Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter stirred fitfully
in her Infirmary bed as her eyelids flickered. An IV hanging to one side
ended in the top of her hand, put there by the same nurse who'd escorted
her, and toward the end of their brief journey, almost carried her to
see the newest Chief of Medical Operations at the SGC.
If Sam's traitorous
body'd had the energy to protest her incarceration there, she would've.
However, by the time they'd arrived she'd felt even weaker than before
and willingly submitted to their own form of torture called restorative
medicine.
Sure, she'd rolled her
eyes and made a token protest at the verdict, severe dehydration and
exhaustion, but she knew the Doctor's diagnosis was correct. She'd
already made it herself while she was busily puking up everything but
her toenails in the ladies head.
'So why can't you just relax and enjoy the
time off? You've earned it, haven't you? You know you have, Sam. So
what's wrong with you?'
She moaned in her sleep
as her head moved restlessly from side to side.
'I'll tell you what's wrong with you, as if
you don't already know. You're a workaholic who's already so far behind
in her precious projects that you'll never catch up in a million years,
that's what's wrong.'
The simple unvarnished
truth was that she was behind in her work schedule with several
important projects languishing on the shelves in her lab, a place that
she couldn't seem to enter without feeling like she was being watched,
or was in danger. Her safe haven for stress relief had become her own
personal hell.
Sam muttered in her
sleep, her head tossing from side to side as this train of thought led
inevitably to the reason behind her fear . . . and her severely depleted
physical condition.
The slow steady beeping
of the heart monitor at her side increased gradually in tempo as her
muddled anxious thoughts took a more sinister turn.
"No," she whimpered as
her feet strained and pedaled against the sheet covering her body. Her
arm pulled its IV tether tight as she swiped at an invisible foe. Beside
her bedside, the monitor began beeping shrilly.
The visions inside her
head unfolded like a macabre movie in which she played an unwilling
leading lady.
'Clad only in his tunic, Sam turned to Jack
and clutched his bare arm. "No, you can't send me back, not without you.
We'll both die if we're separated. Remember?"
'Jack shook his head
and cradled her against his exposed chest, so closely she could hear his
heart beating. Her face nestled against him as she inhaled that special
essence that she'd come to associate as belonging solely to him.'
'She relished the feel
of the bare skin of his arms and chest against her body and for a moment
regretted accepting his tunic. If she hadn't taken it, there would be no
barrier between them now. Remembering the origin of the tunic made her
shudder in revulsion as her skin tried to crawl away from any contact
with the material made by the replicators.'
'Jack shifted Sam away
from his chest and looked into her face. "No, I made a deal with Fifth.
If he takes that doohickey thingy out of our heads and sends you back,
I'll stay with Bug Boy."'
'Sam shook her head
and opened her mouth to protest, but was silenced by his finger laid
across her lips. She kissed it and savored the taste.'
'Jack gazed solemnly
into her eyes. "Shh, I'm the one he really wants anyway. So, I'm
ORDERING you to go, Carter."'
'Fifth looked smug as
he watched them both and began laughing, the obscene sound of it seemed
to echo and bounce around the room that was lined with replicator
blocks. She shivered, as the walls seemed to waver for a moment and then
stilled.'
'Sam shrank back into
Jack's embrace in an attempt to avoid their parting for as long as
possible and directed her iciest glare at their mechanical captor. Why
wouldn't that THING stop laughing? She couldn't stand that laugh for one
second longer; it was hideous!'
'Plus, she knew beyond
the shadow of a doubt that Fifth intended to torture and kill her Jack.
She couldn't leave him there, not now, not after all they'd been though.
They were a part of each other now, and to be separated would be
unimaginable to her. It would leave a person-sized hole within her, one
that only her Jack could fill. Didn't he know that?'
'She tensed in
preparation to throwing herself at the mechanical monstrosity, but
Jack's arms tightened around her and prevented any movement. Throwing a
rebellious stare at her CO, she paused. When he shook his head
sorrowfully, she sighed and slumped against him.'
