if she wanted to close the gap.

"I brought us some sodas," the bartender said, setting one glass in front of Sam. "We’re past the time for alcohol anyway." She nodded toward the door where Sam had parked her motorcycle. "I figured you should probably stay sober, given your ride home."

Sam chuckled softly, appreciating both the thoughtfulness and the gentle way the bartender seemed to be looking out for her. "Good call," she said, taking the drink and swirling the straw absentmindedly. "Thank you. I would have hated to say no to sharing a drink with you."

Leaning back slightly, she studied Sam with a mixture of curiosity and something warmer. “I didn’t want to assume,” she murmured, her voice lowering as if they were sharing a secret, "but I was kind of hoping you’d stick around."

Sam’s breath caught, her pulse quickening as she met the bartender’s gaze. There was something so easy about this—no pressure, no games, just the soft hum of interest between them. It was flirting, sure, but done with care, always checking to make sure Sam was comfortable with every step.

"I did want to stay," Sam admitted, feeling a little more confident now, though her voice was still soft. "I… liked talking to you earlier."

The bartender’s smile widened just a fraction, her eyes brightening with warmth. "I liked talking to you too," she replied, leaning in just a bit more. "Though I think we got interrupted before we could really get to know each other."

Heat crept up Sam's neck but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she let herself relax, taking a sip of her soda to give herself a moment to gather her thoughts. The closeness wasn’t uncomfortable; it was… nice. So achingly nice.

“You’re… different,” Sam said quietly, the words falling out unpolished but sincere. She wasn’t sure how else to express it. She didn’t mean it as a cliché pickup line.

The bartender chuckled softly, her eyes flicking down to the table for a moment before meeting Sam’s gaze again. "Different how?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice, but Sam could tell she was genuinely curious.

"Just…" Sam hesitated, searching for the right words. "I guess you’re not what I expected. You feel … safe? But not in the boring way."

The bartender tilted her head, clearly enjoying Sam’s honesty. "That sounds like it’s a good thing?"

The tension drained out of Sam completely. "Definitely a good thing."

Once more, the woman’s smile softened, and she reached for her own soda, taking a small sip. She stayed quiet for a moment, letting the comfortable silence settle between them. Her hand rested on the table, close enough that if Sam wanted to, she could reach out and close the distance. But she didn’t push, didn’t rush anything. She was letting Sam set the pace, and Sam appreciated it more than she could say.

Not giving herself the chance to overthink this, Sam reached out and gently took the other woman’s hand. Their fingers slid together easily, the connection natural. A rush of warmth flooded through the soldier at the simple contact.

The bartender’s reaction was immediate. Her grin widened, clearly pleased with Sam’s boldness. There was no mistaking the spark in her eyes now, the subtle amusement mixing with something deeper. “Well, look at you,” she said softly, her voice teasing but affectionate. “Confident, huh?”

Sam didn’t pull back; she tightened her grip, feeling Mel’s thumb glide slowly over her knuckles in a way that was deliberate, intentional.

“I’m working on it,” Sam said, her voice quieter now, but there was no hesitation in her words.

The bartender smiled, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re doing pretty damn well,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving Sam’s.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, the silence between them thick but not uncomfortable. Sam’s hand stayed in the bartender’s, their fingers still intertwined on the table.

“You know, I don’t think I ever introduced myself properly. I’m Melanie, but you can call me Mel. Or,” she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a soft, playful whisper, “you can call me ‘darling’ whenever you feel ready for that.”

Warm brown eyes searched hers, gauging if she had overstepped. Gods knew she hadn’t. A shiver run down Sam’s spine at the way Mel’s voice slid over the word darling. Her breath hitched, and when the bartender leant back, Sam followed.

“Mel,” Sam said softly, almost testing the name on her lips. It felt good to say, like they’d already crossed a line into something more intimate. And the way Mel smiled when she said it made Sam’s heart skip a beat.

“I like the way you say my name,” Mel said, her voice carrying that same warm, teasing edge. “I could get used to it.”

Something eased around Sam’s chest and she laughed softly. “Well, you’ll probably hear it again.”

Mel’s grin deepened, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Good. Because I’m not letting you run off just yet.” She shifted a little closer, still holding Sam’s hand, her fingers continuing to lightly caress her skin.

“So,” the woman started, turning to face Sam and leaning against the backrest with her shoulder. Her head tilted in contemplation, “you really in the Air Force, huh? What's that like? Boot camp and all that?”

Blinking, Sam needed a moment to adjust to the change in conversation. She took a sip of her soda, thinking back to those early days of training. “Yeah, boot camp was… intense,” she said with a small laugh. “A lot of screaming, a lot of running. Pretty much what you’d expect. But I made it through.” She shrugged. “Still a sausage fest, though. Too many guys trying to act like they’re all that.”

When Mel grinned at that, her lips curling into a smile that made her dark eyes glint in the low light of the bar, Sam couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to her soft lips.

"I can imagine. Bet they didn't know what hit them when you walked in.”

In the back of the bar, the dim light almost made it feel like Sam had stepped into another world. Gone through the wormhole and this world was just her and Mel and it felt so right to talk to her. “Yeah, something like that. It’s still a challenge sometimes. You’ve got to fight twice as hard to be taken seriously, especially as a woman.” Sam glanced at Mel, taking in the way her shirt enunciated her wide, muscular shoulders without seeming like Mel had chosen it to show off her assets. She certainly must work out and Sam quickly shook her head before she could imagine Mel breathless at the gym with sweat covering her forehead and that easy grin of hers. “Did you ever think about joining? With your brothers and all?”

A soft sigh escaped across the table, followed by the quiet clink of Mel’s glass as she took a slow sip. “I thought about it, sure. There was always this pressure, you know? Family tradition, all that. My father was in the military and my grandmother served as a mechanic in the Women Army Corps during World War two. Both my grandfathers served too. But in the end…” She shrugged, her broad shoulders lifting slightly. “I didn’t have the drive to go through all that knowing I would have to hide who I am. I respect the hell out of people who can, like you, but I couldn’t do it.”

Fingers traced the rim of the glass in front of her, circling over the smooth, cool edge. A part of her wanted to keep Mel’s focus, wanted to share without hesitation, but some parts of her story never came easy. “I know what you mean,” the words came out quieter than intended, layered with more than just understanding. Choosing the right words felt like balancing on the edge of a steep drop. “When I first joined up, I didn’t really… know.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Mel said, her voice soft and full of understanding, pulling Sam back into the moment.

A small nod carried the weight of all those years. "It was," she admitted. “For a long time, I thought maybe I just hadn’t met the right guy yet. There’s this script you’re supposed to follow, right? Go to school, focus on a career, maybe get married, have kids.”

Her fingers drummed lightly, memories of her early drive and ambitions flashing by. “But for me, it was always the career. Becoming an astronaut—that was my goal.”

The words seemed to stop Mel mid-thought, her brow lifting with a quiet awe. “An astronaut?”

A hint of a grin spread across her lips, enjoying Mel’s reaction. “I have a Ph.D. in astrophysics.”

“Damn,” came the muttered reply, Mel’s eyes wide with appreciation. “You’re way smarter than I am.”

The compliment drew a soft laugh, a flush warming her cheeks. “I wouldn’t say that,” she replied, her grin widening. “I just... always had this fascination with space—it was hard not to fall in love with it. But it’s a lot more math and physics than anything glamorous.” She paused, shrugging modestly. “It took years of studying and a lot of sleepless nights, but it’s where my passion’s always been. I guess I was just stubborn enough to stick with it. I buried myself in the work, pushed through everything because if I could just get there—if I could make it into space—nothing else would matter. All the expectations, the doubts, the confusion about what I was feeling… it would all fall away.”

Pained understanding furrowed Mel‘s brow, her eyes never leaving Sam’s. “But it didn’t, did it?”

Sam shook her head. “No. It took me until my mid-twenties to really figure it out. I remember thinking for so long that I just needed to be more focused, more driven. I told myself I didn’t have time for relationships. And that worked—for a while. But then there were these moments, these little flashes where I’d notice women. Not in the way I’d been taught to, though. It was more than admiration, but I pushed it down. I didn’t want to deal with what it meant.”

Her eyes flicked up, suddenly uncertain. Maybe she was saying too much, maybe weighing the conversation down with more than Mel had bargained for. Hesitation slowed her words, waiting, scanning for any hint of impatience or disinterest in the gaze across from her. But there was none. Mel’s attention stayed on her, her expression carrying nothing but openness. If anything, Mel looked completely engaged, like she was hanging on to every word Sam was saying, like she wanted to be right here, in this moment with her. Her hand, still wrapped around Sam’s, squeezed gently, encouraging her to keep going.

She paused, her fingers unconsciously tightening around Mel’s. “I think deep down I always knew. But it took me so long to reconcile it. When I finally admitted to myself that I liked women, it was like this huge piece of the puzzle clicked into place, but at the same time... it felt like I was staring at a new set of challenges.”

This time it was Mel’s turn to laugh slightly and shake her head. “It was difficult for me and I figured it out when I was still in high school. Having a gay older brother certainly helped and I already knew how my family and friends would react. It’s not easy. I can’t imagine how it must have been for you.”

Sam swallowed hard, pushing past the knot in her throat. “It’s not. And I can’t claim, I don’t still struggle with it. I still find myself looking over my shoulder, worrying about who might see me, who might talk. Even tonight, I felt that old panic creeping in when Daniel showed up.”

“Damn, now I feel honoured. I would never have guessed that you were nervous. You acted so sure when you flirted with me earlier. Sexy, intelligent, and brave—that’s a hell of a combination.”

“It’s not hard to flirt when you are standing behind the bar. Especially when you were so easy to talk to. It felt right, and I didn't want to let that go.”

It had been all too easy. With her wild soft waves of hair framing Mel’s face, her eyes deep, almost black, but with a warm, playful glint that sparkled under the dim lights, she’d instantly drawn Sam’s attention. And then her smile had been so disarmingly charming, and there was an undeniable confidence in the way she carried herself, a kind of casual strength that Sam found irresistibly attractive.

Her gaze drifted down to Mel’s lips again, the soft curve inviting and tantalizing, and Sam’s tongue darted out to brush over her own lips. Opening up to this woman had been so easy, felt so natural and everything about her pulled Sam in.

And then Mel leaned in, just slightly, her lips curving into a wicked smile that made Sam’s breath catch. “You’re still thinking about your friend Daniel, or are you thinking about something a little more… fun?” Mel’s voice was teasing, her words dipped in challenge, and Sam couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips.

“Definitely something more fun,” she shot back, her voice low, daring Mel to keep going.

Mel’s grin widened, and without missing a beat, she shifted her hand, her fingers sliding up Sam’s wrist and forearm in a slow, lingering caress. The move was forward, deliberate, and it sent a shiver of desire racing down Sam’s spine. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel the heat of Mel’s touch lingering even after her fingers moved on.

Sam’s heart hammered in her chest, her breath shallow as she locked eyes with Mel. Anticipation charged the air, and Sam knew exactly where this was heading.

“Sam,” Mel said softly, her voice a low hum as she leaned in closer. Her lips were just inches from Sam’s ear now, and the warmth of her breath sent another shiver coursing through her. “You okay?”
Sam’s response came out in a quiet, breathless laugh. “Better than okay.”

Mel’s thumb traced slow, tantalizing patterns over Sam’s skin at the crook of her elbow, sending shivers up her spine. Her entire body seemed to vibrate. Then, as if reading the tension perfectly, Mel leaned forward, her lips brushing lightly against Sam’s jaw. The touch was feather-light, but it set Sam on fire, her body instinctively leaning into the warmth of Mel’s presence.

Without waiting for a response, Mel let her lips trail down toward Sam’s neck, each press of her mouth deliberate, teasing. Sam’s breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second as she felt the warm press of Mel’s lips at her pulse point.

The sensation was overwhelming, sending waves of desire rippling through Sam. She barely registered that her free hand had moved of its own accord, gripping the edge of the table tightly as she tried to steady herself.

Mel’s voice, low and sultry, whispered in her ear. “May I kiss you?”

Time seemed to still. The tension between them was unbearable, and yet, the way Mel asked—so confident, but still waiting for Sam’s permission—sent a thrill of anticipation through her. She turned her head just slightly, meeting Mel’s gaze.

“Please,” Sam breathed.

And then Mel’s lips were on hers. It started soft—exploratory, slow—but quickly deepened as both of them gave in to the intensity between them. Sam’s fingers slid around Mel’s waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grew more urgent. She tasted hot and safe and like the soda they’d just drunk and Sam let out a quiet sound. Mel’s breath hitched, pushing closer, her hand slipping into Sam’s hair, the other resting against her neck, her thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind Sam’s ear in a way that made her knees weak. She could get lost in this, in her—and for once, Sam let herself surrender to the moment.

Sam didn’t care about who might be watching, didn’t care about the consequences that usually weighed on her mind. All she cared about, in that moment, was the intoxicating feeling of Mel’s lips on hers. Her hand trailed up, caressing that wonderful dip of Mel’s waist and the woman melted into her.

They pulled away after what felt like an eternity but also not long enough, both of them breathing heavily, lips still just barely touching. Sam couldn’t help but grin, the euphoria of the moment flooding through her. Then she laughed, a soft, genuine laugh that felt like it had been buried inside her for far too long. Without thinking, she buried her face in the crook of Mel’s neck, pressing her nose against the soft curls, her laughter muffled by the warmth that smelt of the sweat and sweet, spilt alcohol of an almost finished shift.

Mel chuckled too, clearly enjoying the moment, her fingers sliding down to gently massage the back of Sam’s neck, holding her close. "That was amazing,” she murmured, her voice rough with affection and a touch of playful disbelief. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second you walked in here, looking all kinds of stunning in that leather.”

Sam’s laugh grew, still muffled against Mel’s hair, but when she pulled back enough to meet her eyes, her expression had shifted into something more teasing, her lips curling into a grin. “You mean while I was eating? Were you just sitting there wondering if I dedicate that much attention to everything I do?”

Laughter erupted from Mel, her deep, rich voice reverberating through Sam’s chest, making the moment even more intoxicating. “I might’ve been thinking that, yeah.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement, though the desire hadn’t left them. “But if that’s true… damn, I’m in for something special.”

A playful grin spread across Sam’s face as she leaned back slightly. “Well, I’m always dedicated when I’m eating out,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to add a teasing edge. “I always make sure to leave only satisfaction.”

Surprise flashed in Mel’s eyes and a disbelieving laugh before she shook her head and groaned in mock frustration, her lips quirking into a wicked smile. “You’re killing me,” she said, shaking her head. “Now I’m really sad I have to wait to find that out.”

With an eyebrow raised, Sam leaned in as if to kiss her again, only to pause just inches from her lips. “Why wait?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper.

Yet Mel’s smile softened, and she leaned back slightly, just enough to create a sliver of space between them. “Because,” she said, her tone gentle but firm, “I don’t do one-night stands. Especially not with gorgeous Air Force women I really like and hope to get to know better.”

The teasing smile faded from Sam’s face, replaced by something more genuine, her heart skipping a beat at Mel’s sincerity. It was refreshing to encounter such directness, the confidence Mel exuded in knowing what she wanted and setting clear boundaries without hesitation..

“I’d like that too,” Sam admitted, her voice quiet but filled with truth. She hadn’t expected any of this, not tonight—not this connection, this warmth. But now that it was happening, she didn’t want it to end.

Mel’s face lit up at Sam’s words, and in an instant, she leaned in and kissed her again—this time slower, deeper, but just as passionate. Sam melted into the kiss, her hands sliding back to Mel’s waist, holding her close. The kiss felt like a reward, a promise of more to come, and Sam couldn’t help but smile into it, feeling a sense of rightness settle over her.

When they finally pulled apart again, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other’s

As the kiss ended, their breathing slowed, and Sam felt a soft, tingling warmth in the aftermath. Mel pulled back just slightly, her forehead still resting lightly against Sam’s, as if neither of them were quite ready to part.

“That was perfect,” Mel whispered.

As if to pull them out, the sound of a small bell sounded and, with a sudden realization, Mel jerked upright, her eyes wide.

“Crap,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder toward the bar. “I’m still on the clock.” With a frustrated huff, she squeezed Sam’s hand before letting go, her fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “I’ve got to settle tabs and close up. I’m so sorry.”

With a chuckle, Sam watched as Mel slipped out of the booth, moving with quick, graceful efficiency. “Go be responsible. I’ll be here,” Sam teased, leaning back against the worn leather of the seat, her heart still pounding in her chest.

Mel shot her a wink over her shoulder as she moved back to the bar, grabbing a tray and cleaning up with a practiced hand. Sam stayed where she was, nursing her soda, but her gaze never strayed far from Mel. She couldn’t help but admire the way she moved—tall, confident, and sure. Every now and then, Mel would catch her staring and smile, sending a flutter of something dangerous through Sam’s chest.

As the bar slowly emptied out, Sam found herself glancing toward the door, thinking about leaving and letting the night end on a high note. But she couldn’t. She wanted more. She didn’t want the connection they’d shared to be cut short by the rush of everyday life.

Mel wiped down the last table, glanced around, and then met Sam’s eyes. There was a question in her gaze, and Sam gave her a small smile as she grabbed her helmet from the bench beside her.

As she approached the bar, the last patron finished his payment. With a huff, he raised a hand and trudged out the door, leaving Mel free again. Their eyes met, and Sam’s heart skipped a beat as they shared a smile that felt charged with the promise of what had just happened.

“Would you mind if I waited for you to close up?” Sam asked. “I don’t want to rush off.”

The slow, pleased grin that bloomed on Mel’s face nearly took Sam’s breath. “I wouldn’t mind at all.” She tossed her rag back behind the bar, clearly in no hurry to make her departure. “Just give me a minute.”

With a nod, Sam paid and then headed outside to wait for Mel. The cool air felt refreshing on her cheeks after the warmth of the bar and she pressed her fingers against her cheeks, willing the blush to dissipate. It didn’t, of course. She stood near her bike, taking in the stillness of the small-town parking lot, illuminated only by a dim streetlamp and the soft glow of the bar’s neon sign.

While she waited, Sam jammed her hands into her pockets and tilted her head up. Clear and crisp, her view of the stars was unobstructed. How many of those stars had she seen as the sun in a different sky? In the beginning, Sam had still counted the worlds she’d visited but by now, there had been so many. Her life had turned out so differently than she’d expected.

“You really are a stargazer, aren’t you?”

Lips curved into a smile and warmth settled in Sam’s chest as she turned. Mel pulled the door to the bar closed and locked it before stepping to Sam’s side. Her dark curls were loose now, falling wildly around her face, and she’d slung a leather jacket over her shoulder. She followed Sam’s example and tilted her head up and Sam couldn’t help but follow the curve of her neck, mouth going dry as she imagined pressing kisses against the soft expanse of skin. Her heart did that now-familiar skip.

Tilting her head up, Sam nodded. “How could I not be? Every one of these stars has a story. Each light could be a new world, waiting to be explored.”

“Beautiful,” Mel murmured.

“Yes.”

A soft, dark chuckle. “I didn’t mean the stars, Sam.”

The flush returned and Sam looked down, almost loosing herself in Mel’s dark eyes. For a moment, they stared but then the woman shook herself and glanced around.

