Chapter Seven

Earlier at the SGC, other problems brewed:

"...it's not like he's good breeding material," smirked Rodney McKay.

Rodney's eyes becoming saucer-sized was all that stopped her hand halfway to his face. Sam stopped it there, though it trembled with indecision. She so wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, the one now replaced with impossibly wide eyes and the sudden sweat of fear, his mouth slack with shock.

'Yes, you sanctimonious prig. You'd better fear me,' Sam thought, her face hard at the callousness of this... this... SCIENTIST.

Tightly closing her right hand, still hanging indecisively between them, she fisted it tight before letting it drop to her side. With an inarticulate sound she turned her back to the clueless genius and stalked out of the room.

'Holy Hannah!' She just could not believe it had never occurred to her. 'It should have!' Sam berated herself. After all, this would eventually, and very directly affect her. Someday... she hoped. Then she swallowed and forced her mind away from that and back to the present and the issue that McKay had brought up.

Furiously she turned the problem over in her mind. How could she disprove McKay's assumption? How?

Mentally, she reviewed the configuration of the Stargate as it had been mounted on the bottom of the X-302. The command module should have been sheltered from any direct shower of particles, protected by the bulk of the craft, and any of the tritium shed from the iris on the Stargate. Only material skimming closely around the hull would have broken free of the energetic plasma that must have existed, no matter how thin. This fact was in McKay's favor.

But the position of the gate 'directly' under the ship would have an additional advantage. The Stargate itself would have been on the outer edge, beyond the iris and out of direct alignment with the command module. It would create a 'shadow' in the wave of particles ejected: one, because there was no naquadah behind it, and two, because the eruption of particles would only come from the ring that was the 'gate.

Carter's boots rang along the corridor, her mind on the problem; on autopilot, her body was an expert at dodging the moving obstacles along her path after many years of practice.

The shadow of the iris would be negated by the expansion of particles ejected from the naquadah of the 'gate itself. What would be the rate of closure? And what would be the percentage of non-straight-line ejection of particles? If one assumed that the particles were ejected perpendicular to the surface it emerged from - a safe bet - one could also use a constant for scatter. And in such a system scatter would be proportional to surfaces on the 'gate that were not parallel to the majority of its surface.

Sam's face softened at the thought trying to explain that to the colonel. By now he would've had a pained expression on his face, and might even have stuck his fingers in his ears and sing-songed "la, la, la." That was his signal that her techno-babble was not getting the problem solved.

And he'd come back with something inane about fancy doo-dads on the 'gate. Because the doo-dads would be the surfaces that would create the scattered particles that would negate the protection of the iris. She shook her head, turning her thoughts back to the problem. She needed to solve this for the colonel - for them.

Doo-dads... Something bothered her about them.

Sam stopped dead in the corridor, totally oblivious to the detachment of SFs that split and flowed around her.

The 'gate had faced down. It had been more because of the central raised leaves of the iris, but it would also have afforded protection if the iris had been compromised as the active wormhole faced away from the X-302. In addition, it would have also helped push particles in that direction - away. Just a matter or pressure exerted by energized particles; like water flowing in one direction in a garden hose.

And better yet there were less doo-dads on the back of the 'gate, so there would be less scatter, less lethal particles to invade the cone of protection that by chance alone would extend upwards to enclose most of the command module protecting the pilot - Jack.

Sam's feet had long ago ordered her body back into motion and along a path it knew to follow. They stopped beside the open door; her body breathing hard after clomping up the metal stairs.

Mind and body reintegrated once again, Carter's hand rapped sharply at the doorjamb.

"General?"

"Major? What can I do for you?"

"I need to find the colonel's flight suit, sir," Sam stated without preamble.

Hammond looked a little puzzled.

"Why?"

"It occurred to me that the suit was the one thing that hasn't been tested for radiation levels. And it is the one thing that would show exactly just how much radiation the colonel's body was exposed to," the words came out in a rush. "All of his body, sir."