'She bit back a sob of
frustration. "But . . ."'
'"No, Sam." She looked
into his eyes now coal black with emotion. "Please?"'
'With an effort, he
pushed her away and strode decisively to stand behind Fifth. "Just do
it," he growled. "Now."'
'Sam screamed her protest. "Jack, nooo!"'
Sam heard her scream
reverberate around the private room as she realized she was sitting
straight up in bed with her IV tangled around her arm. Her wide eyes
searched the room wildly for Jack . . . and saw only a nurse she vaguely
remembered who was running toward her.
Through narrowed eyes,
she nailed the nurse and barked in her best command tone. "Airman. Where
is Jack?"
The nurse's forward
momentum carried her to Sam's bedside in seconds. "Ma'am?"
When the nurse reached
for her arm, Sam jerked it out of her reach and scrambled back on her
bed to avoid any possibility of being touched by the unknown quantity of
the nurse.
'Where am I? Did I make it back to the SGC .
. . or is this just another mind game being manufactured by
Fifth?'
Sam's eyes swept the
room, it looked real, but she'd been fooled before by Fifth. She
squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed the sides of her head in desperation
and confusion.
'I can't tell what's
real and what's not. Who can I trust to tell me? Jack? Yes, Jack! I can
trust him, he'll tell me what to do.'
When she heard the nurse
come closer to her, she flinched away as her eyes shot open and flashed
fire at the perceived threat. "Don't come any closer," she ordered.
"I'll hurt you if you do." She grabbed a pen from the nightstand and
held it out in front of her like a knife. "I mean it."
The nurse raised both
hands and slowly backed away. "It's okay, Colonel Carter. You're safe at
the SGC."
Sam lowered her hands,
and then noticed the IV tangled around one arm. With horror, she dropped
the pen, ripped the needle from her hand, and gazed transfixed at the
trickle of blood that ran onto the white sheet covering her.
As she watched, the
crimson droplets appeared to morph into a spider-like apparition and
skitter away. Sam gazed with growing horror at her hand and wiped at it
roughly with her other one.
"Noo!" She wailed. "I'm
real." Her eyes sought out the only other person in the room, the nurse.
"What did you do to me?" she demanded.
The nurse continued to
back away until she reached the far wall by the still-open door.
Fumbling hands grabbed for the phone and her fingers tapped out the
number she needed.
"I need some help with
Colonel Carter, STAT." She paused and listened. "She's not making sense
and has torn out her IV."
Through the buzzing that
filled her mind and muddled her thoughts, Sam struggled to listen to
what the nurse was saying. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it,
but it just made her head hurt worse than is already was.
The beeping noise from
the heart monitor made the effort to clear and order her thoughts an
impossibility. Reaching inside her shirt, she tore the pads from her
chest and flung them at the machine. With a growl she leaned over to the
monitor and silenced it's shrill wail with a flick of an off switch.
That commotion quashed,
her attention was drawn once again to the blood oozing from her hand.
The trickling blood felt strange against her hypersensitive skin, as it
seemed to ripple to avoid the extra stimulus. She rubbed against her
arms, as she felt as if she were ready to jump out of her skin.
Overloaded to the point of breakdown, her mind felt like it was running
in circles as she desperately tried to make sense of the signals her
senses were receiving. Nothing made sense though.
'What's happening to me and where am I?
Wasn't I at the base?'
Sam scrubbed at her face
and pulled the hair impatiently out of her eyes. When a few strands came
loose in her fingers she stared at them in disbelief. Through the depths
of the darkness that her mind had descended she saw a spark of light, a
lifeline that could save her sanity. She seized her lifeline and held on
tight.
'Jack, I've got to talk to my Jack. He'll
know what to do.'
Sam could hear the sound
of running footsteps that seemed to be getting closer to her room. Her
eyes blazing, she barked out a question. "Where's Jack?"
The nurse blinked, uncertain. "What?"
"You heard me, where is
Jack? I need to see him." Her tone brooked no interference.