“Wow,” Mel said, brow furrowing as she looked at the bike in front of them. “That’s quite a machine.”

“Yeah, she’s my pride and joy,” Sam replied, warmth spreading through her as she looked at her beloved ride. “It’s a 1986 Honda Rebel 450. Classic and a real workhorse.”

Mel stepped closer, running her fingers along the bike’s curvy silhouette and vibrant red tank. The chrome accents glinted under the soft light, catching the eye like a beacon. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, her voice laced with genuine admiration. “You ride a lot?”

“Whenever I can.” A smile tugged at Sam’s lips as she watched Mel take in every detail, appreciating the contours and lines of the bike. There was something intimate about the way Mel lingered over it, tracing the polished chrome on the handlebars and the sleek fenders with her gaze. “Want to take it for a spin sometime?”

Mel raised her brow, her eyes glinting with playful curiosity. “Maybe. But first, you still owe me a call.”

In the pocket of her leather jacket, Sam grasped the piece of paper Mel had slipped her earlier that evening. Her fingertips brushed over the dips where the pen had indented the paper with Mel’s number. “I think I can manage that.”

Mel straightened, turning to face Sam again, the tension between them rising once more. The cool night air did little to dull the heat building between them, and before Sam could say anything else, Mel gently took her by the waist, pulling her close again.

Their goodnight kiss was slow, steady—nothing rushed, nothing urgent, just a quiet confirmation of the connection they’d shared all night. Sam’s heart thudded in her chest, and she leaned into it, savoring the way Mel’s lips felt against hers. There was a warmth and tenderness in the way they kissed now, the hurried passion of earlier replaced by something softer, more deliberate.

When they finally pulled apart, Mel’s hands lingered on Sam’s waist for a moment longer before she stepped back, smiling at her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

“Call me, okay?” Mel said softly, her voice carrying a note of quiet sincerity. “I’d really love to see you again.”

Sam nodded, the grin on her face growing as she bit her lip, still feeling the aftershocks of the kiss. “You can count on it.”

Mel laughed, reaching out one last time to give Sam’s hand a light squeeze. “Good. And good luck with… everything,” she added with a knowing smirk. “I’m rooting for you.”
With that, Mel took a step back, her eyes lingering on Sam for a moment longer before she finally moved toward her pickup, which was parked a few spaces away. Sam watched her, feeling light and almost dizzy from everything that had happened tonight.

Slipping her helmet on, she swung a leg over her bike and kicked it into gear. As she revved the engine, she glanced toward Mel one last time. The bartender had walked to her pickup truck and Sam watched as Mel opened the door and slipped inside, her dark hair catching the fading light just right, adding a sense of warmth to the cool evening. Sam waited, feeling a rush of anticipation as she spotted Mel glance back one last time before shutting the door.

Once Mel was inside, Sam revved the engine again, the sound rumbling like a low growl that filled the parking lot, a pulse of energy that made her heart race. The headlights flickered on, cutting through the dimness as she released the clutch and eased the bike into motion. Mel pulled out of the parking lot first, and Sam followed suit, keeping a respectful distance as they both headed in the same direction for a while.

The road ahead opened up, the world around them a blur of evening colors and fading sunlight. Curves appeared in the road like graceful arcs, and she slowed down, leaning slightly into each turn, the tires gripping the asphalt with precision. Mel’s truck occasionally pulled ahead, but Sam maintained her steady pace, never cutting across lanes, always respecting the flow of the road.

As they approached a fork, Mel signaled and veered off, her truck gliding into the other lane. Sam raised her hand in farewell, a small wave that felt both bittersweet and hopeful. Mel met her gaze one last time, a smile that lingered before she disappeared down another road. With that, Sam refocused her attention on the asphalt beneath her wheels, the evening air cooling around her as she continued her ride home, a sense of contentment settling within her. The road ahead was her only concern, the bike responding smoothly beneath her, the world of stars above beginning to twinkle in the twilight sky. The night had gone in a direction she never could’ve expected, and as she drove away from the bar, still feeling the warmth of Mel’s lips on hers, she knew one thing for certain: this was only the beginning.

And she couldn’t wait to see what came next.

The night was calm as Sam cruised down the winding road, her motorcycle humming smoothly beneath her, each curve of the road rolling out beneath her tires like a familiar rhythm. The wind brushed over her helmet and leather clothing with reassuring firmness, heightening the quiet thrill of her late-night ride. She thought of the evening she’d just left behind—of Mel’s smile, their easy conversation, and that perfect, stolen kiss that still lingered on her lips.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed headlights barreling toward the road from a cross street. A dark sedan surged forward without warning, tires squealing as it shot through the stop sign, speeding straight into her lane. Sam had barely a second to react; her stomach dropped as her hands tightened on the handlebars, but the car was too close, too fast.

The driver slammed on the brakes too late. Tires shrieked against the asphalt, rubber peeling away as thick, black skid marks etched into the road, but there was no chance of stopping. Sam’s heart pounded, a flash of panic shooting through her as she instinctively veered, but the sudden swerve sent her bike out of control. The rear tire slipped, and she felt the machine jerk beneath her as it lost traction.

In that split second, everything unraveled.

The rear wheel skidded. The world spun.

The asphalt rushed up to meet her. Sam’s body was thrown from the bike, and in that split second, she felt weightless—airborne. The hard impact came fast, brutal. Pain exploded through her body as she collided with the ground, her helmet saving her head but doing little for the rest of her. Her body slammed against the unforgiving pavement, limbs jolted and twisted as she tumbled along the road. Her gear scraped and tore against the asphalt, the ground grating against her as her momentum carried off the road, crashing into a rock. The ominous crack of bone echoed through her entire being long before the pain rushed over her

She gasped for breath, each inhale sharp and ragged, but the pain was overwhelming—radiating from what felt like every part of her body. Her right leg throbbed with a searing agony, and her chest felt like it had been crushed, the pressure making it hard to breathe. Her hands, scraped raw, were numb now, but she could still feel the intense, pulsing ache in her ribs.

She tried to move, but the pain that shot through her when she did made her gasp, the world spinning again as her vision blurred. Her helmet had cracked on impact, the visor bent at an odd angle, half blocking her view. The harsh taste of blood filled her mouth, and she could barely register where she was, the disorienting crash leaving her senses muddled. Hot asphalt and metal stung in her nose, the acrid smell of burnt rubber and the leather of her geared, rubbed against the street where she’d tumbled.

Dazed, Sam tried to turn her head, her vision clouded and blurry. She made out her bike lying in pieces along the road, metal shards scattered like fragments of a broken promise. A groan escaped her, sharp, blinding pain shooting through her leg and side. Breathing alone took every ounce of her strength, the pain flaring with each shallow inhale.

Through the pain, she saw the sedan—its taillights flashing like distant red eyes, a mere blur against the night as it pulled out of the skid and sped off, leaving her there in the darkness. They hadn’t stopped. They hadn’t even paused to see if she was alive. Sam could barely comprehend it.

The realization hit her, a cold wave of anger mixing with the relentless pain. She lay there, helpless, trying to gather her bearings, each breath a raw ache in her chest. The stars above blurred as her eyes grew heavy, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision.

A wave of nausea hit her, but she forced herself to stay conscious, her thoughts sluggish and disjointed. She lay there, helpless, her body twisted awkwardly on the side of the road, her breathing shallow and labored. The pain in her leg was unbearable, sharp and burning, while her chest ached with every small breath she managed to take. The stars above her blurred, fading in and out of focus. The night stretched endlessly above her, littered with stars that seemed to blink with a distant indifference. One star caught her eye. No brighter or more brilliant than the others, casting a pale, faint light—yet a familiar one. She recognized it instantly as the star of the next planet she and her team were set to deploy to, barely a week from now. P9X-56G. There had been some sort of Inca-pyramids on the visuals the MALP had sent. Daniel would loved it. She hoped he still got to see it.

In some strange, quiet way, she had always assumed that if death ever came for her, it would be out there, among her comrades, under that alien sky. But not here. Not like this, alone on a deserted road, abandoned like she was nothing.

A sharp ache tightened in her chest, more bitter than the pain that was quickly turning into an all-consuming numbness. She had spent her life prepared to face death alongside people she trusted, facing the impossible. But here, in this cruel twist, she was just another casualty. One more body on the side of a road, left in the dust by someone who hadn’t even cared enough to stop. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, the warmth of it so stark against the growing cold that swallowed her body.

Her vision blurred as she watched the stars, their distant light seeming to grow dimmer as darkness crept in from the edges of her sight. She clung to that one point of light—their next destination, the mission she was meant to be on—as the last shreds of consciousness ebbed away. She had never feared death, but this… this kind of loneliness she had never prepared for.

As the cold seeped deeper into her bones, a different warmth sparked in her thoughts—a brief, vivid memory of Mel. The woman she’d met just hours ago at the bar, who’d laughed with her like no one else had in so long. Mel’s easy smile, the softness in her eyes, the way she’d made Sam feel seen, if only for a little while. A pang of regret gnawed at her as she lay there, realizing she’d never get the chance to call her, never hear her laugh again or see that shy smile when Sam teased her. She had wanted to know Mel more, to see where that spark might lead. But now, all those possibilities felt as unreachable as the stars above her—just another chance slipping away into the night, leaving her with nothing but fading memories and the silence pressing in.

That thought swirled in her mind, but she didn’t have the strength to do anything about it. She couldn’t even lift her arm to try and reach for her pager. All she could do was lie there, her body refusing to respond, her mind clouded with agony.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: What Is Your Emergency

The headlights of Evelyn Harper’s old Buick Cutlass cut through the dark, illuminating the winding road ahead. It was a peaceful night drive—one she often took when the insomnia got the better of her. The quiet stretches of highway outside of Colorado Springs calmed her nerves, allowed her to think. She hummed softly to herself, her hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary, as they always did since her hands had started shaking in her later years.

But tonight, something felt off. As she rounded the bend, her headlights caught something in the distance—something lying near the side of the road. At first, Evelyn thought it might’ve been debris, a fallen branch maybe. But as she drew closer, her stomach twisted.

It was a bike. A motorcycle, or what was left of one, crumpled and twisted near the shoulder.

Her foot slammed on the brakes, the car skidding to a halt. Heart pounding, Evelyn sat frozen for a moment, staring at the wreckage through the windshield. Then her instincts kicked in. She unbuckled her seatbelt and clambered out of the car, her hands shaking not from age but from adrenaline now. The night air hit her sharply, but she barely noticed.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice trembling with concern as she stepped cautiously away from her car. “Is anyone there? Hello?”

The only response was the eerie silence of the road. Evelyn’s pulse quickened, fear gnawing at the edges of her mind. She hesitated, scanning the roadside for any sign of movement. Her old eyes weren’t what they used to be, and the shadows seemed to play tricks on her.
And then she saw it—or rather, saw her.

Just beyond the wreckage of the bike, a figure lay still on the ground, barely visible in the dim glow of Evelyn’s headlights. It was a person. A biker.

“Oh, Lord,” Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Without thinking, she hurried forward as fast as her legs would carry her, her heart thundering in her chest.

The closer she got, the more she could make out. The biker was lying awkwardly on their side, not moving. Short blond hair poked out from beneath a cracked helmet, and though it was hard to tell in the poor light, Evelyn thought the biker was a woman. Her leathers were scuffed and torn, and her body was twisted in a way that made Evelyn’s stomach churn.

“Dear God…” Evelyn whispered, kneeling beside the woman, her frail hands hovering uselessly above the injured body. She didn’t know where to touch, what to do. The biker wasn’t moving, wasn’t making any sound.

Forcing herself to breathe, Evelyn fought back the rising panic. She had to stay calm. She had to help.

She scrambled to her feet, running back to her car. Inside, she fumbled in her purse for her brand-new Nokia 5110, the phone she’d just bought last month—something her children had insisted she carry at all times. Apparently it would be the best $156 she ever spent. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the emergency number, the phone pressed to her ear. Every second felt like an eternity.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s—there’s been an accident,” Evelyn stammered, her voice shaking. “A motorcyclist. She’s hurt, I think badly. She’s not moving. I’m on Route 115, just outside of Colorado Springs. Please, send an ambulance right away.”

The operator’s voice was calm, asking for details, guiding her through the process. Evelyn could barely focus, her eyes constantly flicking back to the motionless figure on the road.

After hanging up, she grabbed the small first aid kit she always kept in the car. It had been part of her routine for years—ever since she worked as a secretary at the umbrella company. They made her take first aid courses back then, just in case, though she’d never imagined she’d have to use it. Now, though, the knowledge was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Clutching the kit, she rushed back to the biker. Kneeling again, Evelyn’s hands shook as she opened the kit, the contents spilling slightly onto the ground. She fumbled with the zipper of the bag, remembering her training as best she could.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself, her voice trembling but determined. “Stay calm, Evelyn. You’ve done this before.”

Gloves first, she thought to herself, struggling with the latex over her shaking hands. Then she wet her lips, her stomach churned as she turned back to the injured woman.

Leave the helmet on. That much she knew. They’d taught her in training that it was best to keep a motorcyclist's helmet on unless it was absolutely necessary to remove it for breathing or resuscitation. Touching the sides of the helmet gently, she made sure it was still secured in place and didn’t shift, helping to stabilize the woman’s neck. But the biker had other injuries: Her leg lay twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled around her upper arm, where a piece of shattered bone had punctured through the leather of her jacket, staining it dark and sticky. Evelyn’s heaved a breath, swallowing past the nausea, but she forced herself to keep focused, grabbing a thick bandage from the kit and pressing it firmly against the wound. Her fingers shook, but she did her best to stanch the bleeding, keeping pressure steady against the torn flesh even as she felt the damp warmth seeping through.

She knew better than to try to move the arm or leg, fearing further injury. Gritting her teeth, she whispered words of comfort, her voice barely above a tremor. "Stay with me, please. Help’s coming.” She could hear the distant wail of sirens now, drawing closer.

Through the cracked visor, she looked down at the woman’s face—young, probably mid-thirties, with pale skin and bruises already starting to form. There was a deep cut on her forehead, and her lips were slightly parted as she gasped for shallow, labored breaths.

Evelyn’s heart clenched at the sight, but she kept the pressure up. She had to.

“I’ve got you, honey. Help’s on the way,” she whispered, more for her own comfort than the woman’s, as she carefully applied pressure to the wound on the biker’s head. “Just hang on.”

The woman’s eyes fluttered, barely opening, and Evelyn could see the confusion and pain swimming there. She couldn’t tell if the biker was conscious enough to know what was happening, but she kept talking, her voice soft, soothing.

As she applied pressure, Evelyn scanned the woman's body. There had to be more she could do! Leaving on hand on the woman's arm and pressing down the soggy gauze, she grabbed for another bandage, trying to secure the leg as best as she could without moving the woman too much. It felt like she made only more of a mess, the bandage rolling uselessly over the ground until she bit her lip and gave up.

"Oh Lord please have mercy," she prayed heavenward before returning her attention back to the woman. Her eyes had closed and something about her had gone slack. For a moment, Evelyn's heart stopped but then she heard the raspy indraw of breath and saw the struggling rise of the biker's chest. The faint rise and fall of the woman’s chest was the only sign of life, and even that seemed too shallow, too fragile. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured, more to herself than to the unconscious woman. “They’re coming. Just hold on.”

The wind blew softly around them, carrying the distant sound of sirens—a faint but welcome sign that help was on the way. Evelyn kept her hands steady, fighting the fear that gripped her. She might be old, but she wasn’t useless. Not tonight. For now, all she could do was wait.

Evelyn knelt beside the injured woman, her heart racing as she prayed and twisted her head to spot the ambulance along the curving street. The distant sound of sirens grew louder, a strange comfort amidst the suffocating fear that pressed down on her.

Please hold on, honey. Just a little longer, she silently begged, her voice trembling in her throat.

Moments later, the ambulance came screeching to a halt, its red and blue lights cutting through the dark. Two paramedics jumped out.

“She’s over here!” she called, her voice hoarse with emotion and the medics rushed toward her, their faces sharp with focus. Evelyn scrambled back to give them space, her legs wobbling as she stood.

The paramedics moved quickly, their hands deftly assessing the biker’s injuries. One of them, a young woman with sharp features, carefully tilted the biker’s head, checking her airway and murmuring medical jargon to her partner. The other medic—a man with a rough beard and steady hands—was already setting up an IV and trying to stabilize her leg. Behind them another car pulled up and more blue light sent flickers across the quiet street. A police man jumped out and strode over, already pulling a note pad from his jacket.

Evelyn watched in helpless silence, her heart pounding in her chest. The paramedic's movements were efficient, but the frantic urgency in their expressions told her all she needed to know.

The biker—this young woman—was barely clinging to life.

The machines they attached to her beeped erratically, and Evelyn’s stomach twisted with dread. The beeping, loud and sharp, filled the air with a sense of impending doom.

"She's military," the bearded paramedic muttered, his voice tight with concentration as he pulled something from around the biker's neck. Evelyn squinted through her glasses and realized it was a set of dog tags, tangled in the wreckage of her jacket. The medic quickly handed them to the police officer who had stayed quiet so far, letting them work.

"Captain Samantha Carter," he read aloud, glancing at the dog tags before tucking them into his pocket. “Air Force.”

Evelyn’s chest tightened even further. This poor young woman, she thought, her heart aching for her. She watched, her hands trembling, as the paramedics worked to stabilize her neck with a brace and splint her leg with delicate but urgent precision.

"Neck's clear, but the helmet is cracked. Trauma, maybe a cracked skull and the arm’s a mess. Possible internal bleeding," the female paramedic said, her tone clipped. "We need to move her now."

They wasted no time, lifting the unconscious woman onto a stretcher as carefully as possible, but still, the machines beeped in protest, the rhythm uneven and frightening.

The police officer turned to Evelyn, his brow furrowed with concern. "Ma'am, can I ask you a few questions?" he said, though his voice was gentle.

Evelyn nodded absently, her eyes fixed on the paramedics who were now hurrying the stretcher toward the back of the ambulance. “Y-yes, of course,” she stammered, her hands still shaking, the adrenaline wearing off only to be replaced with icy fear.

“Did you see what happened?” the officer asked. He was an older man with a mustache and a serious expression. “Was there another vehicle involved?”

“I—I didn’t see it happen,” Evelyn said, her voice trembling. “I was driving, and I just… I saw the bike and her lying there when I rounded the corner.” She paused, the memory hitting her like a wave of nausea. “But I think—I think someone might’ve hit her. There was no one around, and I saw tire marks on the road, like someone swerved. The car that did this… they drove off. Didn’t stop.”

The officer frowned, glancing toward the road. “We’ll check it out. Thank you for letting us know.” He motioned toward the tire marks, instructing another officer to take photos and measurements.

Evelyn’s hands trembled as she gripped the edges of her coat, watching as the paramedics slid the stretcher into the ambulance. Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry. The police officer continued asking her questions—basic things, like what direction she had come from, how long she’d been on the road—but Evelyn barely registered them.

All she could think about was the young woman, her pale face under the blood and grime. Captain Samantha Carter, she reminded herself, feeling an odd connection to the name now that she knew it. A military woman. Someone strong, brave. And yet here she was, lying on the edge of death because of some reckless driver who didn’t even stop to help.

"Where… where are they taking her?" Evelyn suddenly asked, her voice small and strained.

