Author: BadgerGater
Email: BadgerGater@cs.com
Rating: G
Season: Two
Summary: Missing scene, Spirits; Jack's POV
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.
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I must be just lucky I guess, because there I was, standing in the conference room, watching the Stargate open to SG-9’s code, when something slammed into me and spun me around. Next thing I knew, I was lying with my face pressed into the carpet, right arm tucked underneath me, for a moment unsure how I had gotten there.
Then the pain started.
From the corner of my eye I could see General Hammond on his feet, looking at a hole in the bulletproof glass of the conference room window, the one that looked out over the Stargate. “Everybody okay?” he asked.
“No.” I pushed myself to a sitting position. “No. Help,” Daniel taking hold of my left arm. I heard someone gasp behind me and I looked down and my right sleeve was soaked in blood. There was an arrow sticking out of my bicep, front to back. “Oh God.”
Why me? Not again.
“Colonel?” Carter was right there, face concerned. Hammond was already on the phone, calling for a medical team, and security. I head the iris close. It was all surreal, the chaos around me, while I sat groggily on the floor leaning against Daniel, bleeding.
Carter pulled off her belt and slipped it around my arm, pulling it tight as a tourniquet around my arm. “Hold on, Sir.”
What else was I supposed to do?
Hammond was on one knee in front of me. “Take it easy, Jack. Helps on the way.”
“Thank you Sir,” I answered softly. There was blood pooling on the cool gray rug, my blood, I realized foggily. “Sorry for bleeding on your carpet, Sir.”
Hammond smiled. “That’s okay son. I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”
Carter pulled the tourniquet tighter.
“Oww” I protested. The pain had intensified. I wasn’t fuzzy anymore, I was wide awake, with the agony shooting through my upper arm. I tried to grab it, cradle it, but Carter’s hands were in the way. “Hurts,” I said.
She pushed my good hand away. “Don’t Sir, don’t. The doctor’s on the way.”
A babble of voices at the door. Dr. Fraiser was suddenly there, looking around, a stunned look on her face as she spotted me on the floor.
“Hi, Doc. Nice to see ya'.”
“An arrow? What happened?” she asked someone above me.
“It came through the Stargate,” I heard Daniel say.
“Under SG-9’s code,” added Sam.
“Went right through the window,” chimed in the General.
Doc’s hands were gentle on my arm. “How do you feel, Colonel?”
Stupid question. “It hurts,” I said distinctly.
Fraiser nodded. “Any numbness? Pain elsewhere?”
“No.” Why was she asking me that?
Fraiser was looking at the others in the room. “Sam, you’ve got his blood on your hands. Anyone else?”
“Me, too,” piped up Daniel.
“Both of you, get down to the infirmary. Scrub your hands. Now. Dispose of anything that has his blood on it.”
Carter’s voice went up an octave. “Janet? What?”
“We don’t know where that arrow’s from, what might be on it...”
“Poison? Oh God.” Carter’s voice.
“Don’t know, Captain. Just want to be careful. Now go.” I felt Daniel move away, the doctor supporting me now. Then there were other hands there, wanting to put me on a stretcher, but I didn’t want to lie down, and then things got sort of fuzzy, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back and being carried down the corridor. Fraiser was beside me, barking orders at a nurse about IVs and prepping for surgery. In between, she was uttering little reassuring words at me.
I wasn’t saying much of anything. My thoughts were kind of scattered.
Daniel and Sam were waiting in the infirmary as they hoisted me onto a treatment table. Fraiser, hands swathed in protective gloves, began carefully cutting away my blood soaked shirt. Around me were all the way too familiar sounds of the infirmary, people calling out blood pressure and heart rate and respiration, monitors beeping in a regular rhythm.
“That’s high,” said the doctor of my heart rate.
God, what did she think? An arrow through the arm *hurts*. I felt an IV stick in my arm, and the pain started to back off. I sighed in relief.
“That should help sir,” There was a smile back on doc’s face. “How’s his blood pressure?” I heard her ask the nurse.
“Still dropping.”
The smile disappeared. “Damn, let’s get him on the table and get this thing out of his arm.” She turned back to me. “We’re going to take you to surgery, Colonel, but I don’t want to put you under completely if I don’t have to. I gave you a very strong local anesthetic and it should be enough. But if it starts to hurt...”
“Starts?”
“But if it hurts, holler, okay?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood Sir but you don’t seem to have any complications.” She patted my good arm reassuringly. “You’ll be fine.”
In a couple of minutes they wheeled me in to the operating room. Doc’s optimism, it turned out, was premature. She tried to cut the arrow apart, couldn’t. I heard someone say “trinium.” Then the lights went out.
---------
Doc was there when I woke, smiling as always. Bright spot in my least favorite place, she is.
“Hey, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy,”
“Well, you will for a while, losing that much blood will do that to you, you know.”
“I know,” I sighed wearily. “How long was I out?”
“You’ve been out for five hours, between the surgery and the anesthetic. It’s past dinnertime. Your team is meeting with the general, and there’s strict instructions for no visitors until the morning.”