The general slowly nodded his head in understanding. Even though she didn't mention just what parts she was concerned most about, the general was no dummy and had probably picked up on her unspoken words. What she hoped to prove with the aid of his pressure suit was that a certain very private part of Jack O'Neill might have been spared from total destruction by its very location relative to the iris.

"Major, you have my authority to contact the captain of the Enterprise, or anyone else you need to recover that suit. Keep me appraised. And if you have any problems, don't hesitate to come to me. If you can't get someone moving, I can."

"Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, sir," her smile of relief was immediate and genuine. Now that she had Hammond's support, she would move heaven and earth to locate that suit.

"No, thank you. Thank you for thinking of something that can help the colonel." His voice softened - a match to the expression on his face. "I know it's been hard not being able to visit him while he's ill. I find it damned frustrating to not be able to just reassure myself by just seeing him. It's got to be far worse on you and Teal'c."

Sam's detachment nearly crumbled under those words. She had to keep herself from thinking about just why she was taking this path of investigation. Proving McKay wrong was the least of reasons she had. Although she had to admit that proving him wrong had benefits that would certainly make her day... no make that her week.

She ducked her head and nibbled her lower lip, seeking the level of self-control she needed in order to do her job - what needed to be done. "Yes, sir. It is difficult. I keep reminding myself how I feel when I'm sick."

He nodded his agreement and smiled. "True, none of us seem able to handle visitors well while ill. Good luck, Major."

"Thank you, sir," Sam's words were the only reminder of her presence as she had already cleared the doorway to get the job done. She swiftly moved away from the hustle and bustle of the SGC's Command Center, finally reaching the quite sanctuary of a stairwell.

Her original intent was to jog up to her lab and start making the necessary calls. Instead she slumped down onto the stairs, leaning against the wall as her emotions eroded her carefully erected barriers. The one's she'd built as protection against irrational feelings that only distracted her from what was important - her work. But lately, those same barriers were not holding very well. Not since she'd discovered that her feelings for her CO were reciprocated - and they had agreed to leave them in the room where they'd finally admitted to them.

Like a tongue probing the cavity in a tooth, her restless mind worried at the colonel's welfare. Only one thing mattered to her in her search for the flight suit. That Jack remain healthy and whole for their future together. That thought added another fissure in the barrier she'd erected.

'No', she vowed silently. She had to keep busy, busy enough to keep these dangerous and highly unprofessional feelings of hers under control.

If she were completely honest with herself, she'd be forced to admit that she'd welcomed the challenge of discovering the whereabouts of the wayward flight suit in much the same way as a drowning man viewed a life preserver.

At last her mind had found a distraction worthy of her intellect - something to keep her from dwelling on the welfare of the man laying in the Infirmary, the same man she'd been forbidden to see - prevented by words out of his own mouth. It felt almost like a betrayal - of what they felt toward each other - what they'd agreed to keep in that room.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the care that he was receiving there - far from it. If he had to be there, at least he was being treated by a friend, Janet, one of the best doctors; a doctor who had treated the colonel before, and had nursed him back to health.

She briefly laid her head against her drawn-up knees and blotted the traitorous tears on the cloth of her pants. 'I won't cry. I swore I wouldn't cry. Crying is for babies... and certainly won't do the colonel... Jack... any good. He needs me to stay focused. He needs me... doesn't he?'

Ruthlessly she forced her mind away from that emotional quicksand that could so easily trap and engulf her if she were not careful. Back to the problem that needed a solution - a solution that she could provide if she only thought about it long enough. She took a deep cleansing breath and smiled. She'd get through this, just like always. She just had to find the answer - and the flight suit. She had to trust that the colonel knew what he was doing. After all, he must have had his reasons, right? He wouldn't intentionally hurt her... would he?

And just why was she doubting him? Vague feelings of previous disastrous relationships - of Jonah - tried to surface and Sam stuffed them down. That was then, it was done. This was Jack, she knew him, what he'd done wasn't about control or rejection, but was more about protection. He'd die alone if he thought it would be easier on someone - on her. Damn him, it just made her love him the more.

'No, Sam. Get your mind back to the problem,' she remonstrated with herself. 'Back where it can do the most good - back in safer territory.'