The officer blinked at her, his brow knitting together with concern. "Memorial Hospital in Colorado Springs. It's the closest trauma center. They'll take good care of her, ma'am."

Evelyn nodded, her mind barely registering his words. The ambulance doors slammed shut, and the sirens wailed to life again. In a blur of lights, it sped off into the night, taking Samantha Carter with it.

She should go home, she thought. This wasn’t her burden to carry. The paramedics were professionals, the doctors would do their best. But something inside her—some deep-seated need for closure—kept her rooted to the spot.

“I… I have to follow them,” Evelyn said, more to herself than to the officer. “I can’t— I just can’t leave it like this. What if… What if she doesn’t make it?”

The officer looked at her, surprised by the determination in her voice. “Are you sure, ma'am? You’ve already helped a great deal.”

Evelyn shook her head firmly, already stepping toward her car. “I’m sure. I won’t be able to sleep not knowing. Not after this.” Her voice was soft but resolute. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t follow, didn’t know if this brave young woman would survive.

She climbed back into her car, hands still shaking but her resolve firm. She started the engine, pulling onto the road behind the ambulance, its flashing lights still visible in the distance. Evelyn pressed her foot down a little harder on the accelerator, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders.

She wasn’t family, wasn’t a friend—but tonight, she was all this woman had.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Man Down

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.

Beyond the glass separating his office from the briefing room, the rest of SG-1 started to fidgit as they still stared at the door, expecting their team mate to come in. A vise clamped down on Hammond's chest 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. The tired lines around his eyes betrayed how much effort that had taken. Likely junior doctors were working on closing Sam back up now. "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.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Mark Carter

Mark Carter stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he double-checked his daughter’s soccer bag. Cleats, shin guards, and water bottle were all there, just like a training jacket and a small towel. Ever since Abby had sat silently in his car after she had forgotten her shin guards and had not been able to play in an important game, Mark always checked. He never wanted to see the embarrassed, dejected look in his daughter again. Not for something so simple.

The house hummed with the kind of happy chaos he had grown to treasure. His son, Ethan, was sprawled on the living room rug, deeply engrossed in building a towering Lego fortress. Every now and then, he called out for help, and Mark would shout back an enthusiastic, “On it in five minutes!” knowing full well the fortress would probably be completed before he got there.  

From the stove, his wife, Beth, gave him a warm smile, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. “You’ve got time for dinner when you get back, right?” she asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.  

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mark replied, zipping up Abby’s bag with a satisfying snap. He crossed the room, pressing a quick kiss to Beth’s forehead. “I think Ethan’s going to need backup before that Lego thing collapses, though.”  

Beth laughed softly, the kind of sound that still made him feel lucky even after all these years. “He’s determined to fit an entire parking garage inside it this time.”  

“Ambitious kid,” Mark said with a grin.  

“Dad! Let’s go!” Abby’s voice rang out from the hallway, where she was already pulling on her jacket, her ponytail swinging. She had the same kind of energy he’d had as a kid—always moving, always excited about the next thing.  

Mark gave the bag one last glance before handing it off to her. “All set, superstar?”  

“Yeah! Let’s go before we’re late!” Abby’s face lit up as she grabbed the bag, her enthusiasm contagious.  

“Alright, alright,” he teased, grabbing the car keys. “Don’t want to make your adoring fans wait.”  

This was the life he’d built—maybe not glamorous, maybe a little routine at times, but it was his, and it was good. His job as a data entry specialist wasn’t exactly thrilling, mostly working with spreadsheets for clients and staring at endless lines of numbers, but it paid the bills and, most importantly, let him be home in time for dinner, soccer practices, bedtime stories, and Lego fortresses. Being here for his kids and his wife, for all the small but meaningful moments, was what mattered most.  

As he opened the door, he caught sight of the calendar pinned to the fridge. His eyes flicked over the dates, landing on a small note scribbled next week: Sam’s birthday.

The warmth he felt moments ago dimmed. Sam. His sister. He hadn’t seen her in years. Not at Christmas, not at Thanksgiving. Not even for Ethan’s last birthday party, where he’d saved her a chair that stayed empty. Mark couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been over to their house to spend time with his family.  

A familiar bitterness crept in. Sam had made her choice—the Air Force, the mysterious, high-stakes career that left no room for family. Her work consumed her. Did she even have a life outside of it? He doubted it. She’d missed so much—so many milestones, so many ordinary, wonderful days like this one.  

Still, he knew he’d call her, like he always did. It’d be a short conversation, filled with awkward silences and stiff exchanges. They’d hang up, and the distance would remain, but he’d call.  

“Dad!” Abby’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Let’s go!”  

“Coming!” he called, shaking his head.  

Just as he stepped outside, Beth’s voice stopped him. “Mark, wait!”  

He turned to see her standing in the doorway, her face pale and worried. She held the cordless phone tightly, her knuckles white.  

“It’s for you,” she said, her voice unsteady. “It’s...a general.”  

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Generals didn’t call. Let alone civilians. If a general called, that could only mean bad news. His heart dropped along with Abby’s soccer bag as he reached for the phone, dread spreading through him. It could only mean one of two people—Sam or their dad.  

Taking a steadying breath, he brought the phone to his ear, trying to pull himself together. “Hello?” he said, bracing for the news that could shatter everything.

Mark held the phone tightly against his ear, his knuckles white as calm, steady voice filled the line, a slight southern drawl twanging in each syllable.

“Mr. Carter,” the voice began, “this is General George Hammond. I’m calling in regard to your sister, Captain Samantha Carter. I regret to inform you she was in a serious motorcycle accident early this morning.”  

The words didn’t register at first, bouncing off Mark’s mind like distant echoes. “An accident?” he repeated, his voice hollow.  

“Yes, son. She’s currently in surgery at Memorial Hospital in Colorado Springs. Her condition is critical.”  

The world tilted beneath him. For years, he’d feared this phone call—just … not like this. He’d imagined it would come with polished words about duty and sacrifice, some cold military officer telling him his baby sister had died a hero in some classified operation he’d never be allowed to know about. But a motorcycle accident? That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.  

“How—why—” he stammered, barely able to form words. “Why are you the one calling me?” 

Hammond’s voice remained steady, a reassuring anchor in the storm Mark’s mind had become. “The paramedics found her service tags on her, son, and the hospital contacted us as her commanding officers. I offered to call you personally. I thought it’d be better to hear it from someone who knows your sister, instead of letting the hospital try to track you down.”  

While the gesture should have meant something, all Mark could focus on was the cold, numb feeling spreading through his chest. “You said she’s in surgery?”

“Yes,” the reply came over the phone. “The hospital staff told me they’re doing everything they can, but her injuries are severe.” There was a pause, a weighty silence before Hammond added, “They also mentioned that decisions might need to be made, depending on how things go.”  

Decisions. The word hung in the air, sharp and cruel. Mark’s voice cracked when he spoke again. “You mean life-or-death decisions.”  

“I won’t sugarcoat it, son. Things are serious. But Captain Carter is one of the finest officers I ever had the opportunity to lead. She is a fighter. And I have yet to find a problem she can’t solve. If anyone can pull through this, it’s her. I’m not giving up on her. And neither should you.”  

Mark had moved back into the joined living and dining room without noticing. Now, he grabbed the back of a chair, steadying himself. He couldn’t picture Sam lying in a hospital bed. It didn’t fit the image he had of her—strong, unshakable, the stubborn kid who never let anything beat her.  

Fingers tightening on the phone, his voice shook as he asked, “Have you contacted our dad? He should know about this. He’d want to know.”  

“Dad!” The yell came from outside and Mark waved at Abby, needing to hear what the general said.

On the other end of the line, there was a pause, just a beat too long for Mark’s liking. When Hammond finally spoke, there was a hint of hesitation in his tone. “No, Mr. Carter, I haven’t contacted your father.”

“Why not?” Mark stayed with the conversation. “He’s a general, surely you have his contact information. I assure you whatever stupid important meeting he has can be interrupted so you can tell him his daughter is dying. That Sam might die!”

Ethan jerked up, staring up at his father with wide eyes and Mark cursed himself for raising his voice. Over the table, he caught Beth’s gaze and nodded to their son and Beth moved to kneel on the carpet, picking up Lego in an attempt to distract Ethan.

“I don’t know what your father has told you, Mr. Carter,” General Hammond spoke, “but General Jacob Carter retired from military service several months ago. He’s no longer an active member of the United States Air Force, and as such, we have no jurisdiction or requirement to track his whereabouts.”  

The words hit like a slap, leaving Mark reeling. “He retired?” he asked, incredulous. “What are you talking about? If he retired, why didn’t anyone tell me?”  

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask your father,” Hammond replied, calm but unyielding.

“Fine,” he muttered, the bitterness clear in his voice. “Then I guess it’s on me to deal with this alone. Just like always.”  

“I know this is difficult, Mr. Carter. I assure you, we’re doing everything we can for your sister. She’s in good hands.”  

Thoughts too tangled with anger and worry, Mark stayed silent. Jacob Carter had vanished from his life, just like Sam. And now, Sam was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for her life. Mark’s chest tightened, the weight of it all nearly unbearable. He opened the hallway cupboard and pulled out a duffel bag, determination setting in.  

If he couldn’t rely on anyone else, then it was up to him to be there for his sister.  

“Thank you for calling me,” he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Of course, son. I’ll make sure you’re kept updated. If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to reach out. Dr. Fraiser will be on-site shortly, and I’ll have her keep me informed.”  

Mark nodded numbly, then realised Hammond couldn’t see him. “Okay. Thanks.”  

There was a moment of silence, then Hammond said, “We’re all praying for her, son. She’s important to a lot of people.”  

With no words to respond, Mark simply muttered a faint, “Yeah,” before the line went dead.  

He stared at the phone for a long moment, the world around him fading to a dull blur. Abby’s voice drifted in from the driveway. “Dad? Are you coming?”  

Slowly, Mark set the phone down, his hands trembling. His mind raced, filled with images of Sam—the kid who used to follow him around, the awkward teenager who’d grinned widely when her science fair project won first place, the girl who’d blushed when Julia Williams waved at her from across the street, the confident woman in her crisp Air Force uniform. And now, the sister he hadn’t spoken to in months, lying in a hospital bed, her life hanging by a thread.  

“Mark?” Beth’s voice brought him back to the present, her hand resting gently on his arm.  

“She’s hurt,” he said, his voice breaking. “Sam’s hurt bad.”  

Beth’s face fell, and she pulled him into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around him.  

“I’ve got to go,” he said finally, stepping through the small hallway and into their bedroom, opening the chest of drawers. “I need to be there.”  

Mark’s hands trembled as he shoved clothes into his duffel bag, barely registering what he was grabbing. A t-shirt, socks, his razor—they landed haphazardly in the bag as his mind raced. He needed to get to Colorado Springs now.

“Beth!” he called over his shoulder, his voice sharp with panic. “Get on the phone, call the airline. See if there’s anything leaving for Colorado Springs tonight—anything. I don’t care what it costs.”  

His wife nodded, already heading to the phone station where their phonebook rested next to the phone on its cradle. She shot him a look filled with equal parts worry and determination before grabbing the phone and flipping open the worn Rolodex for airline numbers.  

“Dad?” Ethan’s voice broke into Mark’s frenzied thoughts. He looked up to see his son standing in the doorway, his Lego fortress forgotten in the living room behind him. Confusion clouded the nine-year-old’s face. “What’s going on?”  

Before Mark could answer, Abby stomped into the house, her soccer bag slung over one shoulder and her expression set in frustration. “Dad, we’re going to be late! You said—” She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she took in the chaos.

Mark dropped the shirt in his hand and moved to Ethan, grabbing his shoulders gently but firmly. “Come here,” he said, his voice thick. “Abby, sit down too. Both of you.”  

Directing both back into the living room, Mark sat Ethan on the couch. Abby hesitated, her irritation fading as she glanced between her dad and her brother. Finally, she slung her bag down and sat next to Ethan. She huffed and crossed her arms, showing a hint of the difficult teenager she‘d soon be. Damn it, Abby looked so much like Sam had at that age.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Mark knelt in front of them, his hands resting on Ethan’s knees as he looked between his two children. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as his emotions threatened to spill over.  

“I just got a phone call,” he began, his voice wavering. “From the Air Force. Your Aunt Sam...she was in an accident. A bad one. She’s hurt, and she’s in the hospital.”  

Abby’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Aunt Sam?” she whispered.  

Meanwhile, Ethan’s small face crumpled instantly, his eyes welling with tears. “Is she going to die?” he choked out, his small hands swiping at his cheeks as the tears spilled over.  

Stomach roiling at the question, Mark squeezed Ethan’s shoulders, trying to steady his own trembling hands. “I don’t know, buddy,” he admitted softly. “She’s in surgery right now. The doctors are doing everything they can to help her.”  

Abby’s eyes darted to her father’s face, wide with disbelief. “But...she’s Aunt Sam. She can’t...she can’t just—” Her words faltered. Mark swallowed. His children had good memories of Sam. Of the birthday science kits, the books about space and atoms, the quiet moments where Sam would lean over her shoulder when she came for a visit, explaining the wonders of the universe with infinite patience.  

Blinked rapidly, Mark struggled to hold back his tears, but his mind betrayed him with images of Sam from the last time he’d seen her. Two years ago, in the dead of winter, she’d spent hours outside with Ethan building a snow castle. He remembered her cheeks flushed with cold, her laughter carrying on the wind as Ethan pelted her with snowballs. She’d looked so happy, so free.  

But then his mind jumped to the fight that had shattered the visit. He’d brought up her job—again. He wanted her to leave the Air Force, to stop risking her life for something he couldn’t even understand. She’d gotten defensive, like she always did, and before he knew it, they were shouting at each other, their words sharp and cutting.  

The fight only stopped when Abby and Ethan had come into the room, their wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. They’d both forced themselves to calm down then, but the damage was done. Sam had said a stiff, tight-lipped goodbye to her niece and nephew, hugging them tightly before grabbing her coat and storming out.  

And now she might...no. He couldn’t finish the thought.  

Ethan sniffled loudly, his small voice breaking the heavy silence. “But she’s my favorite,” he sobbed, his hands clutching at Mark’s shirt.  

Moving without thought, Mark pulled his son into a hug, wrapping one arm around him as he reached out and rested a hand on Abby’s shoulder. “She’s my sister,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “I know how much you both love her. I do too.”  

Abby nodded, her face pale but resolute. “She’s going to be okay, right, Dad?”  

There was no reassuring answer that wasn’t a lie, but he forced himself to meet her eyes. “We’re going to do everything we can to help her, okay?”  

Again, Abby nodded, tears brimming in her own eyes now.  

From the kitchen, Beth’s voice called out, trembling but clear. “Mark, I found a flight. It leaves in two hours.”  

With a deep breath, Mark released Ethan and squeezed Abby’s shoulder one last time. “I need to pack, and then I’ll go,” he said softly.  

He stood, his legs feeling like lead as he turned back to the duffel bag. His children watched him silently, their small faces etched with worry. Mark’s heart clenched again, but he pushed the feeling down. There wasn’t time to fall apart. Sam needed him, and he wasn’t going to let her down.

Mark Carter adjusted the strap of his carry-on bag, scanning the crowd of drivers and greeters at the small Colorado Springs airport. He’d called Hammond back from the airport, needing to make sure he headed to the right place once he got to Colorado Springs. Through the years, he’d gathered enough experience with the armed forces to know how quickly things could change and he could just imagine him getting to the hospital only for Sam to have been moved to some military base instead. However, Hammond had told him he’d send Sam’s team to pick him up and so Mark now looked around.

Two men stood near the edge of the crowd, holding a hand-scrawled sign that read, in uneven block letters, "MARK CARTER". Their demeanor stood out as much as the poorly done sign. Both wore military BDUs, but while one man had a sharp, square-jawed bearing, the other looked slightly out of place—hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets, glasses perched on his nose, and an air of quiet curiosity.

Mark squared his shoulders and walked toward them. As he approached, the square-jawed man raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Yeah, you’ve gotta be Carter’s brother. You’ve got the look."

Mark stopped in front of them, taken off guard. “The look?”

“You know,” the man continued, gesturing vaguely at Mark’s face, “the whole... Carter thing. Smart, kinda intense, but also, like, perpetually one sarcastic remark away from trouble? Runs in the family, I guess.”

Caught between amusement and irritation, Mark blinked at the man. “And you are?”

The man straightened and stuck out a hand. “Colonel Jack O’Neill. Carter’s CO.” He nodded to the man beside him. “And this is Daniel Jackson. He’s—well, he’s Daniel.”

Daniel gave a friendly, apologetic smile as he shook Mark’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, same,” Mark said, eyeing them both. O’Neill’s energy was almost disarming, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed a deeper worry. Jackson, on the other hand, radiated a quieter, almost academic warmth. Mark was struck by how different they were and yet how natural their partnership seemed. “Sam mentioned you once or twice, Colonel,” Mark added, recalling a vague memory.

“Hopefully good things,” O’Neill quipped, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “C’mon, let’s get moving. Got a car waiting outside. You travel light, right?”

Mark hoisted his bag slightly. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly planning for a vacation.”

“No kidding,” O’Neill said as they started toward the exit. “Look, I know you’ve probably got a hundred questions. First thing, she’s hanging on, okay? The docs are good, and they’re keeping a close eye on her.”

Some of the coiled tension he’d suffered through on the plane dripped away. She was still there, still breathing. He nearly shook with the knowledge.

They headed outside. The sun had set and it was late at night by now, the air chilled in the spring but clean and fresh. Slightly behind them, Jackson walked and took in everything around him like a tourist. “You’re not military,” Mark guessed.

Jackson smiled faintly. “No, I’m a civilian. Archeologist. Linguist.”

That … was not what Mark expected. What the hell did an archeologist and linguist have to do with Deep Space Radar Telemetry? With working for the military in general? It made no sense at all.

A snort sounded before O’Neill answered. “Resident brainiac. Him and Carter understand each other’s technobabble, so we let him stick around.”

“And I keep you from insulting half the galaxy,” Jackson countered, his tone light but pointed.

“Details, details,” O’Neill said with a shrug, leading them through the glass doors to the brisk evening air outside. Darkness had begun to settle over Colorado Springs, the last streaks of sunset painting the sky in faint orange and purple hues. The city lights glimmered in the distance, a reminder that life carried on even as his world felt momentarily suspended. The military car—a nondescript dark sedan—was parked nearby. O’Neill gestured for Mark to take the front seat, while Daniel slid into the back.  

As Mark buckled himself in, the faint scent of motor oil and coffee mingled with the fresh, cool air that clung to the vehicle’s fabric seats. In the driver’s seat, O'Neill adjusted the mirrors and cast a quick glance at Mark. “Comfy enough?” he asked, his voice casual, almost too casual.  

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mark muttered, not really meaning it. His chest felt tight, a dull ache of worry pulsing in the back of his mind.  

The car rumbled to life, and they merged onto the main road. O’Neill tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel as he drove, the streetlights casting fleeting, golden patterns across his face.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until O’Neill cleared his throat. “So, uh, Mark, where are you staying?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Mark looked over. “Staying?” he echoed, realizing he hadn’t given it a single thought. “I don’t know. A cheap hotel, I guess.”

“For crying out loud,” O’Neill muttered, shaking his head. “A cheap hotel. You’re Carter’s brother. You’re not staying in some dump.”