The nurse chewed her lip
nervously. "Jack? Do you mean General O'Neill?"
"Of course I do. I need
to talk to him." Sam rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Now!"
She grinned with
satisfaction when the nurse jumped and backed out the door.
"Yes, ma'am."
Carter watched as the
nurse beckoned urgently to whoever was coming down the hall.
Left momentarily to her
own devices, she took stock of any potential weapons in the room, but
ended up settling for the pen lying on the bed beside her. Her mind
quieted and she allowed herself to relax against the raised bed. She
felt so tired, more so than she could ever remember feeling before and
her head was pounding.
The combination was
enough to keep her thoughts muddled and she stifled a giggle as she
imagined that her brain looked like their old vacuum cleaner had back
before she'd learned the value of remembering where all the parts went
before tearing something apart.
When her Mom had
discovered her precocious blonde-haired five year old daughter sitting
in the middle of the disemboweled appliance, with dust and gunk covering
everything, she'd been so mad that she'd been speechless, and that
didn't happen often.
As for her Dad, his
reaction had been unexpected; evidently by both her and her Mom judging
from the fight her parents had afterwards. Sure, Dad had tried to act
mad, but his act of covering his mouth and coughing couldn't hide the
gales of laughter spilling out his mouth and eyes.
Sam smothered her giggle
one handed and sighed in annoyance when it turned into a yawn. There was
no doubt in her mind that she couldn't let her guard down, not yet, not
until she'd talked to Jack. He would know what to do. Then she could
sleep safely in his arms.
Her fingers automatically disassembled the pen
as a way to keep awake as she settled in to wait for her captors' next
move . . . and for Jack.
***
When the phone on her
desk rang, Kay was deeply engrossed in the file belonging to Lieutenant
Colonel Samantha Carter. She jumped and swore as she slapped a sticky
note down to mark where she'd left off and reached for the phone. It
rang again before she could pick it up.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your
horses," she muttered in irritation. "I'll get it."
Cradling the phone
against one ear with her shoulder, she reached for a pen and notepad.
"Mental Health, Kay Dow speaking."
She grunted in
frustration when she fumbled the cap of the pen and it dropped off the
desktop and rolled under the desk.
Ignoring the cap, she
poised the pen above the paper; Kay listened intently and then nodded.
"Yes, Dr. McKenzie, I'm reading her file right now."
She paused and her eyes
widened as she doodled the letters PTSD on the pad. Then she gulped and
slashed an exclamation point across the page. "Yes, sir. I agree. I'll
meet you in the Infirmary right away."
Straightening the papers
in the file, she closed it decisively and then looked around her room in
speculation.
"Aha!" Kay opened the
middle desk drawer to reveal several as yet unused pens. She grabbed a
couple and laid them on top of the file. Then she piled the notepad on
top of the file and stuck the pens in a pants pocket.
She paused in thought and
then grabbed the walkie-talkie radio out of the side drawer. Like
loading a clip into a 45, she slid the battery onto the back of the
radio until it clicked, then added the belt-clip to the back of the
battery and attached it to her belt, straightening her jacket over its
bulk.
The familiar actions
brought back memories of her time spent at the prison, when the only
defensive weapon she'd had was the radio. Hopefully this added measure
would be unnecessary, but she'd learned from bitter experience how
unpredictable a patient in crisis could be. Better to be safe than
sorry.
She muttered to herself.
"There, radio, pen, notepad, client files . . . anything else I might
need?"
She smiled and raised a
forefinger to the air. "Just one more thing."
Kay folded her hands
under the desk and bowed her head in a silent prayer. "God, if I'm to do
your work here, I'm gonna need Your help, because it sounds like a real
humdinger of a case is coming up. I ask You to guide my heart, my hands,
my lips, and my heart, Lord. Is it a deal?" She lifted her eyes, smiled
and nodded. "Thanks."
As if heading into
battle, she drew herself up to her full height of five feet four inches
and headed for the door. It was time for her to start earning her
keep.
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