DISCLAIMER: All characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
I didn't want to think about what was happening to his abused body as I shocked him with 200 joules, then 300, then 360. As I screamed at the monitor to blip, you bastard, blip, don't you dare give up on me O'Neill, don't you dare, don't you think you can walk away from this, I promised Cassie you'd be all right, you sonofabitch, you sonofabitch, don't you make a liar out of me!
I got him back.
Roger and I looked at the pictures, then. They weren't pretty, but they could have been worse. No second skull fracture. No facial fractures. If he'd hit his head an inch more to the right he'd have shattered the fragile bone beneath the temple. That would have killed him outright. The ribs had broken cleanly but yes, one jagged edge had perforated his lung. As for the tib/fib fractures, they were clean too, but heavily displaced. Definitely a case for surgical reduction.
"Might as well move him into the OR," I told Roger. "I'll be right with you." Then I turned and faced the others.
I don't know what it will take to disturb Teal'c's extraordinary composure. He's like no one I've ever known. Only a fool would have said he was indifferent to the situation, and my momma never raised no fools. But it was so contained, his fear, his pain, so completely within his control that the only clue was in the enormous stillness of his face.
General Hammond echoed him, though less completely. He was frowning, biting his lip, and his hands were fisted tight enough to interrupt the blood flow to his fingers. But still a soldier. Still strong.
Not like Daniel. There were tears in Daniel's eyes, drying on his cheeks. His arms were wrapped around his chest, he was cradling himself, and he rocked on his feet in the ancient rythm of human distress.
"He was dead, Doctor Fraiser, wasn't he ? Just then. Jack was dead."
I had to clear my throat. "His heart stopped. We started it again. Now we need to stabilise him before we can fly him back home to the ICU at SGC. I'm afraid that's going to take some time."
"Is he out of danger?" The general. Unflinching. Shoulders braced against enemy fire.
"No," I said. "He's not."
"What can be done to assist you, Doctor?"
"Right now, Teal'c, nothing. I'll be monitoring him constantly until he's ready for surgery. Once that's done, and he's good to travel, we'll be out of here."
"Well, can we at least sit with Sam? I mean, she's not critical, is she? Can we sit with her?"
I patted Daniel's arm. Could easily have hugged him, he looked so lost, so helpless. What can I say? He brings out the maternal in me. It must be the hair and the glasses. "Sure," I said. "You go sit with Sam. She'll be all the better for a few friendly faces to wake up to."
"And you'll keep us informed?"
I nodded. It was an order, not a request. "Of course, General. Now, please excuse me."
The weight of their fear, their trust, my promise, staggered me as I walked away. I had to touch fingertip to door jamb to steady myself as I left the treatment room and headed for the OR, where Jack was waiting for me to somehow keep him going long enough to put him back together again.
Long story short, as a mutually acquainted archeologist would say. Between us, and with some generous intervention from the Surgeon Upstairs, Roger and I managed to keep Jack with us. Re-heated him like a tv dinner, syphoned out the loose blood, rearranged his rib cage into a nice xylophone effect, gave him a matching pair of lungs, straightened out his leg -- don't give up your day job, Sam, my dear-- and put a temporary cast on it. We both agreed that it was a pin and plate job for someone with more rivetting experience than we had.
In other words, by God, we put Humpty together again.
So there. Don't go believing everything you read.
Then we pumped him full of painkillers and antibiotics and staggered off to a dark corner to sleep. Well. Roger did. I went to check on Sam and let the others know that they could relax, everything was going to be all right, barring complications, pretended not to hear the question 'what do you mean, complications?', and advised them all to get some rest.
Then I scrounged coffee and a sandwich, inhaled them, and went back to sit with Jack. Only to find my chair already overflowing with Jaffa, perched at something approaching parade rest while sitting down. Not easy, but he managed it.
"It's okay, Teal'c," I said, closing the door behind me. "I can sit with him." Teal'c just looked at me. I should have known better, of course. According to Bill Warner, he'd not moved from Daniel's side after the inbound Stargate accident that had started all this. Not until Daniel had opened his eyes and was pronounced sound in wind and limb. Now he was on guard again, on duty. I'd be wasting my time trying to get him to leave.
So I found another chair and parked it on the other side of the bed. Checked Jack's vitals, listened to his chest, made a medication note on the chart, and settled in for the long haul. He was still unconscious. I had no idea when he'd wake up. Head injuries, hypothermia and anaesthetic aren't an ideal mix, but desperados can't be choosers. The good news was that his pressure was up, his temperature was back to normal and his heart beat, echoing electronically in the small room, beeped a steady sixty two beats per minute. On the high side, for him, but music to my ears.
I really needed to sit down. The hairline tremor that denotes exhaustion was thrumming all the way to my bones, and I was starting to see double. So I let myself fold at the knees until I was safely in the chair. Propped my elbows on the side of the bed and indulged myself in the sight of Jack O'Neill, breathing. I fell asleep. When I woke, I found myself on a camp bed placed along one wall of Jack's room. Covered in a light blanket, a pillow beneath my head and my shoes placed neatly to one side. Yawning, blinking, I sat up. It didn't take three guesses to know who was responsible for the Sleeping Beauty trick.
"Thank you, Teal'c," I said.