“I’m not picky. I just need a place to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah,” O’Neill said, waving a hand dismissively. “Here’s an idea: stay at Carter’s place.”

“Her place?”

“Yeah,” O’Neill replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s not like she’s using it right now.”

While true, the nonchalance in his tone had Mark stiffen. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t have a key.”

O’Neill scoffed loudly, throwing a glance at Daniel before focusing back on the road. “Well, that’s easy. I’ll just give you mine.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and Mark’s jaw tightened. “You have a key to my sister’s house?” His voice was sharp, his anger bubbling just under the surface.

O’Neill didn’t even flinch. “Yep.”

Anger and incredulity flared in equal measure and Mark’s jaw dropped. “Why does her superior officer have a key to her house? What the hell is going on here?”

Sighing dramatically, O’Neill rolled his eyes. “Calm down, big bro,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Not even close.”

Mark bristled, turning to glare at the Colonel. “And what am I supposed to think?”

“It’s practical,” O’Neill replied, glancing briefly at Daniel as if inviting him to weigh in. “Look, we’re a team, okay? And a damn good one. We all have keys to each other’s places. I got a key to Carter’s house. So does Jackson, so does Teal’c, so does Fraiser. And in turn Carter’s got keys to our places, the whole nine yards. If one of us is busy or… stuck in a hospital bed, someone else can buy groceries, check the mail, whatever.”

Against his will, Mark’s anger faltered, replaced by confusion. He turned to Daniel, who had been quiet up until now. “Is that true?”

Daniel nodded earnestly. “It is. We all help each other out. It’s… not what you’re thinking.”

The words had Mark relax slightly and the Colonel grinned. “Told you.”

“And of course there’s Cassie and since we all take care of her at times, having keys really makes things easier,” Daniel added, smiling as if that explained things.

Mark’s brow furrowed deeper. “Cassie? Who’s Cassie?”

The words hung heavy in the car. O’Neill cursed under his breath, shaking his head. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he said again, this time with a sharper edge. “How bad is your relationship with your sister that you don’t know about Cassie?”

Something in Mark’s stomach dropped. Guilt flashed through him and he felt his cheeks warm. “I—” He hesitated, struggling to find the words.

“Cassie’s like family to her,” Daniel said gently, his tone softening as he glanced back at Mark. “She’s… Sam’s unofficially adopted kid, in a way. It’s complicated, but Sam loves her like she’s her own.”

That took Mark’s breath away. Cassie. He’d never even heard that name. Since when did Sam have an unofficially adopted kid? Dear God! That couldn’t be true, could it? He felt a pang of something—regret, shame, maybe both. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” O’Neill muttered, though his tone lacked real bite.

They drove in silence. The Colonel turned left onto East Platte Avenue. In the silence, the ticking of the turn indicator sounded overbearingly loud. At the next sign, Mark saw Colorado was only another four miles. Not far, he told himself, clasping the strap of his duffel bag. Ten minutes and they'd be at the hospital. Maybe another five to reach Sam's room. He glanced at his watch. Sweat pooled on his palms.

“Look,” O’Neill said, “you don’t have to like me, or Jackson, or this whole key-sharing thing. But Carter? She’s got a hell of a lot of people in her corner. You might want to think about why you’re not one of them.”

Blinking into the darkness, Mark didn't answer. His stomach clenched with everything that had been said so far and his eyes burned. So many things he'd apparently missed. So many things he didn't know. Cassie. It could impossibly be true! Sam didn't have a kid, had she? She would have told him!

The weight of it all hung in the air as the car sped on through the darkening landscape, the distant hum of traffic and city lights blurring together, but nothing could shake the feeling that Mark’s world had irrevocably shifted.

“So,” O’Neill began after a beat of silence, “how’re Ethan and Abby doing these days?”  

Shock travelled through Mark yet again and he turned sharply toward the Colonel. “You...you know my kids’ names?”  

From the backseat, Daniel let out a quiet snort, leaning forward slightly. “We’ve heard all about the epic snow castle Ethan and Sam built a couple of years ago. She said it was practically a fortress.”  

O’Neill chimed in with a chuckle, eyes on the road but his tone light. “And Abby? Oh yeah, Carter mentioned how she totally trashed the other soccer team last season. Showed ’em who’s boss. From what I hear, she’s got that classic Carter energy—unstoppable.”  

Mark stared at them, caught between confusion and something softer. He could barely remember mentioning those things to Sam during one of their stilted calls, but apparently, she had shared them with her colleagues. The thought that she’d cared enough to talk about his kids—their lives—left him momentarily speechless.  

“I, uh...I think I might’ve told her that on our last call,” he said quietly, his voice trailing off as uncertainty crept in.  

Daniel nodded, his tone gentler now. “Yeah, she said she’d talked to you recently. I think it was when we were...uh, out in the field. It was raining nonstop, and everyone was miserable. She started telling us stories about her nephew and niece to cheer us up. It worked.”  

The mention of the field caught Mark’s attention, pulling him momentarily from his thoughts. “Field?” he asked, glancing between the two men. “I thought you all worked on Deep Space Radar Telemetry. What’s that got to do with the outdoors?”  

O’Neill’s hands gripped the wheel a little tighter, though his expression remained light. “Well, you know,” he said, voice edged with a practised nonchalance. “Someone’s gotta set up the antennas and telescopes. Strangely, they always seem to put those on mountains. Real fun in the rain, let me tell you.”  

Something about the way O’Neill spoke—his tone, the faint flicker of something unreadable in his gaze as he kept his eyes firmly on the road—made Mark’s gut twist. It felt too rehearsed, too surface-level. The excuse hung in the air like a poorly constructed lie, though Mark couldn’t quite put his finger on what was off.  

The darkened cityscape rolled past the window, the neon glow of fast-food signs and convenience stores blurring into streaks of light. Mark sat back, uneasy but unwilling to press further. Instead, he let himself focus on the rhythm of the car’s movement and the occasional hum of the engine.  

Daniel shifted in the backseat, clearing his throat. “You know, Sam... she told us about the fight you two had,” he said, his voice tentative but genuine. “I’m glad you came, though, despite how rocky things were between you.”

Mark’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, locking eyes with the archeologist for a moment before snapping back to the road. His jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the worn strap of his bag as the words hung in the air like a weight. “I’m not sure what Sam told you, but that’s none of your business.” The words came out more harshly than he meant. “She’s my baby sister, damn it. Of course I’m gonna come.”  

Daniel shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, visibly regretting the words, but O'Neill gave a low chuckle, easing some of the tension. “Hey, we’ve all been there,” O’Neill said, his voice unbothered. “Family fights can get ugly. And not being able to tell them what we do? Can get complicated. But in the end, you are one of the ones who’s here despite that. Not that normal, sadly. You and Carter may not always understand each other’s lives, but it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

The support almost made it worse. The acknowledgement that Sam cared. Mark stared straight ahead, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him, though the Colonel’s nonchalance did little to ease his anxiety. The mention of their fight—Sam storming out of his house, their words still hanging in the air after all this time—hurt in a way that Mark wasn’t prepared for. And yet, as much as that pain had settled in his chest, he couldn’t ignore the truth that Daniel and O’Neill weren’t wrong. For all missed birthdays and all the disappointments and all the fights-Sam was still his sister.

“Yeah, well,” Mark muttered, his voice quieter now but still edged with frustration. “She’s not just some soldier. She’s my sister. And I’ll be damned if I’m not here for her, no matter how much we don’t get along.”

The car pulled up to the front of the hospital, the headlights casting long shadows across the parking lot as Mark stepped out, feeling a strange sense of disbelief settle in his chest. The air was cold, but the weight of everything happening made him feel hot, sticky with sweat.

He had only just gotten off the plane a few hours ago, but it felt like days. His heart hammered in his chest as O'Neill led the way into the building, Daniel following closely behind. The sterile, clinical scent of the hospital was overpowering, and the bright overhead lights made everything feel too real.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Hospital Visits

Mark paced the living room of Sam’s house, phone pressed tightly to his ear. The house was quiet, save for the muffled hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. He had barely registered the drive back here, the strange camaraderie between Sam’s teammates still replaying in his mind. Now, in the solitude of her home, the weight of everything he’d seen—her frail form in the hospital bed, the bruises, the tubes—felt unbearable.

The call connected, and Beth’s voice, groggy but warm, greeted him. “Mark? It’s so early. Are you okay?”

Two a.m. The numbers shone at Mark when he looked at his digital watch. Time had rushed past him. Only a moment ago, he’d been checking Abby’s soccer bag halfway across the country on an early friday afternoon, looking forward to spend the weekend with his family. Now, he sat in a cold, empty house whose owner battled for her life. Mark exhaled a shaky breath. “Hey. Yeah, I just… I needed to hear your voice.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat.

“Mark.” Beth’s tone softened, and he could hear the concern immediately. “How’s Sam? Any change?”

He closed his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “No. She’s in a coma. The doctors are doing everything they can, but they can’t tell me if—” He broke off, swallowing hard. “They can’t promise she’ll wake up.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

Standing still felt like torture. Simmering anger at noone and nothing, a distraction of the tears threatening him, had Mark search for a lightswitch. He blinked and looked around.

Sam’s living room was large. Book shelves lined one side to literally noones surprise A comfy if saggy looking couch stood in the center of the room, oriented to face the door leading to the small entrance way and the large TV next to it. Ethan and Abby would love this thing, yet why Sam had splurged on it, Mark couldn’t fathom. His sister barely watched TV, far too busy with her sciency stuff.

A framed photo of Sam in uniform caught his eye, her face radiating confidence and pride. It sat on a sideboard against a wall, right next to the hooks holding a bag with Sam’s dress blues straight from the drycleaner and a light rain jacket. Several pictures scattered over the sideboard. He hadn’t known she was so sentimental and stepped closer.

Next to it was one of him, Sam, and their father—smiling but stiff, a little too posed. Then another: Sam with her team. He recognized Dr. Jackson and Colonel O’Neill from the ride over, but there was also a tall black man with a strange tattoo on his forehead.

His voice was distant as he remembered the phone he clutched to his ear, “I saw her today, Beth. She looked so… small. Like she could disappear if I looked away for too long.” He gritted his teeth, fighting the tremor in his voice. “The doctors showed me the X-rays. The breaks, the fractures—it’s a miracle she’s even alive.”

Beth stayed quiet, letting him speak.

One of the pictures caught his eye: Sam, laughing, her arms wrapped around a young girl cuddling a puppy. Cassie. His thumb brushed the edge of the frame as he studied their joyful expressions. “And then there’s this,” he muttered, his voice low.

“What?” Beth asked gently.

Mark hesitated, his hand brushing against the corner of the photo frame. “Beth,” he said suddenly, “did you know Sam has a kid?”

“What?” Beth’s voice sharpened, jolting fully awake. “What are you talking about?”

“Cassie,” he said. “Her name’s Cassie. She’s … well, I suppose she is only Sam’s goddaughter. But Jackson, he said if she could have, Sam would have adopted her. A friend did instead and apparently Cassie and Sam are close.”

It had been the one thing he’d been able to think about on the car ride to Sam’s home. The one thing that would not make him break into tears in the same car as the Colonel and Dr Jackson.

Apparently, Dr Fraiser had adopted Cassie instead though neither man knew if she’d told her daughter of Sam’s fate yet. But she likely would, seeing as she was the base doctor who’d been transferred to check on Sam’s condition at the Memorial Hospital and she would have to work the next day. O’Neill had muttered something of taking Cassie and the dog to the park to keep her mind off things.

Beth was silent for a moment, processing. “And you had no idea?”

“No,” Mark admitted, his voice low and raw. “Not a damn clue.”

“I’m sorry.” Beth’s voice softened further. “But at least it sounds like she has people who care about her.”

“Yeah,” Mark bit out, his voice sharp. “They do. They know everything about her. And you know what’s worse?” He laughed bitterly. “They know everything about me too.”

“What do you mean?”

Looking at the pictures was too much. Snapshots of so many moments he’d never suspected. And worst of all, that one picture of him, Sam and Dad all together, all tense as they posed for the camera, lovingly joining this myriad of important moment. “On the way to the hospital, Colonel O’Neill started talking about the kids. By name. And not just their names, Beth—he knew about Abby’s soccer game, about the snow castle Sam built with Ethan. Stories Sam told them. About us.”

On the side of the phone, he could hear Beth shift, stifling a yawn. “She told them about you?”

“She talked about us,” Mark said, his chest trembling with something between anger and shame. “She told them about her niece and nephew like she was proud of them. Like she was proud of me. Even the fight we had—” He clenched his jaw. “She told them about that too, but not in the way I expected. Not bitter or angry. Just… like it was something that happened.”

Beth was quiet for a moment before asking, “And you?”

Mark closed his eyes, the answer already heavy on his chest. “I can’t remember the last time I mentioned her to anyone at work. Or even in passing. I don’t tell stories about her. I barely talk about her at all.” He sank onto the couch, his head in his hands. The only time he’d mention her at all was when it came to make a disparaging remark on the armed forces in general, he realised. “God, Beth, what kind of brother does that make me?”

“Mark,” Beth said firmly, cutting through the haze of guilt. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Am I?” he asked bitterly. “I’ve spent years shutting her out. She’s been proud of me this whole time, and I’ve been… what? Embarrassed? Too stubborn to admit I was wrong?”

“No,” Beth said. “You were hurt. And you didn’t know how to handle it. But that doesn’t mean it’s too late to fix things.”

Mark shook his head, staring down at the coffee table. Coffee rings stained the surface and one large empty mug painted with the stupid sunflower Abby had drawn on absolutely everything sat there as the culprit as if to mock him. “She’s lying in a hospital bed. She might never wake up. How do I fix that?”

“You’re there,” Beth said softly. “That’s how you start. You’re there now, Mark, and that matters more than you think.”

Picking up the mug, Mark carried it into the kitchen. He needed to clean this up. This and the marks on the table. “I just wish I’d done it sooner.”

“I know,” she said, her voice warm with understanding. “But she’s always been strong, hasn’t she? Strong enough to fight. You just have to believe in her. The same way she clearly believes in you.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He closed his eyes, letting them sink in. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“You’re her brother, Mark.,” Beth said gently. “That bond doesn’t go away, no matter how much time has passed.”

Even though she couldn’t see him, Mark nodded. He stayed on the line with her a little longer, her steady presence keeping him grounded. When the call finally ended, he set the phone down and the exhaustion finally caught up with him. Mark didn’t bother with looking for fresh linens. Hell, he didn’t even know if Sam had a guest bedroom and part of him really didn’t want to rifle through her stuff only to get himself situated. Instead, he grabbed the knitted blanket sprawled on the couch and stretched out on it, shoving a pillow under his head. Despite everything, he fell asleep within moments.

Monday morning dawned with a muted gray light that filtered through the ICU windows, casting long shadows across the sterile room. Daniel sat beside Sam’s hospital bed, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together as though in prayer. He hadn’t slept much since that briefing on Friday, when they’d first gotten the call—Sam’s motorcycle accident, the emergency surgery to fix the internal bleeding, the broken bones, the skull fracture, the need to relieve the pressure on her brain, and then the crushing news on Saturday that another operation was necessary.

The sight of her now, pale and motionless beneath the hospital blankets, filled him with a sickening mix of relief and dread. She was alive, breathing on her own since yesterday, but the monitors and the bandages and casts told the story of how close they’d come to losing her. On her right side, they’d shaved her head, marking two surgeries on her brain. Stillness held her in a jarring contrast to the confident, brilliant woman who had been laughing with them just days ago.

Across the bed, Teal’c stood in his usual silent vigil, his arms held behind his back and his dark eyes watchful. He was still as a statue, but Daniel knew better. As any of them, Teal’c had been as shaken by the accident. For over twenty hours, Teal’c had gated from one planet to the next in search for Jacob Carter, but the Tok’Ra operative had remained elusive on whatever undercover-mission he was currently on. Finally Hammond recalled him.

“Did the police find anything?” Daniel asked suddenly, his voice rough from the hours of silence they’d shared.

Teal’c’s gaze shifted from Sam to Daniel, and he shook his head. “I have received no further updates.”

Pinching his forehead, Daniel exhaled sharply. The story had been sickening enough the first time he’d heard it—Sam on her motorcycle, heading home after a late evening, and the car that came speeding around the corner too fast, slamming into her without even slowing. She’d never had a chance to react. Worse, Daniel had been there that night, at the bar. Him and Mike and they’d left Sam there. Of course it wouldn’t have changed anything if they’d stayed with her but maybe she would have left sooner or maybe … Daniel grit his teeth.

“They just left her there,” Daniel muttered. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to push away the images that had haunted him since friday morning. “I don’t understand how anyone could just—”

With its familiar low hum, Teal'c's voice cut through Daniel’s spiraling thoughts. “Those who act without honor are often without remorse.”

He turned his gaze back to her, focusing on her hand where it lay motionless on the blanket. The same hand that had been so animated in the lab, sketching out equations, or gripping a P90 during a mission. Now it was still, fragile.

Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

His heart skipped in Daniel's chest as he caught a flicker of movement. Her fingers twitched—barely perceptible, but unmistakable. He blinked, afraid his tired mind was playing tricks on him, but it happened again.

“Teal’c,” he said, his voice urgent but low.

At his call, the jaffa's attention snapped back to Sam. He stepped closer, his sharp gaze fixed on her hand as it twitched a third time. The two men exchanged a look, a glimmer of hope passing between them in the heavy stillness of the room.

“Captain Carter? Can you hear us?” Teal’c leaned in, his dark timber a gentle hum in the room. Carefully reaching past the cables, his large hand clasped Sam’s fingers peaking from the cast encasing her entire right arm. “Captain Carter?”

Sam stirred, features tightening and Daniel leapt to his feet, swallowing hard. Against the blanket, Sam’s fingers curled slightly as though testing the ability to move. Her eyes, swollen and bruised, fluttered open just a fraction, revealing slivers of blue. Her heart rate monitor beeped faster, betraying the panic that must surge through her.

Sam’s breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling more rapidly as she processed the unfamiliar setting. Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, she seemed too overwhelmed to comprehend where she was.

“Captain Carter," Teal'c said, his tone as steady as ever, “it is I, Teal'c, and Daniel Jackson. You are in the hospital. You were in an accident, but you are safe now. The doctors are doing all they can for you.”

Slowly, her breathing steadied, and her eyes shifted towards Teal’c.

"Hi," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper, but it was there. It was her. Daniel gripped the bed, suddenly feeling as if his legs might give out under him.

The big jaffa nodded, a rare soft smile touching his usually stoic face. “Colonel O’Neill will be most displeased that he has missed the occasion of your awakening."

Pale lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile, her eyes closing again, exhausted by the simple effort. “Where’d … Where’d ya leave … him?”

“General Hammond required his presence. He is due to visit you later today.”

A sliver of a hum escaped Sam, her chin dropping as if pulling her back into sleep. But her her shoulders flexed and her left hand twitched again, searching for something to grasp. Readily, Daniel slipped his own hand between her fingers, careful not to disturb the IV lines running from her arm.

"Hey, Sam," he said, his voice quieter than usual. She squeezed his hand, weak but unmistakable, and Daniel’s throat tightened. Trying to lighten the moment, he managed a small grin. "If you didn’t want to tell me what happened, you didn’t have to go to the lengths of getting yourself hospitalized."