Another cleansing breath and she felt relatively calm as she got to her feet and started back toward her lab. She needed to prove that the dose of radiation was lower than what Rodney McKay insisted on, and lower than what she had insisted upon. Sam was certain that the colonel would survive even Rodney's inflated number of particles. Yet her much lower estimate would be enough to sterilize anyone. Jack would never be able to have children if that suit didn't provide proof of her newest theory.

Without that proof her possible future with Jack O'Neill was in serious jeopardy, because in that future reality she intended to have his children. Dammit.

***

"Sam?" Janet Fraiser looked up from her warm wheat toast and coffee. Her friend looked terrible. "Have you been up all night?"

"Yes. I guess I have," Sam Carter tiredly huffed out as she dropped into the chair opposite her friend. Her own coffee was clenched tightly in her hands.

To Janet's practiced eyes, Sam looked a little glassy-eyed and haggard. She pushed the plate of toast toward her.

"Have some."

"Not hungry." Sam didn't even look at the plate. Now Janet was worried. What was going on here? And how did it affect her most seriously ill patient? Because she knew it did, as sure as God made little green apples.

"Eat, or else," she grinned wickedly, "And explain why the all-nighter."

Janet just grinned at the laser beam glare her friend offered before breaking down and snapping a bite off of one crisp half-slice, unbuttered, of course. 'We girls have to watch our figures.'

With the toast obviously swallowed and the glassy-look returned, Janet prompted.

"Sam, what's so urgent?"

"It's about Jack, ah... the colonel. About... about his ability to... to..."

Bingo, she'd hit it right on the nose. Did she know Sam or did she know Sam? Janet leaned toward her friend with encouragement to confide in her. "Come on, Sam. This is you and me. What about the colonel?"

"He may have been sterilized," Sam's face was bleak.

Janet turned the words over in her mind, totally confused for a moment.

"Radiation. Damn, why didn't I think of that?" Oh God! Why hadn't she considered that? After all, she was the medical person, it was her job to consider all angles. And she'd totally spaced out that very significant matter.

"I didn't either."

"Well, Sam. Why would you? Now I... but, if you didn't. Who did?"

Sam rolled her eyes and spat out the man's name like it left a bad taste in her mouth. "McKay."

"McKay! Somehow that really doesn't sound all that strange. Strange men do strange things."

"Janet," Sam grabbed and held onto her hand capturing all of her attention, "You need to check him."

Her friend looked hopefully at her and she hated that she would have to dash that blooming hope.

"I can't," Janet replied more flatly than she intended, she held up a finger to stop the words she could see coming up Sam's throat. "He's too sick right now; any sperm samples would be of poor quality or simply non-existent, even if I could come up with an explanation for the sample." Janet grinned impishly. "After all, I do need his cooperation for something like that."

"But..."

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's just the way biology works. Right now his body is battling for its life, procreation is on hold until the war is won or lost."

Sam's eyes were studying the half-full plate of cold toast thoughtfully, her teeth tugged at her lower lip. Janet waited, and as expected her eyes finally rose and in them was that determination she so admired in her friend.

"Then I guess it's up to me to figure it out. There is a chance that I can, just a chance."

"That's all he'll need. Jack O'Neill leads a charmed life. With him there's always a chance and he always finds it. Or in this case you will find it. I'm sure of it," Janet encouraged. Her words weren't just empty platitudes she was spouting either. She believed them, to the depth of her being. Sam would find an answer. She always had before. And she would again.

And knowing her friend as she did, Sam was probably finding a way to bury herself in her work. Janet knew that the fact that she had been barred from visiting Jack in the Infirmary had been a heavy blow to her, and she would've been desperately searching for something to keep her mind occupied.

Sam smiled faintly, nodded her head in agreement and fingered a slice of toast. Without prompting she began to eat the toast. Janet smiled.

"You'll tell him? About the..." Sam pointed down below the table, and reddened.

"No. Not now, he has enough to worry about. When I know for sure, then I'll tell him," she replied. Besides, if she waited until after Sam checked it out, chances were good that she'd have an answer for the inevitable questions Jack would throw at her.