He inclined his head, graciously. You know, for a former slave he acts a lot like a prince. "You are welcome, Doctor Fraiser."
According to my watch, it was 1522. I'd been asleep for nearly five hours. I clambered off the camp bed, rearranged my clothes and stuck my feet back into my shoes. Stared at Jack, so peaceful beneath his blankets. "You've been here the whole time?" Another regal nod. "Any change?"
"Yes," said Teal'c. "Approximately one and one half hours ago, Colonel O'Neill opened his eyes and, upon seeing me, spoke my name. He then fell asleep once more. I immediately informed Doctor Abbot, who seemed most relieved. I asked him if it was appropriate for you to be woken at that point, but he said that it was not. I hope I have done the right thing."
I blinked. "Just ... run that past me again, would you, Teal'c? An hour and a half ago Colonel O'Neill regained consciousness, demonstrated lucidity, then relapsed into a normal sleep? Is that correct?"
"It is."
"Thank God," I breathed, and had to press my lips tight to stop them from trembling. Reached out to my sleeping friend and touched his cheek. Just once. Just lightly. To celebrate the pliability of warm flesh beneath my fingers. The bruising around his right eye was savage, ripened now into all its glory. But the marks, both visible and hidden, would fade soon enough, as would the memories of this disastrous mission, and life would go on. I had, by God, kept my promise to Cassandra.
"What about Sam?" I said, still not taking my eyes from the bed.
"I do not know. I believe that General Hammond and Daniel Jackson are still with her."
"I'd better go see how she's doing," I said. "You're all right to stay here? You don't need anything?"
Teal'c shook his head. "Thank you, no. I am content."
So I left him there, stone still by Jack's bedside, as immense and as deep as any ocean.
Sam was awake. Propped up in bed, her cheek swathed in gauze and sticking plaster, dark shadows beneath her eyes, a drip still plugged into her arm. She looked tired. She looked shaky. She was alive: she looked great. Daniel sat back to front on a chair pulled close to the bedside. General Hammond sat a little further away. Everything about him bespoke a profound contentment. I knew he was a friend of Sam's father. I could only imagine the depth of his relief at not having to make that final, terrible phone call.
"Hey, there," I said as I entered the room. "Still in bed? Did you know there's a word for people like you?"
"Yeah," said Daniel, his face as vivid as a sunrise. "Lucky. Look, Doc. She's okay."
"She certainly is," I agreed, giving the chart at the end of her bed a quick glance. "Mind if I confirm the diagnosis myself?"
Sam smiled, but it was a little hesitant for my liking, a little strained. There were shadows in her eyes as well as below them. She said, "Sure. Why not?" And suffered in silence as I poked and prodded and generally convinced myself she really was in one piece. "So," I said when I was finished. "How do you feel?"
"Warm," she said, and shivered. "I never thought I'd feel anything but frozen again."
"No, well, hypothermia will do that to you," I agreed.
"What about Jack? I mean, the Colonel? How's he doing?"
"Well," I said, "he seems to be doing okay. His vital signs are holding steady, he's in a natural sleep. All things considered, I'm guardedly optomistic." She was frowning. "But his leg. What about his leg?"
"It's broken. But not too badly. Provided we chain him to a bed long enough for it to heal properly, I don't see why he should have any trouble with it in the future." I grinned. "Despite the truly terrible set and splint job."
As a joke, it backfired. Her eyes filled with tears and, knees pulled close to her chest, she hugged herself. "I tried. I did, honestly. But I'd never had to set a broken bone before, and my hands were so cold, and --"
"Hey!" I said. "Hey, it's all right. I was kidding. The splint was fine, Sam. It was fine. The Colonel is fine. It's all right."
Beside her, Daniel reached for her hand and held it tight. "Please don't cry, Sam. It's all over now. You're safe, Jack's safe. It's over."
She nodded, eased her hand free. "I know. I'm okay."
Daniel said, "Do you feel up to telling us what happened? So long as Doc Fraiser says it's all right?"
The General looked at me. "Is it all right, Doctor?"
I looked at her. Sooner or later she'd have to talk about it ... and I'm a big believer in sooner. Bottling up trauma doesn't help anyone. I said, "Sure. As long as Captain Carter's comfortable with it."
"Yeah," she said. "I guess."
I eased myself into a convenient shadow. Perched on the edge of an empty bed, and settled myself down to listen. To be honest, I was dying of curiosity.
Softly, a little hesitantly, Sam told us what happened. How, along with the rest of the team, she'd fled the enemy attack on P7C225. Leapt through the gate two paces ahead of Jack. Awoke twenty minutes later to find herself sprawled beside his unconscious body at the bottom of a deep glacial crevasse. How she'd checked him for injury, searched without success for Daniel and Teal'c, for the DHD, for some kind of clue to their location. Waited for Jack to wake up, and slowly, terribly, absorbed the frightening implications of their situation.
"When the Colonel finally regained consciousness, he seemed all right, at first," she said. "I mean, he was in pain. His leg --" She faltered. Took a deep breath. Let it out. "But apart from that, he was ... the Colonel. Cracking jokes. Keeping me focussed. Making me concentrate on fixing the Gate and getting us home. At first, I thought he wasn't too badly hurt. But then after a few hours he started to ... drift."