Sam's brow furrowed slightly, a fleeting shadow of confusion crossing her face. She swallowed, her lips parting, and Daniel leaned in closer, unsure what she was trying to say. Then, she spoke again, her voice faint but clear enough.

"Melanie?"

Daniel’s stomach flipped. The bartender had never introduced herself by name but it was by far no leap to understand she must be Melanie. And apparently she’d told Sam her name.

He hadn’t thought of it. Not this way. All his circling thoughts of that night had involved him and Mike staying for longer, offering her a ride, of Sam leaving with them and as such missing the car that hit her. But they hadn’t stayed and Sam hadn’t left with them. Because she had wanted to continue flirting with the bartender. With Melanie. They’d spend time together after him and Mike had left.

Damn it.

How long was that ago? Three days? It had been on Thursday night and it was Monday morning now. Melanie had not heard from Sam since Thursday. Maybe they had even made plans for the weekend and of course Sam had not shown for those. Daniel’s chest tightened. Gods! He still remembered Sam‘s flushed cheeks and her easy laughter with the bartender. Sam had been happy. Nervous maybe, but with a hopeful grin and damn it, she deserved it. Even now he heard her hope in that single word!

He glanced quickly at Teal'c, who remained calm and impassive, unaware of the significance of the name. A rush of concern flashed through Daniel. Drugged and disoriented, Sam barely knew where she was. If she said something that might out herself, it could complicate everything. Especially if O’Neill had been here instead of Teal’c.

"It’s okay, Sam," Daniel said softly. He squeezed her hand, hoping to calm her. "You’re safe. We’re here. You don’t have to worry about anything right now."

Leaning in, Teal'c fixed his gaze on Sam. "You are among friends, Captain Carter. Rest now."

Slowly, Sam blinked once more before fatigue overwhelmed her.Gradually, her breathing slowed until it settled in the steady rhythm of sleep.

Despite her hand falling limp in his, Daniel held onto it, giving her one more reaffirming squeeze and stroking his thumb over her knuckles. His throat seemed tight and yet, he could swear he could breathe more freely.

"She woke up," Daniel whispered, a cautious relief blooming in his chest. "That’s got to be a good sign, right?"

Nodding, Teal’c’s gaze remained on Sam’s bruised face. "Indeed. Her strength is returning."

"I hope so," Daniel murmured, anxiety lacing his words. "I was so scared she wasn’t going to make it."

Barely a minute after Sam drifted off, a nurse stepped in for her routine check-up on her patient. When Daniel informed her Sam had woken up briefly, she immediately checked on Sam’s vital signs, jotting info on Sam’s patient record. Continuing to write, she asked a few questions: How long had Sam been awake, had she spoken, had she followed them with her eyes, had she responded to other stimuli, that sort of things. Once they’d answered her questions, they were asked to exit the room.

“She woke up?” Janet Fraiser halted just before the door, smiling widely, still holding the pager that had informed her.

“She has indeed. She has responded to sound, sight and touch and even spoke with us.”

“That is wonderful news!” Janet smiled. “I’ll check on her but that is a really good sign.”

Daniel gave a small nod of acknowledgment, but his mind was elsewhere. As they walked down the sterile corridor toward the exit, Daniel found himself thinking of the bar from a few nights ago.

He glanced at Teal’c, standing resolutely beside the bed, and a thought hit him. What did the Jaffa think of relationships between people of the same sex? It wasn’t something Daniel had ever asked, though, in hindsight, he found it curious that the subject hadn’t come up before. They had talked about Earth’s cultures, Teal’c had shared stories about the Jaffa way of life, and yet... Daniel had no idea how Teal’c would react if he knew about Sam’s feelings for Melanie.

Sharp as ever, Teal’c caught the change in Daniel’s demeanor.

"You are troubled, Daniel Jackson," he observed, his deep voice filling the quiet room. He tilted his head slightly, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“I just hope Sam will be alright,” Daniel repeated, swallowing the guilt for lying to his teammate. But this wasn’t his story to tell.

The car moved steadily down the road, the engine’s hum blending into the background noise of swirling thoughts. Beside him, the passenger sat quietly, the usual stoic demeanor revealing little, though the earlier conversation clearly lingered in the air between them. As the vehicle eased into the base’s parking lot, a calm but understanding gaze met his.

“Thank you for the ride,” came the deep, measured voice, accompanied by a respectful dip of the head.

“Yeah, no problem,” was the quick reply, followed by a brief hesitation. “Actually... I need to head somewhere else. There’s something I need to check on.”

The jaffa tilted his head, posture as upright as ever. “Do you require assistance?”

A quick shake of the head and a forced smile followed. “No, it’s fine. Just something personal. I’ll catch you later.”

The frown deepened slightly, concern clear in the lingering gaze. “Very well. But should you need anything, you need only ask.”

“Thanks,” came the reply, tinged with guilt. “I’ll see you soon.”

Once the car door closed and the figure disappeared into the base, a heavy sigh filled the quiet space. The engine growled back to life, and the vehicle pulled away from the parking lot. The destination wasn’t far, but the drive felt interminable, the weight of what was ahead pressing down harder with every mile.

The bar came into view, looking unchanged, disturbingly ordinary. Parking nearby, the stillness of the scene was jarring, as though the world hadn’t been turned upside down just days before.

It was early afternoon, and the place was mostly empty. The few patrons inside were scattered, nursing morning beers, with no real sense of urgency or care. Daniel slipped onto a stool at the bar and glanced around. His heart thumped in his chest, nervous about what he was about to say—nervous about how Melanie would react.

It didn’t take long for her to appear. The bartender, tall and confident, came out from the back, wiping her hands on a rag. She froze when her eyes landed on him, then forced a polite, tight smile.

“What can I get you?” she asked, her voice guarded, but professional.

Daniel fumbled for words. "Uh, I’m... actually, I’m Daniel, Captain Carter’s friend. You know, Sam Carter? You two met a few nights ago." He saw the tightening of her lips, the slight downturn of her eyes. For a second, the regret was clear.

“I remember,” she said, curtly, turning away as though already preparing to brush him off. “What about it?”

"I... I don’t know what happened after we left," Daniel said, trailing off, unsure of how to bring up the real reason he was here.

Melanie sighed, clearly frustrated. “Look, we had an amazing evening. I thought she’d call—hell, I was looking forward to it. But she didn’t. Not even a message. So, I guess that’s just how it goes. I get it, she’s military, probably got her reasons. But it still kinda sucks, you know?”

A sharp pang of guilt tore through in his chest for what he was about to tell her. Bravado barely masked the hurt behind her words, the sense of squashed hope lingering under her frustration. She wasn’t angry—just disappointed.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Daniel finally said, glancing down at the bar. “She... she didn’t disappear on you. Sam got into an accident on her way home. A hit-and-run. They left her on the side of the road.”

Melanie’s face paled instantly. "What?"

Daniel swallowed hard. “She’s in the hospital. Memorial Hospital. It was pretty bad. She was in a coma, an artificial one, to help her recover. She woke up just about an hour ago.”

Tremors shook Melanie’s hand and the glass she had been holding slipped from her grip, shattering on the floor. “Shit,” she muttered, but her eyes never left Daniel’s face, the shock and fear clear in her wide-eyed stare. “Are you... you’re not messing with me, right?”

“No,” Daniel assured her quickly. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this. Sam … she mentioned you when she woke up, and that’s why I thought... I figured she’d want you to know.”

Melanie blinked rapidly, processing the information, her lips parted in disbelief. Tears welled in her eyes as she leaned against the bar, her hand clenching the rag tightly.

“How bad is it?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s... pretty bad,” Daniel said. He pulled down his glasses, slumping slightly at the memory. The last few days had been awful. “She’s got a fractured skull, brain swelling, a shattered arm, broken leg, broken ribs... I mean, she’s getting better and the doctor’s say that she woke up is a good sign, but it’s still touch and go.”

Melanie’s breath hitched, and she wiped her eyes quickly, her tough exterior crumbling. “God... I had no idea.”

His glasses needed a clean, Daniel thought distantly and turned them in his hands to give the bartender a moment to compose herself before slipping them back on. The woman looked down at the bar, biting her lip, then back up at him, her face a mix of concern and hope.

“Can I see her? Can I visit?”

“I’m not sure,” Daniel admitted. “She’s going to be transferred to the base infirmary as soon as she’s stable enough, and once that happens... well, you won’t be able to. But for now, she’s still at Memorial. You could try.”

Melanie’s expression shifted, determination settling into her features. “I’ll go see her,” she said firmly, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for telling me, Daniel. I... I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t known.”

“Sam would have wanted you to know. If she said she’d call, she would have. She didn’t just disappear on you.”

One more time, Melanie wiped at her eyes and pulled her shoulders up, letting out a long, controlled breath as if to ease away from the tears. "Noone can cover my shift tonight, but working in a bar has the benefit of having the mornings off. I’ll go visit her tomorrow right away," she said, clearing her throat right after. She looked back at Daniel. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“No problem,” Daniel replied, standing up. “I hope she wakes up again soon.”

Mel had barely slept the night before. After Daniel had told her about Sam’s accident, it was impossible to stop thinking about it. The guilt gnawed at her, making her toss and turn in bed, her thoughts fixated on the tall Air Force captain who had walked into her life so unexpectedly.

She remembered how Sam had looked that night—the way her blonde hair had been slightly messed from the helmet, how her lips had curled into that confident smirk, her laughter so open and genuine. And then the uncertainty and fear after Daniel had appeared, the braced shoulders that had made Mel want to hold her and defend her against the world, even though she knew Sam likely was mentally so much stronger than her. Mel had been hooked immediately. The flirting had come easy, natural, but when they kissed... that had been everything. Slow at first, like a promise, but it quickly deepened, pulling them closer until she couldn’t think of anything but Sam. Even now, just thinking about it sent a tingle through her.

Mel had grinned the entire ride home that night, the warmth of Sam’s lips lingering against hers. She had fallen asleep thinking of her—her leather jacket, the way she had looked back over her shoulder when she’d put on her helmet, that at times so shy smile that barely computed with the confident grin of other times. Sam was everything she’d never thought she’d have a chance with, and it felt like something more than just a fleeting moment.

The next day, that elation had still been there, riding high in her chest like a wave she couldn’t come down from. She’d waited, hopeful. Maybe Sam was busy with her work, but surely she’d call.

But the call never came.

That night, Mel had worked her shift with half her mind on the bar door, waiting, hoping Sam would walk in again. By the second day, the hope had started to dim. She had told herself it wasn’t personal. Sam was probably just caught up with whatever important military stuff she did. But after the third day, something in Mel broke. She had spent that evening behind the bar, having given up her day off when someone called in sick; her fingers tapping idly on the counter, waiting. By the time her shift had ended, she had given up on the idea of Sam coming back. She’d felt stupid for believing there had been something real between them.

But then today, Daniel had walked in and shattered all those thoughts. Sam hadn’t disappeared on her. Not on purpose. She’d been run over that very same night. Fighting for her life in the hospital.

Now, as Mel drove towards Colorado Springs, she felt a heavy weight settle in her stomach. Sam might still die, and Mel had spent the last week feeling hurt over something Sam had no control over.

She clenched the steering wheel tighter, trying to push away the rising sense of guilt.

When she spotted tire marks on the side of the road, her breath caught in her throat. Without thinking, she pulled over, the tires of her truck crunching on the gravel as she parked. She got out, her boots hitting the dirt, and slowly walked toward the disturbance. The earth was churned up, as if something heavy had been dragged or thrown here. Her eyes caught on a small, bent piece of metal, partially buried in the ground. It looked like it had once been part of a bike. Sam’s bike. The one she’d been so proud of.

Mel had watched the woman drive in her rearview mirror. Sam had been fast but controlled. Careful. She didn’t seek the thrill in dangerous curves but had slowed instead, falling behind at times. Damn it, she had made Mel slow down to drive more safely.

Her chest tightened, and she felt sick to her stomach. This was real. Daniel hadn’t lied. Sam really had been in an accident.

Mel swallowed hard, bending down to pick up the piece of metal. She turned it over in her hand, feeling the jagged edge. It was cold and sharp against her skin, and the weight of it was suffocating.

Sam had been lying here, broken and alone, and Mel had spent the last week thinking she hadn’t called because she didn’t care.

She tossed the metal aside and hurried back to her truck, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the keys. The guilt was overwhelming now, pressing down on her chest like a vise. She had to get to the hospital. She didn’t care if they wouldn’t let her see Sam—she had to try. She had to make sure Sam knew she hadn’t given up on her.

The drive felt like it took forever. When she finally arrived, Mel parked and got out, glancing around nervously. Automatic doors opened up before her and warmth greeted her with the distinct antiseptic and slightly musty smell of hospital. In response, her stomach coiled. Hospitals were aweful places in her experience. Every time she entered one she could not help think of the endless months her father had spent in them as he slowly died. 

Shaking her head, Melanie searched for the front desk and hurried towards it. No point in lingerin in old thoughts when she was on her own mission—she needed to see Sam.

When she reached the front desk, her heart was pounding in her chest. The woman behind the counter barely glanced up as Mel approached, her fingers flying across the keyboard of her computer.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked in a bored tone.

Mel swallowed, her voice catching in her throat. "Yeah, uh... I’m here to see Captain Samantha Carter. I’m a family friend."

The receptionist's fingers paused for a moment before she looked up

After some back-and-forth, the receptionist relented and allowed her to visit Sam. She was given instructions on what floor to go to, and with a wave of nerves, she stepped into the elevator, her heart racing with each passing floor. She barely registered the nurse’s comments as she was handed a gown at the door, something about how it wasn’t often that patients had this many visitors in one day.

The nurse had said that Sam was doing better, but Mel could barely hear anything past the pounding of her own heartbeat.

Slipping on the gown, she fumbled with the hand disinfectant, her hands shaking. She felt like she was walking in a fog, her feet heavy as she was led to Sam's room. The door creaked slightly as Mel pushed it open, and her breath hitched as she finally saw her.

It was all real. Small, pale, and fragile, Sam looked nothing like the confident, radiant woman she had met just a few days ago. The woman who had laughed and flirted with her, who had pulled her in for a kiss that left Mel breathless. Only her chest rose with shallow breaths, her face framed by bandages, her body attached to tubes and wires. It was surreal.

For a long moment, Mel just stood there, unsure of what to do or say. She finally swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped closer to the bed, her voice soft and hesitant.

"Hi, Sam," she whispered, offering a shaky smile. "I know you probably wanted to call... but, you know, given the circumstances, I thought I’d just stop by for a visit instead."

Her words felt hollow, but she didn’t know what else to say. It was strange, speaking to someone who couldn’t respond. After a pause, she reached out and gently took Sam’s hand. The warmth of her skin was a relief, irrevocable proof that Sam was alive beyond the lines on the monitor. It was a small comfort, but it grounded her in that moment.

Mel slid her hand up, fingers trailing over the soft skin of Sam’s forearm before they moved around her elbow. The same way she’d done in the bar. Then, she’d felt the other woman shiver and lean in, a soft tremble in her muscles as Mel had leaned forward to brush her lips against her jaw. She remembered the way Sam’s eyes had dilated, wide attention and desire in blown pupils, barely lit in the dim corner of the bar. Asking Sam if Mel could kiss her. Her whispered ‘Please’.

Now, there was nothing. Mel wet her lips, blinking against the burning in her eyes. Her fingers tightened around Sam’s elbow but Sam didn’t react. Her lids still closed, she continued to sleep.

“Shit,” Mel cursed when her tears started to flow over. She turned her head away, blinking against the ceiling, pressing out air through her lips. Always so emotional, she cursed herself, admonishing herself to stop this. Crying had always been her weakness and the sting in her throat swelled. But she couldn’t stop it. Not when everything inside her wanted to lean forward and kiss Sam, to make her wake up. Of course she knew she couldn’t. Not only because Sam still lay unconscious but even if she’d been awake, Mel could only suspect at the amount of painkillers currently clouding her mind. No, Mel would never do that.

And yet, she couldn’t let go of her arm. Needed it to ground herself.

“Get a grip, Melanie,” she told herself, sniffing and running her free hand over her cheeks. She cleared her throat, biting her lip. It wasn’t fair of her to cry, to act so emotional when she barely knew this amazing woman fighting for her life. Mel knew how manipulative tears could be and she was trying not to fall into old patterns. If Sam woke, this shouldn’t be what she saw. Because then she would never want to go on another date with Mel and selfish as it was, Mel wanted that. Mel wanted for Sam to wake up and to call her. To talk, just like they had in the bar. Not just the easy, lighthearted things, but to have a conversation, one about everything, the one that felt so real and true. Sam deserved better than the mess that tears turned Mel into. Even though Sam couldn’t see her now, couldn’t judge her, Mel still fought the storm within her, terrified that even unconscious, Sam might sense her flaw.

Slowly, Mel managed to calm down. Her chest still shook and felt tight, and she wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks before looking back down. Pale as she was, even now Sam looked gorgeous. In a tragic, painful way. Like a painting and Mel would give anything to see her blue eyes open and for that delicious smile.

“You have to pull through this, Sam. You owe me a call, you know? And next time you stop by the bar, drinks are on me. Hell, I’ll pay for your food too. I just want to get to talk to you again.” Her thumb moved, stroking gently against the soft skin in the crook of Sam’s elbow.

Suddenly, the door creaked open again, and Mel yanked her hand back, bursting to her feet. She cleared her throat and stepped back. A man froze in the door, looking at her. Beneath his paper gown, he wore a red checkered shirt and dark trousers. Definitely not a doctor or a nurse. After his initial surprise, the man smiled tiredly and stepped in.

"Hey," he said, his voice warm but curious. "Are you here to visit Sam too?"

Mel nodded quickly, trying to compose herself. "Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "I … We’re … childhood friends. We lived next to each other when we were kids."

The man raised an eyebrow at that, and he grinned slowly. He extended a hand.

"Is that so? Well, I’m Mark, Sam’s older brother."

Heat rose up in Mel’s cheeks and her mind scrambled for a response. Now that she looked at him, Mel could see the family resemblance. Same blue eyes, same nose, even the grin was similar. Damn it.

There was no way he believed her lie. Even her cheeks still felt puffy. Mark didn’t seem angry, though—just amused.

"So," he said, leaning against the wall, "how long have you known Sam?"

There was no point in keeping up the charade. "I only met her a few days ago," she admitted, her face burning with embarrassment.

Mark nodded, his expression softening. "Are you two... close?"

Heat flushed Mel's chest and she shifted from one leg to the other. Did Mark know? Sam had told her she hadn’t found out that part of herself until her mid-twenties and had spent years after trying to deny it. How likely was it she’d shared that part of herself with her brother? Mel had no idea what kind of relationship the two siblings had. Without intending to, her fingers twisted in front of her and she forced herself to drop her hands to her sides.

"Not really," she said, balancing her words. "But when I heard she was in the hospital, I wanted to come. It just... doesn’t feel right, you know? Someone in the military, someone like her, getting hurt like this... It’s not fair."

Mark’s face sobered at that, his expression growing serious. He stepped closer to the bed, looking down at his sister, the weight of the situation heavy in the air.