Her friend nodded, unable to respond, too busy fueling that wonderful brain of hers. Janet became thoughtful and then added:

"Sam, I wouldn't be too surprised if the notion hadn't already occurred to him."

The major nodded and swallowed.

"Very little gets by him, despite what he says," Sam too, looked preoccupied for a moment, and then continued. "I wish that this time this one does get by him."

Janet patted her hand, pushed the toast closer and nodded in agreement.

"The ironic thing is that I would've already had the answer in my hands if I could just find the flight suit."

"His flight suit?" Janet prompted. She had the feeling that this was what had kept her friend up all night, and kept her mind occupied. If it was, it was great therapy for her.

Sam nodded, "The one he was wearing when he was exposed. But apparently he left it onboard the Enterprise when he changed into something dry. And now no one seems to know where it is."

"I take it that you tried contacting the Enterprise?"

"Yes, I did. But that didn't work. They claim it's been sent on to us, but I have my doubts."

"Did you tell them why you needed it?"

"Yes and no. I told them it might be radioactive, but they didn't seem to believe me." Sam snorted, "They seemed to have the idea that I was wasting their valuable time."

"Come on, Sam. I know you. You've hit a dead-end. What do you plan to do about it?"

Sam paused a moment and then smiled. "Call in the big guns. General Hammond had said earlier that he would be more than glad to help if I ran into any trouble finding it."

***

"Captain Christian?" George gave a thumbs up to Major Carter who would land on her butt if she weren't careful, so precariously was she perched on her chair. "You took care of one of my men the other day..."

"Oh, you mean Colonel O'Neill?" The Skipper of the Enterprise sounded guarded, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, along with a couple of tons of first class manure. George could understand his sentiments as it wasn't every day that he had a Major General from the Air Force calling him on the phone either.

"Yes, that's the one," George agreed.

"Yes, I remember him; he gave my people a hard time. He seems to be a bit of a handful, if you ask me."

"Yes, you might say he's a handful. But he is a good man to have by your side when the shit hits the fan. But that's not why I called. Seems he left his flight suit on your boat when he left."

"His flight suit?" The skipper sounded doubtful.

"Yes, when he changed out of his wet duds, he left it there and our lab boys are itching to get their hands on it because of residue it might have picked up from the aircraft he was flying."

"What do you mean by residue? Would it be dangerous to my crew?"

"Dangerous?" His eyes threw Carter the question and she fielded it with a shake of her head. "No, we don't think so... but they can't be sure until they run some tests on it."

"Oh, well that puts a whole different slant on it. I'll have my XO hunt it down for you, but I can't guarantee that we'll find it. It's very likely that it got tossed out... just like the poop suit we loaned to your man no doubt was."

Hammond s voice rose a couple of decibels. "I see. Well, since you put it that way, here's the straight poop, I've got a man down in my Infirmary who's pretty sick and we need that flight suit in order to determine if he's gonna make it or not."

"He's that sick?" For the first time in their conversation, George felt he had the man's attention and his conclusion was confirmed by Christian's next words. "So it's a matter of life or death for your man?"

"A matter of life or death?" He nodded. "Yes, you might put it that way."

Major Carter's face wilted at his words but then with a visible effort she pulled herself together. Within seconds any signs of distress were erased from her face as if they'd never happened.

"Good, I figured you'd see it that way. And thanks for taking such good care of my man the other day. It does my heart good when I see all of us working together so well."

"I'll make finding it a priority; you'll be seeing it soon. Nothing stays unfound on my ship. Give my best to your man," the captain of the Enterprise ended his transmission on the ship-to-shore call.

Hammond took his time as he replaced the receiver back on the phone, the better to gather his thoughts. It was as he'd thought. The Skipper had labeled the return of O'Neill's flight suit as being a low priority, but once he realized the why behind their request, would tear his tub apart to locate it.

And in return, he would make it a priority of his own to ensure that the Navy's flight suit they'd loaned to O'Neill - or barring that a new replacement - would be returned to them.