“For crying out loud, Doc....”
“No complaining, Colonel, or I can make that 24 hours without visitors. Now, the good news is we didn’t find any signs of anything unusual...”
“Like an arrow through my arm is usual?”
She laughed. “Okay, we didn’t find any unusual substances on the arrow, your vitals all seem good and my conclusion is, barring any complications (God I hate that word) you should be out of here in a few days. Now, get some sleep, don’t harass my nurses, and you can have company in the morning.”
________
In the morning, my team came in to see me, they were going off to that planet without me. How could they? Blame General Hammond. He shouldn’t have sent them off by themselves, but then, Carter deserves the chance to lead her own team for once. She’s proven herself. It’s not that I don’t believe she can do it. I just don’t want them thinking they don’t need me, I suddenly realized.
I watch them go out the door and I know what Hammond must feel every time he watches our lovely backsides disappear into the gate. I hate this. I hate not knowing what’s happening. I worry about them being safe. Can Carter take care of Daniel? That’s a full time job in itself.
When I called them kids, you know, it seemed right. I’m not really old enough to be their father, though I feel like it sometimes. And I am responsible for them, it’s my job to keep them out of trouble, get them home in one piece. Yeah, yeah, the military says a commander can’t get emotionally involved, but you do. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different. You’ve got to care, or you can’t do the job.
I wish they’d get back. And they’ve only been gone a couple of hours.
I want out of the infirmary. I didn’t mean to give that poor young nurse such a hard time, but really, I don’t want to sleep. Oh, oh, here comes Dr. Fraiser. I think I’m in trouble again.
“Colonel O’Neill, what did you say to Lt. Porter?”
“Um, not much.”
“I’ll bet,” the diminutive captain/doctor was still angry. Ounce for ounce, I really think she may be the toughest soldier on this whole base, bar none. Even me. “Look Colonel, I know you don’t like being here, but it beats the alternative, which is being dead. So calm down, resign yourself to your fate, and I’ll have someone bring you a TV. I think there’s a hockey game on or something.”
“It’s midsummer, Doc. Maybe the Cubs?”
“Okay, we’ll try. If you promise not to demoralize any more of my nurses.”
“Yes ma’am,“ I answered in my most apologetic voice, trying to look contrite.
I fell asleep during the sixth inning. Keri Wood was pitching and Sammy Sosa hit two home runs and the Cubs were winning but even that rare event couldn’t keep my exhausted eyes open. ________
I was up and out of bed before the morning nursing shift changed. Sort of awkward, trying to get dressed one-handed, lefthanded. Whenever I forgot and tried to lift my right arm, it protested. Vigorously. Painfully.
“Colonel O’Neill, what do you think you are doing?”
I looked up at Doc. “Getting dressed. Don’t you ever sleep?”
“No. Not when you’re around.” She still looked upset. “Get back into that bed.”
“Best invitation I’ve had in a while,” I drawled.
She laughed. “Colonel...”
“I can’t stand it, Doc.” I put that lost little boy look on my face, the one I know is irresistible. Works every time. Well, most of the time. Except with Dr. Fraiser.
“Look, Colonel, I know. But I do need to keep an eye on you. How about a compromise, since you’re dressed, you can stay up, but you do have to stay here.”
I was about to launch a vigorous protest, explaining how I was just fine, thank you, when I suddenly discovered my legs were wobbly and I was having trouble staying on my feet. I didn‘t have the faintest idea how Doc‘s arm had suddenly gotten around my waist, propping me up. I sat down quickly on the edge of the bed. “Maybe I will take another little nap first,” I told Fraiser.
“Sure, Sir, a nap.” She looked me over appraisingly. “You get some rest. I promise, I’ll wake you when the others get back, whatever time it is. Okay Colonel?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I slept most of the morning and early afternoon. Passed all docs’ medical tests with flying colors. Slept some more, between innings of another baseball game, worried about my team, SG-1, not the Cubs. General Hammond came down to let me know everything was routine, there was nothing to be worried about, but it didn’t work. I was worried. Being worried is part of my job.
I was awake and sitting up on the bed when word finally came, that SG-1 had brought back Connor’s team and a visitor. They were all coming down to the infirmary for the routine post mission check, so I waited and let them come to me. Wouldn’t want my team to think I was worried about them, or anything.
____
Epilog
I hate downtime.
After I’d explained to the general about what had happened while he was ‘gone’, how he and the others had disappeared and Tonanni’s spirits had appeared and all, leaving out the part where *I* was the one who told them to close down their stargate if they didn’t want visitors, and we’d all debriefed, I had a long talk with Carter. Told her she’d done well. Patted her shoulder. Glad she was back.
Doc let me go home with a bottle of pills to take and stern warnings about eating decently and getting enough sleep while my body heals. I heal fast, thank God. Maybe it’s just that my body has had so much practice at repairing itself. A couple more days and I’ll be cleared for duty. Arm’s still a little stiff and I have to be careful, but Hammond wants to send us to PA8-151. He’s not sending my team without me again. Not if I can help it. I hate being left behind.
FINIS