Again, Mel swallowed, feeling a little more at ease but still nervous. "My brothers are in the military too," she said quietly. "Well, one is. The other... he got dishonorably discharged a few years back. He’s gay."

A huff and Mark muttered something under his breath that Mel didn’t quite catch. He shook his head, the frustration evident on his face. "It’s ridiculous," he said. "Asking people to fight and die for this country and then telling them they can’t be who they are? It’s just not right."

Relief flickered up at that, and Mel's shoulders sagged. Mark caught her reaction and smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

"I know," he said quietly. "About Sam, I mean. Of course I do—she’s my little sister. I think I knew before she did. And even with her being military, I swear, if anyone ever hurts her for who she is..." He trailed off, his voice thick with emotion. He looked back at Sam, his shoulders slumping a little. "I’d punch their damn lights out."

The words made Mel smile, but it was a sad, bittersweet smile. She watched as Mark sat down beside his sister, his hand gently brushing over hers, his focus entirely on Sam now. Mel stood quietly for a moment, unsure if she should stay or go.

Finally, she cleared her throat softly. "I’ll... I’ll let you have some time with her," she said gently, taking a step back. Mark nodded, but he didn’t look up, his attention still on Sam.

As Mel turned to leave, her heart felt heavy. She had wanted to see Sam, to make sure she was okay, but now that she had, she wasn’t sure what to do next. The thought of Sam lying there, fragile and broken, haunted her as she walked out of the room and back into the hallway.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Replacements

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 to follow, but Sam found herself struggling with 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.”

Frowning faintly, Sam struggled to make sense of the timeline. “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.

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 conversation.For 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.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Recovery

The soft hum of the infirmary echoed through the sterile, brightly lit room. Sam Carter lay in the bed, the usual bustling activity of the base seeming distant and muffled to her. Her right arm and leg were encased in casts, her ribs wrapped tightly, and her skull—though heali —still felt like a constant pressure in her head. The brain swelling had finally subsided, but the weight of it lingered in her thoughts, thick and clouded. She could barely keep her eyes open, drugged and sluggish from the painkillers and sedatives they’d been giving her.

Dr. Janet Fraiser stood at her bedside, holding a small plastic cup of liquid, studying her for a moment. Sam’s eyelids fluttered, a slight wince crossing her face as she tried to turn her head. A soft cough rattled from her chest, but she quickly stifled it, her pale face scrunching in pain.

“Sam, honey, you need to let yourself cough if it hurts that much,” Janet said gently, her voice calm and soft as she set the cup down on the tray table beside the bed.

Speaking was hard. As if the words had been put in a bowl and shaken up before being poured into her brain. “Hurts … too much,” Sam finally managed to press out, the words slurring on her lips.

Each breath rasped in her lungs and her tongue and throat felt as dry as a desert despite the ice chips Janet had given her to suck on. Though she barely understood why, Sam remembered Janet telling her something of a feeding tube and IV.

“Do you want to try drinking some water?” The way Janet carded through her damp hair felt good and Sam let her eyes flutter closed. Pain echoed distantly in her limps but the bed felt like it was made of clouds. If she bit into her blanket, would it taste like cotton candy? Part of Sam was sure of it.

“You still with me?” The doctor had shifted, checking on the machines and her voice had grown terser.

“Yes, sir,” Sam mumbled. She frowned. Sir? No, that wasn’t right. “Mom.” No that wasn’t right either. She focused, trying to pronounce the word. “Numb. No! Ma’am. Sorry. Words make … no sense.”

“That’s alright, Captain. I promise I won’t write you up.” Though she smiled, the way Janet caressed Sam’s hand made Sam shift her head, wincing. She blinked through the fog and saw the spike her heartrate painted on the monitors.

“Don’t look up, Captain,” the doctor admonished, shifting to push back the machines monitoring everything. “It puts strain on your neck and we’re trying to give you a chance to heal.”

“Water?” Only now did the earlier words catch up.

“We can try. Let me adjust your bed.”

Discontented, Sam groaned when the whirring of the bed vibrated under her body, shaking up her bones. Her cloud was too loud. “Stop!”

“You’re already up. Any pain?”

Listening inside herself, Sam only found more marshmallows. She hummed a negative and worked her mouth. “Water?” Sam blinked slowly, too drugged to really focus on Janet’s face. Her right hand twitched slightly, trying to raise itself from the covers, but the effort was too much. She let it fall back.

“Let’s take this one small step at a time,” Janet said, sitting beside the bed, her hand resting lightly on Sam’s good arm. “I’m right here. Okay?”

Trusting her friend, Sam tried to catch Janet’s eye but she seemed to glide off her face every time. Instead, she gave a small nod. Every movement took more energy than she had to give.

The rim of a plastic cup touched Sam’s lips. “Just a sip, Sam. If it’s too much, we’ll stop immediately.”

Sam hesitated, her breath shallow, before she managed to open her mouth slightly. She took a tentative sip, but the liquid barely touched her tongue before she choked. She was drowning! Her throat tightened, and her chest seized in another painful cough. A whistle lodged in her throat with each intake of breath and she bent over it, only to have a firm grip halt her. Spluttering, Sam squeezed her eyes shut.

“Why a waterfall?” she wheezed out, glaring at the shape that was her mom. No, not her mom. Ma’am. The Doctor.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” The cup vanished and warm hands slipped into Sam’s hair, quickly adjusting her head, supporting her through the cough. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

Eyes watering, Sam’s body trembling from the effort of holding back the pain. Heat flushed her face from the exertion, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to regain control.

“I… I can’t…” Sam’s voice was thin, trembling.

“You don’t have to do it all at once, Sam,” Janet reassured, her gaze slipping sideways to the beeping behind Sam’s bed. “Just breathe. Focus on your breathing, okay?”

After a few seconds, Sam’s breathing began to slow, the violent coughs subsiding to softer, more manageable breaths. The doctor waited until Sam’s pulse had returned to a steady rhythm before she reached for the cup again, holding it close but not offering it just yet.

“Captain Carter, I need you to take a deep breath for me,” Janet instructed, her voice soothing. “Nice and easy. In through your nose… and out through your mouth. Slowly.”

The air felt good and Sam obeyed though everything felt sluggish. Sweat clung to her skin and itched. Coughing should be forbidden. Since when was it this exhausting? For a moment, Sam mourned the poor owls who had to cough up the indigested remnants of their meals. “Did I … get the bones out?”

“The bones?” Janet watched her carefully, checking the monitor again, then waiting until Sam seemed a bit more stable.

Likely she made no sense at all. Morphin was amazing and Sam was sure now it would taste of cotton candy. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Sweet cotton candy.

“Better?”

The question had Sam open her eyes. When had she closed them?

She managed a faint smile, though it was more of a grimace. “Yeah. Just… feels weird.”

“It’s going to take time,” Janet said with a soft chuckle, trying to ease the tension. “You’re healing. You’ve been through a lot. Your body just needs a little time to remember how to do the simple things.”

For a long moment, the two friends sat in quiet solidarity. Sam’s breath had finally settled, her pulse was steady. After a long while, Janet carefully lifted the cup to Sam’s lips once more, offering the liquid with a gentle, encouraging smile. “One more try, okay? Small sip. Just a little.”

Fear lodged itself firmly in Sam’s chest and she struggled for the shaken-up words. Why was everything taking so long? It shouldn’t be this way!

“Just… please,” Sam whispered, her voice hoarse, “I don’t want… I don’t want to choke.”

“You’re not going to choke, Sam.” Janet’s voice was gentle but firm. “I’ve got you.”

Carefully, Janet picked up the cup, her eyes scanning Sam’s face for any sign of distress. She noticed the slight tremor in Sam’s lips, the way her breathing was shallow.

Sam gave her a slight nod, her hand twitching as if to reach out but falling short. She opened her mouth, this time taking the smallest sip. Her face registered the faintest of winces, but she didn’t choke this time. Janet smiled softly, a small triumph for the moment.

“It’s okay,” Janet murmured. “You’re doing great. I’m proud of you.”

As the liquid passed smoothly, Janet knew this was just the first step. But for Sam—this was enough. Just one sip at a time. One day at a time.

Quietly, Janet stood beside Sam’s bed, her fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a rhythmic backdrop to the faint hum of the infirmary. Footsteps shuffled softly outside the door, and Janet glanced toward the sound, her eyes landing on the familiar figures of Jack O’Neill, Daniel Jackson, and Teal’c entering the room.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the empty chair in the corner—Mark Carter’s chair. He had been absolutely dedicated, coming by every single day to sit with Sam for hours on end, talking softly to her even when she couldn’t respond. Yet, somehow, he always seemed to miss the moments she woke up. It was uncanny, as though fate had conspired to ensure he’d be away grabbing coffee or stepping out for a phone call when her eyes fluttered open.

Janet thought fondly of the man who reminded her far more of Sam than she had initially expected, based on Sam’s conversations about him. Mark’s quick wit, his fierce loyalty, and the way he softened when he spoke of his sister—all of it resonated with the Sam Janet knew and loved. She couldn’t help but wonder how long Mark could keep this up. He had a wife, kids, and a job waiting for him back home. Yet, despite whatever arguments they might have had in the past, his daily presence spoke volumes about how important Sam was to him.

It was the first time the team had seen Sam awake since the accident. When she’d regained consciousness earlier, confusion had clouded her awareness, leaving her disoriented and distant. Now, though still groggy and heavily medicated, her gaze followed their movements with a bit more clarity.

The Colonel, predictably, led the way, his casual confidence apparent in every step. Yet, something gentler flickered in his eyes as they rested on Sam. “Well, well, well,” he quipped, his trademark grin lighting up his face. “Look who’s finally up and about. Sam Carter, fully functional and undoubtedly ready to kick my ass again.”

A slow blink was Sam’s only response, her lips twitching faintly in an attempt at a smile. Her effort fell short, the weight of her injuries and the haze of medication dragging her back into foggy confusion. Across the room, Janet observed closely, noting the subtle scrunch of

Sam’s face—a fleeting expression of discomfort as she tried to process Jack’s words.

“Yeah, well,” O’Neill continued, his tone light, “I’ve been doing some sleuthing around here, trying to track down your missing shoe.”

Sam’s brows furrowed, confusion lining her face. She blinked again, her throat constricting slightly, and Janet could see her trying to understand.

Jack grinned wider, taking a few steps closer. “I mean, I really tried to find it, Carter. Scoured the place. But no luck. Your left shoe’s still MIA. The last time you woke up, you were very concerned about that shoe.  And—” he leaned in closer with a raised finger, “—there was also a spoon. Ringing any bells?”

Sam’s frown deepened, though she didn’t have the energy to respond. It was clear the joke wasn’t connecting for her, her mind still a few steps behind. Her brows knitted tighter, the joke clearly lost on her. Janet noticed Sam’s throat tighten, a faint swallow betraying her frustration as she fought to keep up. Her hand moved weakly, an unsteady attempt to lift it toward Jack, though the effort lacked strength. The hand fell back onto the bed with a soft sigh of defeat.

Undeterred, O’Neill pressed on, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The shoe and the spoon, Carter. Totally vanished. Like, poof. Into the void.” His words hung in the air, playful yet tinged with something softer, a warmth that betrayed his concern.

“Carter?” Jack asked, his tone changing to something a little softer, more serious. “Don’t worry,” Jack said, leaning back slightly, sensing that his attempt at humour wasn’t quite landing. “It’s just—well, you were really into the whole shoe-and-spoon mystery last time. I think we’re all glad you’re back, even if you’ve forgotten all about your shoe quest.”

When Sam shifted, Janet’s attention settled on her. It was heartbreakingly clear she couldn’t quite keep up. Her eyes flickered between the three men, trying to follow the conversation but unable to keep up with the rapid-fire jokes.

“Let’s ease up on her,” Janet said softly, glancing at her patient with concern. “She doesn’t remember, Colonel. And frankly, with the amount of morphin in her system, I would be surprised if she did. Let’s not agitate her, shall we?”

The faintest movement drew Janet’s attention as Sam turned her head toward her. Confusion still clouded her face, and her lips parted as though she wanted to say something. A shallow exhale escaped instead, her effort faltering as her body stiffened, straining to connect thought to speech.

“I… I’m…” Sam whispered, but the sentence didn’t go anywhere. Her eyes glazed over for a moment as she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say.

The silence sat with no one wanting to interrupt Sam’s quietening words until Teal’c spoke up, his steady voice filling the room. “Indeed, Colonel. A change in topic may be prudent. Captain Carter’s recovery is a lengthy process, and such conversations are best saved for when she is fully recovered.”

Adjusting Sam’s blanket with practised care, Janet brushed Sam’s bangs from her forehead and checked her temperature with the back of her hand. Unnecessarily, but sometimes Janet couldn’t quite help herself, especially with Sam being not only her patient but also her friend. “She had her first taste of liquids today,” she shared, her tone a blend of pride and encouragement. “No IV, no feeding tube. Just a real drink.”

“Water tastes … surprisingly good,” Sam managed softly, her voice barely audible but coherent enough to spark delighted chuckles from the others.

Eager to keep the mood light, Daniel shifted the subject. “So, speaking of food—has anyone heard from SG-3 about their little… gastrointestinal incident last week?”

Immediately, the Colonel caught on, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, don’t even get me started. I’ll never look at another burrito the same way again.”

Teal’c raised an eyebrow. “The burrito incident was… unfortunate.”

“That’s an understatement, Teal’c,” Jack said with a grin. “They’ve been downing Pepto like it’s water for a week. I thought we’d have to send them back through the Gate to find a new planet with better food options.”

The conversation shifted into a lighthearted recounting of SG-3’s ill-fated food choices and the unfortunate stomach issues that had plagued them for days. Sam’s breathing grew a little deeper, and her head sagged toward the pillow, the exhaustion from her injuries and the drugs finally catching up to her.

As the banter continued, Janet found herself smiling faintly at the easy camaraderie between the team members. It was a relief to see Sam surrounded by the people who cared for her. She could tell that the team was doing their best to keep things normal for Sam, even if she wasn’t quite able to participate in the conversation just yet.

After a few more moments, Teal’c, ever the perceptive one, broke the silence in his usual way. “Captain Carter no longer resides under the waking,” he said, his tone gentle yet filled with a quiet understanding. “She rests now.”

Janet glanced down at Sam, noticing her steady breathing, the peaceful look on her face as sleep finally overtook her. The team fell silent for a moment, letting the quiet fill the room.

Letting out a sigh. “Yeah, she’s out. Guess we’ll have to save the rest of the real fun for later, huh? But hey, at least I got no new missions to hunt down missing shoes. That’s a bonus in my books. She seemed much more … less insane?”

“The brain swelling has receeded and while she is still on morphin, we were able to lower her dosage. Even though she is no longer a host, her body seems to react differently to some of our medication than she ought. The dosages we had to apply to ease her pain were much higher than they would be for an ordinary human.”

“The naquadah in her blood,” Teal’c acknowledged, his hands folded behind his back. “I know of no other Tau’ri who has been a former host. However I suspect changes in physiology should be expected.”

“Indeed,” Janet grinned as she picked up on Teal’c favourite phrase.

“Well, seems you found the right dosage then, Doc,” O’Neill quipped. “We’ll leave you to it, Doc. She’s in good hands.”

“Thanks,” Janet said softly, offering them a small smile. “I’ve got her. 

The early morning air bit sharply, cold enough to burn with each breath. Mel welcomed the sting, letting the rhythm of her feet pounding against the dirt trail drown out the whirlwind in her head. The town’s running paths were nearly empty, the quiet interrupted only by the occasional passing jogger. None of it really registered, her focus elsewhere.

A huff of breath broke through her thoughts. “Do you ever just, I don’t know, jog at a normal human speed?” Amy’s tone was strained, her steps lagging slightly behind.

“This is normal,” came the reply, paired with a smirk.

“For you, maybe,” Amy muttered. “I’ve got two kids who were up all night because one of them decided she’s scared of her shadow. If I collapse, I’m blaming you.”

Laughter bubbled up, lightening the moment. “Told you to let them stay up watching monster movies. Builds character.”

The glare Amy shot over lacked any real malice. “You are not babysitting anytime soon.”

An easier rhythm settled between them for a while, the early morning quiet wrapping around them like a blanket. Amy, true to form, eventually broke the silence again.

“Alright,” she panted, still jogging a step behind. “What’s the deal? Did someone replace you with a pod person or something?”

A quick glance over the shoulder was all Mel offered before easing her pace. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re in beast mode, and you didn’t even check out blue leggings earlier. Totally your type. But nope. Nothing. What gives?” The words came with exaggerated incredulity. “Who are you, and what did you do with Melanie Banks?”

A faint smirk tugged at her lips, she didn’t answer. Instead, the pace picked up again.

“Oh, come on!” Amy groaned, falling further behind. “Why are you running like the hounds of hell are after you? Slow down! Or is this punishment for all the years I made you watch rom-coms?”

“It’s not a punishment,” came the clipped response.

The sound of Amy’s feet came to an abrupt stop behind her. “That’s it. You’re officially weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

A few more steps carried Mel forward before realizing her companion had stopped. A sigh escaped as she slowed, turning back to meet Amy’s questioning gaze. “Nothing.”

The word hung there, unconvincing.

“Liar,” Amy shot back. She straightened, hands on her hips as she stared Mel down. “You’ve been weird all morning. Spill.”

One hand tugged at a loose strand of hair that had slipped free from her ponytail. “It’s… this woman.”

Amy’s brows shot up. “A woman? That explains some things. Who is she?”

Exhaling sharply, Mel began jogging in place, restless energy making it impossible to stand still. “Her name’s Sam. She came into the bar two weeks ago—Thursday night. But… she’s military. A captain.”

“A Captain? Fancy,” Amy teased, falling into step beside her as Mel began jogging again. “What happened?”

Again Mel’s pace slowed a little as she spoke, her voice softer now. “We talked. All night. She was… amazing, Amy. Just this perfect mix of sharp and kind and—God, the way she listened to me. Like she actually cared. Like she wasn’t just waiting for her turn to talk.”

Amy’s teasing smirk faded into something more thoughtful. “Huh. She sounds different.”

“She was,” Mel said, a wistful edge to her voice. “And she didn’t freak out when I told her I don’t do one-night stands. You know how that usually goes.”

A knowing nod came from beside her. “Yeah. Most people bolt.”

“Not Sam.” A small smile flickered. “She just smiled, like it was a relief or something. We kept talking—about everything. Work, life, the stars. She’s just… incredible. I kissed her goodnight, and she promised to call.”

The silence that followed felt heavier. “But she didn’t, did she?”

Mel shook her head, her smile fading. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Amy sounded incredulous before her eyes widened. “Don’t tell me she’s in a relationship? Or married to a dude?”

“No,” Mel laughed. She thought of how Sam felt in her arms, how perfect she fit there with Mel’s hands against her waist, how good she’d tasted in their kiss. “She got hit by a car.”

That seemed to short-circuit whatever Amy had been thinking. She blinked rapidly, sputtering. “What?!”

The bile rising in her throat had nothing to do with the jog. Mel slowed, Amy struggling beside her to keep up as the story spilled out. Sam’s accident, the visits to the hospital, the way the transfer meant there’d be no more visits. A quick swipe at her eyes was passed off as something caused by the cold air, though Amy wasn’t buying it.

“So yeah, complicated,” she finished, voice strained. “Now that I’ve spilled my guts, can we talk about something else? I’m already overthinking it without dragging it all out again.”