"Sir?" Hammond had been wrong, it was possible for the major's butt to get closer to the edge of the chair without falling off it completely - as she was demonstrating.

"They're making it a priority and will send it to us ASAP."

Carter's beaming smile was part of George's reward, but only part. The real reward would only be seen when Jack was up and about once again, and doing his best to drive him to an early grave with his maverick ways. For that would mean that his second was truly recovered and feeling his oats.

"Thank you, sir!" She sprang from her chair and for a split second he wondered if she were going to throw her arms around him from across the desk. It was a forceful reminder that he was the major's godfather and brought back memories of the sunny but brilliant child she had been before she'd lost her mother in the tragic accident.

"I'm glad to help, Major. Now about that Navy flight suit that Jack was given. See that it's given to my aide so we can ship it back to Captain Christian."

"I know exactly where it is, sir. And I'll get right on it."

Her smile lit up his office and reminded him of her mother, a good friend's wife who had died too soon. For it was at times like this that Samantha resembled her mother the most.

"I figured you would. It's been cleared, hasn't it?"

Yes, sir, it has. No residual radiation was found on it, which confirmed my theory that the initial burst of..."

George held up his hands, "Whoa there, Major. I'll take your word for it."

Samantha blushed and ducked her head. "Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed." He paused as she was turning to go, "Keep me posted."

She pivoted and grinned. "Always, sir." Yep, there was no doubt that she was the spitting image of her mother. And knowing her mother as he had, she'd be proud of her.

***

Back in the present, Jack was still having a hard time:

He'd so hoped that Jonas wouldn't return. One look at that irritating expanse of white teeth in that perpetual sunny grin was enough to make him toss his cookies - well, at least worse then he'd been doing.

Jonas had excused himself as soon as Jack had presented his back and curled up. Misery loves company, but he was determined that his misery wasn't having a party - not with this joker on the guest list.

Familiar jaunty boot-steps sounded across the room and Jack curled in tighter, his only defense against the world at the moment. Behind the boots were the lighter, sharper steps of one of the nurses. He could tell which one. The her; definitely a her, either that or the guy had a 'really' good razor.

So much for Jonas just leaving, he'd only been gone a couple of minutes. Damn.

Back to Plan B. Passive resistance. It worked for Gandhi. Why not him? Like what were they gonna do? Visions of a naso... naso... Crap! That nose-tube thingy screamed across his thoughts and he wondered why Fraiser hadn't considered that? He so hated that tube stuck up his nose and down into his stomach. Maybe the Naquadah Nectar was too caustic for the tube? Sure felt caustic. Not be mention that the taste reminded him of goat dung - never mind how he knew what that tasted like. Ewww.

Those memories reawakened his gag reflex and he swallowed the bile that threatened to erupt from his mouth anew. One hand covering his mouth, he listened to the pair of unwelcome visitors to his room.

Jonas and the 'she' nurse chatted brightly. Gag. The only weird thing was the sound of liquid being poured. Jack opened an eye at sounds near where the Nectar had landed. And there was the nurse cleaning it up, the cup in her hand. So what was with the pouring? That cup was the only one in the room. And he'd distinctly heard the sound of one being set down on his table.

Curiosity got the better of him; Jack craned his head around to scope out the table. In the center of it sat the covered travel mug that Jonas was never without.

"Colonel, I took the liberty of getting you another cup. One that won't spill, even if 'accidentally' dropped," Jonas smiled happily - like a kid given an all-day pass to Disney World.

Jack allowed himself to flop over onto his back, dumbfounded at what could be considered a veiled allusion to what had happened to the previous cup. He glared at Jonas who just smiled more broadly. He wouldn't have thought that were possible, but the ass-kissing alien had just proven him wrong. Oy!

"I've just read all the surviving literature from Ancient Greece. Did you know that I have an eidetic memory? I'd love to recite some of it to you. Would you prefer English or the original Greek?" That irritatingly bright smile was turned up another notch as he babbled along. At the rate Jonas was using it on him; he'd have a sunburn in no time flat.

Jack groaned, flung his arm over his eyes and wondered how the hell he was gonna survive this.