The trail stretched onward, quiet except for the crunch of gravel beneath their feet and the occasional chirp of birds overhead. Amy’s presence beside her, steady and warm, offered a strange kind of comfort, even as they moved on to lighter topics.

“The kids are going to the science museum with Luis today,” Amy said, her tone carrying a rare mix of gratitude and exhaustion. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without him. Between school, work, and those two little maniacs, life’s been non-stop chaos.”

“Luis deserves a medal,” Mel replied, her voice warm with genuine admiration. “And the museum? That’s a great call. They’ll love it.”

Amy huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, after they finish World War Three over who gets the window seat on the drive there. It’s a new exhibit—dinosaurs, comets, all the fun ways the world could end. You know the drill. There’s some planetarium thing, too. Honestly, I can’t keep up with half of it, but they’re obsessed.”

“Did you know time actually passes differently near a black hole?” Mel said suddenly, her pace slowing slightly.

Amy glanced over, her curiosity piqued. “Wait, what? Like time travel or something?”

“Not exactly.” Mel’s expression softened, her voice growing more animated. “It’s called gravitational time dilation. The stronger the gravity, the slower time moves. So, near a black hole, time for someone close to it would crawl compared to someone farther away. It’s mind-bending if you think about it.”

Amy’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold on—this is real? Not just sci-fi nonsense?”

“It’s real,” Mel said, nodding. Her gaze drifted ahead, as though she could see the stars through the daylight. “And stars… they’re incredible. Like neutron stars—those are what’s left when massive stars explode. They’re so dense, just a teaspoon of one would weigh billions of tons. Then there are red dwarfs, which burn fuel so slowly they can live trillions of years. That’s way longer than our sun will last.”

The words spilled out like a revelation, unfiltered and raw, until Amy finally stopped jogging and turned to face her. “Okay, where is this coming from?” A smirk tugged at her lips, but her tone softened. “You didn’t just read this in National Geographic, did you? This is Captain Gorgeous knowledge, isn’t it?”

Heat rose to Mel’s cheeks as she groaned, already regretting the slip. “Maybe.”

“Oh my God.” Amy’s grin widened, a burst of delight lighting up her features. “You’ve got it so bad, don’t you? Look at you! Geeking out about black holes and red dwarfs like you’re serenading her with science. It’s adorable.”

“I do not have it bad,” Mel protested, though the blush creeping up her neck said otherwise.

“Oh, you absolutely do,” Amy countered, laughing now. “Come on—gravitational time dilation? Stars living for trillions of years? That’s basically the nerdiest love poetry I’ve ever heard.”

A glare formed but quickly dissolved into a faint, reluctant smile. “Fine. Maybe I do. She’s just…” The words hung in the air, as though searching for the courage to land.

“She’s just what?” Amy prompted, her voice gentler this time.

“She’s … amazing,” Mel said, barely louder than a whisper. “She’s a scientist. Astrophysics. Smart, kind, and funny in this dry, understated way. She made me feel like I mattered, you know? Not just some bartender trying to make a good tip. It was… different. She was different.”

Amy’s smirk returned, playful as ever. “So let me get this straight. You, of all people, managed to find yourself a scientist to swoon over? What’s next, you’re going to start hosting trivia nights about constellations?”

Mel groaned, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m serious!” Amy pressed, her grin widening. “Little Melanie Banks, who never paid attention in high school physics, now waxing poetic about neutron stars and black holes. You’ve got to admit, it’s kind of hilarious.”

“Okay, first of all,” Mel began, trying to suppress her smile, “I did pay attention in physics. I just hated my teacher. And second, it’s not like I picked her because she’s a scientist.”

“Oh, so you picked her for her looks?”

“Amy!”

Amy offered a warm, reassuring smile, brushing back a few loose strands of hair. “Alright, alright. I surrender. But I’ve got to get home and have dinner ready before Luis and the kids return. So can we please finish this run before I end getting dragged into the science museum by you instead of my kids so you can show off to your Captain by knowing space stuff?”

Laughter bubbled out of Mel, easing the tightness in her chest. “Deal. But if you pass out, you’re on your own. I’m leaving you here.”

“Typical,” Amy replied with an exaggerated eye roll, her grin breaking through. With that, they fell back into an easy jog, their steady rhythm a contrast to the chaos both women kept at bay in their own lives.

The morning air felt a touch warmer now, the crispness softening as the sun climbed higher. For the first time in days, Mel’s thoughts weren’t a tangled mess of what-ifs and regrets. Sam would call. Mel chose to believe that.

By the time they reached the parking lot where they’d started, Amy slowed to a dramatic halt, bending over with her hands braced on her knees. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts.

“Five miles?” Amy wheezed, her face flushed as she glared up at Mel. “Are you trying to kill me, Banks? I’m a mother of two. I’m not made for this.”

A grin stretched across Mel’s face, her chest heaving steadily. “You did fine. Barely broke a sweat.”

Amy shot her an exaggerated death glare, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. Her face shone red and sweat matted her hair in wet strands “Fine? Fine? My legs are filing for a restraining order, and my lungs are drafting complaints. Tomorrow, I’m going to need crutches just to get out of bed.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Mel teased, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Despite the dull ache in her muscles, a rush of energy surged through her, leaving her feeling more alive than she had in weeks. “A little suffering is good for you. Builds character.”

Groaning dramatically, Amy groaned as she straightened up, swiping at the sweat dripping down her temple. “Character? Melanie, I’m drowning in character. What I need is a nap and a gallon of water. Maybe a stretcher.”

Mel laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, as though shaking off the invisible weight that had been pressing on her shoulders. For once, the sticky heat of sweat and the burn in her legs felt like a badge of resilience rather than a burden.

Amy tilted her head, giving Mel a side-eye. “Why do you look like you just got off a spa day? I feel like I’ve barely survived an ultra marathon in the Sahara.”

“Endorphins,” Mel quipped with a shrug. “They’re magical. I feel great.” She bounced a little on her toes, testing her energy. “Might even do another mile.”

“Says the former olympic hopeful,” Amy sputtered. Mel almost regretted telling her of her teen obsession with biking that had very nearly become her adult job before she’d decided to quite professional racing. Since then, her friend seemed to take great pleasure on bringing it up every time they talked about physical activity. “Another mile? Go ahead, Wonder Woman, but I’m done. My lungs have already signed their resignation letter.” She straightened up and started walking toward her car, muttering under her breath. “The kids are going to be bouncing off the walls with dinosaur facts and planetarium popcorn. I’ll be lucky if I don’t fall asleep in my mashed potatoes.”

Mel chuckled, jogging a few steps in place before slowing to join her friend. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you off the hook this time. But don’t think I’m going to let you dodge our next run.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Amy replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll be here. Same time, same place, ready to suffer all over again. Because, you know, apparently I hate myself.”

With a shared laugh and a knowing glance, the two women parted ways. Mel climbed into her car, her muscles still tingling with the satisfying burn of effort. Maybe once Sam’s bones had healed, she’d join them on a run. Well, that thought had come out of nowhere, Mel thought and butterflies made a ruckus in her stomach. That was distant dreams but it told Mel she definitely had to get her head out of it. Picking up speed, Mel finally ran, leaving the car lot behind to go for another lap. Maybe she’d just do the whole five miles again. This time, pushing on the speed.

Balancing a precarious stack of books, Daniel navigated the winding halls of the SGC with a practiced ease. The weight of his thoughts, however, was harder to carry. Approaching Teal’c’s quarters, he hesitated briefly before knocking—a soft, polite tap that didn’t fully betray the swirl of uncertainty inside him.

It was late at night, the day long having since passed. Jack had gone home to catch some sleep and Sam would not be leaving the infirmary for weeks.

The door opened with its usual quiet efficiency, and Teal’c stood framed in the threshold, his expression calm but curious. His quarters were as neat and orderly as ever, the scent of a faintly burning candle adding a meditative quality to the space. When Teal’c inclined his head in greeting, there was no mistaking the mild surprise in his gaze.

“I was wondering if you had a few minutes,” he began, juggling the books slightly for emphasis. “I need a bit of a distraction, and, well, you seemed like the right person to talk to.”

Teal’c stepped aside, motioning for him to enter. “You are welcome here, Daniel Jackson,” he said, though his tone carried a hint of confusion. “It is unusual for you to seek conversation in private. Such matters are often discussed in the meeting room.”

A brief, self-conscious laugh escaped him as he set the books down on the nearest surface, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I needed a change of scenery. And, honestly... I just needed something to get my mind off Sam’s accident. If you don’t mind?”

The faintest shadow of concern crossed Teal’c’s face, but he merely nodded. “I do not mind.”

Taking a seat, he felt the weight of the books lessen but not the weight of his thoughts. His gaze flickered briefly to Teal’c, who had resumed his usual poised stance. He knew why he’d really come, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it aloud. The knowledge sat heavy in his chest, a truth he wished wasn’t so complicated.

Sam’s secret was one she could never voice, not in her position. The military’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy loomed over her life like a shadow, and he couldn’t ignore how unfair it was. She shouldn’t have to hide who she was—not from her friends, not from her team, and certainly not from herself.

The problem was, even in their tight-knit group, he didn’t know how everyone truly felt about relationships like hers. And if he wanted to help her—really help her—he needed to find out.

He just hoped Teal’c’s answer would be one of support.

Shifting in his seat, Daniel licked his lips, pondering how to approach the subject. “Yeah, I was just... thinking,” he started, hesitating before continuing. “You know, about how different cultures view relationships. It’s something I’ve been studying for a long time.” He paused, leaning forward slightly, choosing his words with care. “There’s this story from ancient Greece. One of their gods, Zeus... he had a relationship with Ganymede, a young man. And, well, I was wondering—what do the Jaffa think of that? Same-sex relationships, I mean.”

Teal’c’s brow furrowed for a moment, and Daniel briefly wondered if he’d crossed a line. But then Teal’c nodded thoughtfully, his expression unchanging.

“I do not understand how we arrived at this topic, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c responded slowly, “but I will answer your question. Among the Jaffa, relationships between individuals of the same sex are not seen as unusual. In fact, such unions are often considered pure, as they are based solely on affection and love, rather than the need to reproduce. The bond between two people who share that connection is honored.” He met Daniel’s gaze directly, his voice steady and firm. “There is no dishonor in such relationships.”

Surprised by the clarity of Teal’c’s response, Daniel blinked, a mixture of relief and curiosity stirring within him. “So, you’re saying same-sex relationships are... celebrated? Respected?”

“Indeed,” Teal’c confirmed, his voice unwavering. “They are recognized for their strength, as they are formed without the expectation of children but instead because of deep mutual affection. It is a sacred connection.”

A smile tugged at Daniel’s lips at the simplicity of Teal’c’s explanation. “That’s... really great to hear, actually,” he said, his fingers absently brushing the edge of Sam’s blanket. “It’s not quite the same on Earth, though. At least, not here in the United States.”

Deepening seriousness marked Teal’c’s expression, his gaze sharpening with intent. “Explain.”

Sighing, Daniel leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Well, for a long time, relationships between people of the same sex have been... discriminated against. Some parts of the world are making progress, but here in the U.S., especially in the military, people still face a lot of challenges. It’s not really... accepted.” Pausing, Daniel carefully gathered his thoughts before continuing. “There’s this policy called ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,’ which was put in place a few years ago. Basically, it says people in the military aren’t supposed to talk about their sexuality. They can’t be openly gay, lesbian, or bisexual. If their superiors find out, they could be discharged. It’s supposed to be a compromise, but it’s really not. People are still terrified of being found out. It’s a mess.”

Teal’c’s frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “The Tau'ri discriminate against those who form such bonds?”

The weight of the words settling heavy in the air and Daniel nodded gravely. “Yeah. It’s been like that for a long time. People are afraid of losing their jobs, their homes, even their lives sometimes. It’s getting better, but it’s still not where it should be.”

The jaw tightening was the only visible sign of Teal’c’s rising frustration. A flicker of anger passed through his normally stoic expression. “That is most unfortunate,” he said, voice low but controlled, though it held a sharp edge. “I had thought the Tau'ri wiser than this. I have seen their capacity for greatness, their understanding of honor and loyalty. This... discrimination you speak of is not befitting of a wise people.”

Slowly, Daniel exhaled, nodding in agreement. “I know. It’s frustrating, to say the least.”

For a moment, Teal’c sat as still as a statue. Then, he rose in a fluid motion. “I will speak with General Hammond on this matter.”

Surprise flickered across Daniel’s face. “Teal’c, I don’t think—”

A cocked head silenced him.  “It is unjust,” Teal’c said firmly. “Such a practice dishonors those who serve with loyalty and dedication. I will not stand by while those I care for are subjected to such treatment.”

Swallowing, Daniel glanced at Sam’s room, where his thoughts lingered. Teal’c’s words rang true—what Sam faced, what she had to hide, was wrong. But this wasn’t just one conversation with General Hammond. The battle was bigger than that.

Gratitude for Teal’c’s unwavering support welled up in Daniel. If only the rest of the world saw things as clearly as his friend did.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Empty Spaces

The soft knock at the door interrupted General Hammond’s concentration on the mission briefings in front of him. His attention shifted as Teal'c entered, his imposing figure filling the doorway. It wasn’t often that the Jaffa sought out the General in this manner, and when he did, it was always for something of significant importance. Concern stirred in Hammond’s chest.

“Teal’c,” Hammond greeted, gesturing for him to step in. “What can I do for you?”

“I have something important to discuss, General Hammond,” Teal’c replied, entering the office and closing the door quietly behind him.

Setting his pen down, Hammond turned his full focus on the Jaffa. “Go ahead. What's on your mind?”

Teal’c stood rigid, his usual stoicism in place, though there was something different in his demeanor today. Hammond could sense it—a subtle weight to his words, something that made him sit up straighter in his chair.

“I have recently been in conversation with Daniel Jackson regarding the ancient gods of the Tau’ri,” Teal'c began. “We sought to identify possible Goa’uld who might have posed as these figures.”

Hammond nodded slowly, leaning back as he processed the information. It was routine for SG-1 to explore historical myths for ties to the Goa'uld, but something about Teal'c’s tone made this feel different—more serious.

“We discussed many myths,” Teal'c continued, his voice measured but heavy. “One such was the story of Zeus and Ganymede.”

At the name ‘Ganymede’, Hammond raised his brows. He searched his memories. While he had never been well-versed in ancient mythology, he’d learned a lot in recent years and of course spent far more time thumbing through books on the most common myths and legends of the great pantheons. Unexpectedly, his job had made that a requirement. The tale of Zeus and Ganymede, a young boy taken to Olympus by the god, often carried uncomfortable connotations when viewed through a modern lens. The significance of the myth wasn’t lost on him, and he waited for Teal'c to elaborate.

"I have come to learn," Teal'c said slowly, "that on this world, such relationships are not only dishonored but met with punishment. Tau'ri laws prevent those who love others of the same gender from living openly. This troubles me deeply, General Hammond."

Hammond exhaled, feeling the tension build in the room. This was not the kind of conversation he had expected.

"Teal'c, I understand where you're coming from," Hammond began carefully. "But I don’t make the laws. The military—well, it follows certain guidelines, and we have to work within them. My hands are tied when it comes to changing anything at that level."

Never had Hammond suspected a simple head tilt could hold so much disdain. The warrior before him stood tall, his hands behind his back and while he did not approach, the intensity around the large man only deepened. “You say your hands are tied, General Hammond, but I do not believe that is so. You have influence.” He turned and gestured to the phone on Hammond’s desk. “You command this facility. You speak to those who make decisions. You negotiate with other worlds on behalf of the Tau'ri. You are not without power.”

The weight of the jaffa’s words settled heavily in the room.  “Teal'c, the military has rules we have to follow. I don’t have the authority to just change laws, especially ones that go as deep as this. We answer to higher levels of government, and those decisions... well, they’re made far above my pay grade.”

Teal'c’s expression darkened slightly, and Hammond could tell his words were falling flat. "The advanced peoples of this galaxy—those who the Tau'ri wish to trade with, to learn from—do not share these beliefs. The Tollan, the Nox—they honor life in all forms. If they were to learn of these Tau'ri practices, I do not believe they would want to associate with you."

Stepping closer, Teal'c’s voice grew more forceful. “You wish to present the Tau'ri as leaders, as allies to these more advanced civilizations. But how will they respect a world that denies its own people their rights? How can you expect the Jaffa to look to Earth as a symbol of freedom if you oppress those who are different?”

Hammond exhaled, keeping his face impassive. He couldn’t argue with Teal'c’s points—personally, he understood the injustices, having seen them firsthand. His brother-in-law followed this lifestyle and he was one of teh most decent people Hammond knew. And he knew some of his comrades fell in that category. Gods, likely some of the people under his command did as well. They should be able to live how they damned-well pleased. But he wasn’t a politician and he knew not everyone agreed with his opinion. One he’d only gained after long years and exprience. It had not been the way he’d been raised. But now he couldn’t change things with a snap of his fingers.

"Teal'c, it’s not that simple. These things take time, and I’m just—"

Before he could finish, Teal'c stood taller, his voice firm. "The next time I encounter the Tollan or the Nox, I will tell them of these Tau'ri laws. I will explain that on this world, those who love differently are treated as lesser, as unworthy of the same rights as others. And if your government believes these laws are just, then they cannot stop me. For if they stand behind them, they must believe they are right."

Hammond felt his stomach twist. "Teal'c—"

"And if they do not stand behind these laws, then they must change them," Teal'c said, his voice resonating with a deep sense of conviction. "It is an easy choice for those who truly honor life."

Silence settled over the room. Hammond opened his mouth, intending to respond, but found himself at a loss for words. The boldness of Teal'c's statement hung in the air, a challenge that seemed to demand an answer.

Sensing the conversation had reached its natural end, Teal'c inclined his head respectfully. "I leave this decision to you, General Hammond. But know that I will not stay silent."

Without waiting for a reply, Teal'c turned on his heel and walked out, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Staring at the phone on his desk, Hammond leaned back in his chair, the weight of the conversation lingering in the silence that followed.

The air on P3X-489 was thick, heavier than Earth’s but not unmanageable. A faint metallic tang lingered with each breath, a reminder that even breathable atmospheres weren’t exactly home. The distant hum of a generator blended with the occasional chirp of alien fauna, underscored by the rhythmic crunch of boots on dirt. Colonel Jack O’Neill adjusted his P90 and let his gaze sweep the horizon. The prefab structures of the base stood in stark contrast to the surrounding wilderness—orange skies streaked with violet clouds, tree lines that looked almost familiar until you noticed the translucent leaves.

“Nothing yet,” he muttered into his radio. “Teal’c, any movement on your end?”

“None, O’Neill,” Teal’c’s calm voice replied. “All remains quiet.”

Jack nodded to himself, his gaze flicking toward the distant tree line. No movement. No surprises. For now.

Turning back toward the center of the small, prefab base, he caught sight of Wallace, who had wandered too far from Daniel for the second time in as many hours. Wallace wasn’t quite straying into liability territory, but the man had a knack for pushing limits—professionally, socially, and otherwise. And Jack wasn’t sure yet whether he liked or hated the guy for it.

“Wallace,” Jack called sharply, his voice carrying over the hum of activity.

A lazy grin spread across Wallace’s face as he turned, hands held up in mock surrender. “What? Just stretching my legs, Colonel.”

Eyes narrowing, Jack responded, “Your legs should stretch no more than twenty feet from Jackson. You’re supposed to check in every half hour, not play Marco Polo. Got it?”

“Got it, got it,” Wallace replied breezily. “Relax, sir. It’s not like we’re in the middle of a firefight here.”

The urge to pinch the bridge of his nose almost overwhelmed Jack. “That’s the point. We’re not in a firefight because we stay alert and follow protocols. Now get back to Daniel.”

Wallace saluted, the exaggerated gesture earning a roll of Jack’s eyes, before he sauntered off toward Daniel. The archeologist, crouched near a weathered stone slab, muttered to himself, notebook open, brow furrowed in concentration. Even without hearing a word, Jack could tell Daniel wasn’t pleased. His body language made it clear enough.

Turning back to resume his patrol, fragments of Wallace’s conversation with Daniel drifted on the breeze.

“I’m just saying,” Wallace’s voice carried, “if you looked at the symbols this way, it might speed things up a bit.”

The response was clipped. “Thank you, Major, but I think I’ll stick to the methods that have worked for the past several decades of archeology.”

“Sure, sure,” Wallace said, his tone cheerful. “But, you know, sometimes fresh eyes can help to get there faster.”

The pencil froze mid-stroke, the hand holding it pausing as the head slowly turned toward the speaker. Then he slowly turned his head to look at Wallace. “Oh, really?” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I hadn’t considered that. Thank you for enlightening me, Major. I’m sure my degrees and decades of experience pale in comparison to your…fresh eyes.”

Wallace raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Whoa, easy there, Doc. Just offering some input. Team effort, right?”

There was a beat of silence. “Touchy,” Wallace said finally, chuckling. “No wonder Carter’s the brains of your team.”

Jaw clenched in frustration, the Colonel turned and headed toward the two, the faint crackle of a radio on the vest filling the moment. As the distance closed, the conversation continued, oblivious to the growing tension.

“I mean, must be nice for you guys, right?” Wallace added with a grin. “All guys on this mission. Must be a nice change of pace to you guys. I mean from what I heard, Dr Carter is great, but must be nice to relax without any feminine sensitivities in the mix.”

Jack stopped dead in his tracks, head tilted slightly as if he’d misheard. Then, with the same casual demeanor he used when lining up for a golf swing, he strolled over to the group.

“Feminine sensitivities?” Jack asked, his voice light but laced with a sharp undertone. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, fixing Wallace with an unreadable expression. “What exactly do you mean by that, Major?”

Wallace’s grin faltered for just a second before he recovered, his casual swagger intact. “Oh, you know, sir. Just… uh… you know, women have certain, uh… things. Emotions and all that. Not in a bad way!” He raised his hands again in mock defense. “I’m just saying it’s probably different for you guys. No offense meant.”

Arms folded, Daniel leaned back, watching the exchange with open interest. Teal’c, silent as ever, raised an eyebrow and fixed his gaze on Wallace.

Jack squinted at Wallace, leaning in slightly as if trying to decipher a complicated map. “Huh. Emotions. Right. So Carter—who, let’s recap, has out-thought alien supercomputers, built MacGyver-esque devices out of literal junk, and saved our butts more times than I can count—is, what, a little too emotional for you?”

“No, no, that’s not what I—” Wallace began, looking a bit less sure of himself now. His grin was still there, but it wavered as he shifted on his feet. Wallace laughed nervously and scratched the back of his neck. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, Colonel. Carter’s obviously brilliant—I mean, she’s a legend. Just, uh, you know, group dynamics and all that. Guys tend to… mesh differently when it’s just guys, you know?”

Jack’s gaze hardened slightly, though he kept his voice light. “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

Hesitating, Wallace glanced at Daniel for backup. He got none. Daniel had crossed his arms and was staring at Wallace with a distinctly unimpressed look. “Well, sir, I just thought—”

“Oh! I get it!” Jack interrupted, snapping his fingers theatrically. “You’re talking about the time Carter burst into tears because Teal’c wouldn’t share his energy bar. Oh, wait…” He glanced at Teal’c, who quirked an eyebrow in return. “Nope. That never happened.”

The major scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I just meant—”

“Or maybe you mean the time she got us through a firefight by crying about… wait, nope, didn’t happen either,” Jack continued, now pacing slightly. “So, enlighten me, Major, because I’m just not seeing it.”

The grin finally vanished from Wallace’s face, and he dropped his shoulders, looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean it like that, Colonel,” he said, his tone quieter now. “It was just… a bad joke, I guess.”

Stopping his pacing, Jack turned back. “Yeah, bad jokes happen. But here’s the thing: Carter’s not here because of a drunk idiot with a car, not because of some made-up ‘feminine sensitivities.’ She’s as much a soldier as the rest of us. More, sometimes.”

Wallace nodded, chastened. “Understood, sir. I’ll watch it.”

“Good,” Jack said, his tone lightening. “Now, let’s get back to the whole ‘team effort’ thing, shall we?” He clapped Wallace on the shoulder with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re new here, Major. You’ll catch up.” Jack stared him down for a beat longer, then smiled abruptly, his usual easygoing demeanor sliding back into place like a well-worn jacket. “Good. Now let’s get back to the mission. No more sociological deep dives into ‘group dynamics,’ huh? Leave that to Daniel.”

A soft snort escaped Daniel, his arms still crossed. Wallace’s sheepish smile faltered but held, clearly relieved when Jack turned and walked away. As he retreated, Daniel cast Wallace a pointed look before quietly refocusing on his notes. Teal’c, watching in silence as always, gave Wallace a single, deliberate nod. Whether it was agreement or mere acknowledgment remained unclear, but the effect was the same—Wallace shifted uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Wallace muttered under his breath, “Great start, Wallace. Great start.”

The rest of the day passed without much incident, though the air was palpably more subdued. Wallace, now quieter and more careful with his words, stuck close to Daniel, keeping his suggestions to a minimum. Jack made a mental note of the Major’s restraint—it was an improvement, but the guy still had a long way to go. Daniel, for his part, had cooled off, burying himself in his work with a kind of pointed focus that kept Wallace at arm’s length.

Jack and Teal’c continued their patrol of the perimeter, the rhythmic crunch of their boots a comforting constant. The alien wilderness stretched out around them, its strange beauty both alien and familiar. The translucent leaves of the trees shimmered faintly as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, golden shadows. A faint breeze carried the sharp tang of metallic minerals and the distant, melodic chirping of alien fauna.

“Anything interesting on your side, T?” Jack asked casually, breaking the silence as they completed another loop.

“Nothing, O’Neill,” Teal’c replied, his voice calm and steady. “The area remains secure.”

“Figured as much.” Jack adjusted his P90, glancing toward the ruins where Daniel and Wallace were still working. “At least it’s peaceful. That’s nice.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c agreed, though his dark eyes scanned the tree line with unbroken vigilance.

By the time they circled back toward the camp, the sky had deepened to a dusky orange, streaked with ribbons of violet. Jack checked his watch, the numbers glowing faintly in the dim light. Even though the sun was just beginning to set on this planet, it was already nearing 3:30 a.m. back on Earth. He did some quick mental math, calculating the time it would take to wrap things up here, get through the post-mission checkups, and finally make it home for a shower and some sleep.

Jack sighed softly, not entirely unhappy but feeling the weariness settle in. This had been Wallace’s first mission with SG-1, and while the guy had potential, he was undeniably green. For a Major, Wallace seemed surprisingly inexperienced, lacking the natural cohesion and unspoken understanding that had defined their team with Carter.

Still, Jack couldn’t bring himself to dislike the guy. Wallace had his moments—he was funny in his own way, and he clearly wanted to prove himself. But wanting to fit in and actually fitting in were two very different things. It was going to take time, effort, and maybe a few more hard lessons to whip him into shape.

As they reached the camp, Jack made a decision. They were close enough to the gate, and the ruins weren’t going anywhere. “Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s call it. We’ll pick this up back at the SGC tomorrow.”

Their resident jaffa inclined his head in agreement, and Jack keyed his radio. “Daniel, Wallace, pack it up. We’re heading back.”

A crackle of static was followed by Daniel’s voice, tinged with relief. “Alright. I think I need some more references to figure all this out anyways.”

Wallace chimed in, his tone much more subdued than earlier. “On it, Colonel.”

A smirk tugged at Jack’s lips as he watched the two men begin gathering their gear.As the small group began making their way back toward the gate, Jack let his thoughts wander. This day, with Wallace tagging along for the first time, had been a strange one. It was going to take some getting used to—a new dynamic, a new rhythm. But as they trudged through the alien wilderness, Jack allowed himself a small, hopeful smile.

SG-1 had faced tougher challenges than breaking in a new teammate. And if Wallace could learn to keep up—or, more importantly, learn when to speak up—then maybe, just maybe, they’d be alright.

“I’m heading out,” Wallace called to them, closing his locker.

Jack O’Neill just hummed and started getting dressed. His hair still dripped on his shoulders and he rubbed his towel over it, barely hearing Teal’c and Daniel offer polite good-byes to the other man who’d apparently had some urgent business to take care of at this ungodly hour in the morning. They had just finished the post-mission check up with Dr Fraiser who’d taken the night-shift and thier mission debrief. Despite being physically tired, his mind reeled.

When they had left the planet, it had been a good day, albeit exhausting. He’d felt fine—tired but in a good mood. The mission had gone smoothly enough, despite the newcomer Major Wallace’s missteps. He’d even found himself joking with Daniel and Teal’c about the planet’s bizarre foliage. Everything had seemed fine, even if Wallace was still a bit of a wildcard.

But then, as they’d walked back through the SGC’s hallways, Jack had passed by Carter’s room. Just a brief glimpse, but it had hit him like a sucker punch. The thought of her, absent, not part of the team, stirred something in him.

It had been like a switch had flipped. All at once, his thoughts were consumed with memories—of her leadership, her quiet strength, the way she’d always known what to say at the right moment.

And damn it, it felt wrong.

The locker room went quiet again, save for the sounds of rustling gear and the occasional metallic clang of a locker door. Jack O’Neill stood at his locker, his brow furrowed as he tried to shove a bag into place. The latch wasn’t catching right, and no matter how he adjusted it, the damn thing wouldn’t stay closed.

He grunted, gave it a harder shove, and when it still didn’t work, slammed it with a fist. The door bounced open again.

“Come on!” he snapped, his voice louder than he intended.

At the far end of the room, Daniel Jackson paused, his jacket half-off, and looked over. “Uh, Jack?” he asked, cautious. “You good?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. He shoved the bag back in, harder this time, and the door still refused to stay closed. “No, Daniel,” he said sharply, his voice rising. “I am not good!”

He stepped back, glared at the locker like it had personally offended him, and then, as if realizing how ridiculous he looked, let out a bitter laugh. “Stupid piece of junk…” he muttered. His laugh faded, and he turned, his expression dark. He sat heavily on the bench, rubbing his face with both hands.

For a moment, Daniel lingered, uncertain. Then, he stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “What’s going on?”

Dropping his hands, Jack gave Daniel a flat look. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what the hell’s wrong with me.” His voice was quieter now, but the frustration still simmered underneath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

From his place in the corner where his own locker had already been closed, Teal’c spoke for the first time. “You appear troubled, O’Neill.”

Jack barked a short laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong there, big guy.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and awkward. Daniel opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but before he could, Jack cut him off.

“It’s Carter,” he blurted, his voice sharp again. He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about her. About what happened.”

Daniel exchanged a glance with Teal’c but said nothing. He let Jack talk, sensing that pushing wouldn’t help.

Rubbing at his face didn’t help make Jack feel better. Instead, he started talking again, his voice quieter now, almost a mutter. “She nearly got killed by a damned car. A hit-and-run. Not some Goa’uld or death glider—just a regular, stupid Earth car. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”

He sat back, staring at the ceiling like he could find answers there. “She’s stuck in that hospital, broken to hell, and doped up on so many drugs she’s barely making sense half the time.”

He hesitated, his jaw working as he struggled with the words. When he finally spoke again, his tone was more subdued. “She kept asking for her left shoe. Apparently, that’s the kind of thing you worry about when you’re high as a kite. A left shoe, and a missing spoon—something about it being next to the centrifuge. And then she started going on about Daniel getting the wrong chilis or… or something.”

Daniel frowned, confused, but Jack wasn’t really looking for clarification.

“It was all nonsense,” Jack continued, his voice growing rough. It had been almost a week ago. After Carter had woken up for the first time and he’d had the time to stop by for a visit. She’d been making no sense whatsoever and he had not been certain whether Carter had lost it entirely or if it was the drugs. “But then… then she said something else.”

Expression unreadable, Teal’c tilted his head while Daniel stayed silent, watching Jack closely.

“She said…” Jack’s voice faltered, and he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake off the memory. “She said she was all alone in the dark. That she knew she was dying. And then she said…” He stopped again, staring at the floor.

Finally, he looked up, his expression unreadable but his voice trembling slightly. “She said the stars were laughing at her.”

The room went completely still. Even Daniel, who usually had something to say about everything, was silent.

Rubbing a hand over his face again, Jack's frustration shifted into something heavier. It sat on his chest as if to choke him. “I can’t get it out of my head,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “The way she said it. Like she was… like she’d already given up. And I wasn’t there. None of us were. She was alone.”

“She’s not alone now,” Daniel said after a long pause, his tone quiet but measured. “You know that, right?”

Jack huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “Yeah, sure. But that doesn’t stop it from… sticking. That image. Her saying that.” He shook his head, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. “It’s just… it’s messed up.”

Calm as ever, Teal’c took a step closer, hands clasped behind his back. “It is understandable, O’Neill, to feel unease when a comrade suffers.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks, T.”

The jaffa inclined his head slightly but said no more.

A sigh sounded in the room and Daniel crossed his arms, chewing his lip. “You’re not the only one dealing with this, you know.”

That had Jack sharply turn to the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been having nightmares too,” Daniel admitted, his voice steady but matter-of-fact. “About what happened. About her.” He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but his expression betrayed a hint of weariness. “You’re not exactly unique in this, Jack.”

Again, Jack snorted, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled to be part of that club.”

“Neither am I,” Daniel shot back, his tone dry. “But here we are.”

With a heavy exhale, the Colonel leaned back against his locker. “Guess we’re all a little screwed up, huh?”

Daniel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced at Teal’c, who gave a small nod, and then back at Jack. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

The silence returned, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. It was a shared silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. Jack stared at the ceiling again, his thoughts still tangled, but the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

“Anyway,” he muttered after a while, his tone lighter, though still edged with fatigue. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

His team listened. While there was compassion on their faces, it wasn’t the one born in pity, in a act of understanding. Teal’c raised his hand and brushed goddamn tears from his face with no attempt of hiding the action. They understood, really truly did. And Carter would too once they got her back in the team.

No, that was wrong: Carter never left the team. She might be lying about and healing but he’d make damn sure their team would not break apart because of this. Wallace was only temporary. They’d integrate him, sure, but that didn’t mean they had to boot Carter. She still had all the clearances and it would be good for her to be up-to-date. Damn it, wasn’t her promotion set for sometime this week? He’d have to check in with Hammond. She sure deserved it, regardless whether she could pull on her dress blues or not. It shouldn’t be postponed because of a her accident.

One more time, Jack rubbed his face, then stood, giving the locker a half-hearted shove. “Stupid thing,” he muttered under his breath. It finally latched, and he gave it a small, satisfied grunt.

He slapped the side of his locker for good measure, the door finally latching after what felt like an eternity of frustration. Plasting a smile back on his face, he turned to face Daniel and Teal’c. “Well,” he said, clapping his hands together as if dusting them off, “since we’re all clearly drowning in the joys of downtime, what do you say we hit the road? Grab some fishing poles, a cooler, and head up to my cabin for a little R&R. No fish involved, of course.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Jack, you’ve been inviting us to that cabin since… I don’t know, forever? And no one’s ever actually gone.”

“It’s tradition,” Jack replied, grinning. “You say no, I keep asking. Builds camaraderie.”

Daniel rolled his eyes but then, to Jack’s surprise, muttered, “Fine. Sure. Why not?”

Mid-grin, Jack froze. “Wait… what?”

“I said fine,” Daniel repeated, sounding more resigned than enthusiastic. “I could use the break. And Teal’c probably has no idea how to handle a fishing pole. It’ll be a learning experience.”

Teal’c inclined his head. “Indeed. I will accompany you, O’Neill.”

For a moment, Jack just stared at them, trying to process the fact that they’d actually agreed. Then his grin widened into something real, something bordering on incredulous. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re both coming. This is amazing.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Daniel quipped, already moving toward the exit.

Jack chuckled but then sobered slightly, glancing back at Teal’c and Daniel. “One thing first,” he said. “I wanna check on Carter before we head out. Shouldn’t take long.”

Neither of them protested. They followed Jack through the maze of hallways, their civilian clothes drawing a few curious looks as they passed other personnel. It was a rare sight to see SG-1 out of uniform and not in the field.

When they reached the infirmary, Janet Fraiser was at Carter’s bedside, her head bent over a chart as she meticulously reviewed her patient’s medication schedule. Sam was out cold, her breathing steady and her face pale but peaceful. The beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a steady rhythm that contrasted with the unease Jack always felt when he saw her like this.

Fraiser glanced up as they entered, arching a brow at the sight of them. “Colonel,” she greeted, her tone half-curious, half-warning. “Something I can help you with?”

“Nah,” Jack said, stepping closer, ”just checking in on Carter before we head out for some manly bonding time at the lake.”

Fraiser’s expression softened slightly. “She’s stable, Colonel. Deep asleep, and that’s exactly where she needs to stay for now.”

Carter was so still, so different from the bright-eyed woman he was used to. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels before clearing his throat.

“Hey, Carter,” he said quietly. “Just wanted to let you know, we’re heading out for a little fishing trip. Don’t worry, though—we’ll be back by tomorrow morning. So, uh… you just keep being good for Doc Fraiser here. Don’t go hemorrhaging or anything.”

Almost frantic, Fraiser’s head snapped up at that, alarm flashing across her face. “If she starts hemorrhaging, we’ve got much bigger problems, Colonel.”

Jack winced. “Okay, poor choice of words. Just… you know, stay stable, Carter.”

Carter, of course, didn’t respond. She was far too deep in the drug-induced sleep Fraiser had assured them was necessary for her recovery. Running his tongue over his teeth, Jack stayed a moment longer before it started becoming weird. So he straightened, giving her one last look before turning back to Fraiser.

“You’ve got this, Doc?” he asked, his tone more serious.

Fraiser nodded firmly. “I do. Go. Get some rest yourselves. I’ll call if there’s any change.”

It did reassure him. The doc must be reaping in overtime hours by the dozens but she’d been at base nearly non-stop since the accident. Cassie had been staying at a friend’s place and luckily school kept the young teenager distracted. “Alright. Thanks, Doc.”

With that, he left and Teal’c and Daniel followed him with their own quiet words of good-bye to the unconscious woman. It was time for some R&R. They all needed it, apparently.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Aftershakes

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 did 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. 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. Sam’s nudity barely registered.

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 and cut deep into her body 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 Sam and then drying her 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 practised 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 happens.”

“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 face.This 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.