MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS -- MATTER OF TIME: Part 1

by: OzKaren
Feedback to: bosskaren@ozemail.com.au

Author's Notes: Thanks to Gillian and Jenn for their brilliant comments.



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.


Here's a Pop Quiz for you.

If you had two hours free time, would you rather spend it:

a) shopping
b) seeing a movie
c) getting a facial
d) picking 28 pieces of glass out of Jack O'Neill.

Well, I don't know about you, but my choices in order of preference are a, c and b. Never in a million years would I choose d.

Three guesses what fate chose for me.

When Momma told me there'd be days like these, I don't think black holes, dilated time and the earth being sucked through a stargate were exactly what she had in mind.

Sometimes I wonder if we have any idea of what we're doing at Stargate Command. Much to my surprise, it didn't feel any better to be stuck outside the base instead of inside it during the crisis. When you're inside, even if you are waiting to die, at least you have some idea of what's going on. Outside, all you can do is sweat and twiddle your thumbs and drink way too much coffee.

We sweated and twiddled and overdosed on caffeine for four days as we waited to see if Sam's plan to close the wormhole would work. Hundreds of feet below us, down in the gateroom, it took about half an hour. Don't ask me to explain it. Nobody can, not even Sam. I try not to think about it myself, because I already have enough in my life to drive me crazy without adding anything more to the mix. Just after dawn on the fifth day, when our nerves were frayed to the last thread and even the General's aplomb was worn almost bare, Sergeant Siler came topside. In a hurry. The General and I bolted out of the command tent to meet him. Everyone else gathered round behind us, not crowding, certainly not usurping the General's privilege ... but anxious. Haggard faced, hollow eyed and hopeful.

"Well?" the General demanded.

"It worked, sir," said Siler. "The wormhole is disengaged and the gravity well has collapsed. But --" He hesitated. Glanced to the left, to the aloof, tight knit little group of Special Forces operatives who were waiting for their team leader to return. "Sir, we lost Colonel Cromwell."

I felt the shock hit Cromwell's people. They surged forward, too hard, too professional to exclaim aloud ... but the pain and the anger and the unasked questions raged in their eyes.

"Damn," said the General. "How?"

Siler was unhurt, but he looked shocky around the eyes. Hardly surprising, when you consider what he'd just been through. "The gravity from the black hole sucked the iris out of the Gate. Then it sucked the glass out of the control room. The Colonel's rope was cut. Colonel O'Neill tried to hold on to him, but he didn't have a chance. He was sucked into the wormhole." He looked at the surviving members of Cromwell's team, apologetic and shaken. "We did try to save him, sirs. If it's any consolation ... I don't think he suffered. It was very quick."

Cromwell's team said nothing. What could they say? Thank you? General Hammond spared them a sympathetic glance, then turned back to Siler. "And what about Colonel O'Neill? Is he all right?"

Now Siler was looking at me. "Not really. He survived, but he's out cold and pretty cut up. He got caught in the explosion. Doctor Fraiser, we need you."

I didn't need a second invitation. As I headed for the downshaft, medkit clutched in sweaty fingers, I heard the General tossing orders like hand grenades. Then the emergency exit door shut behind me and I was taking the stairs three at a time, heading for the elevators.

Damn, damn, damn. Cut up and out cold. Well, of course he was. It was just too much to hope for, Jack coming out of this unscathed.

Quit bitching, said the naggy little voice inside my head. He could be Cromwell. He could be dead.

Cromwell. Now that was a story I wanted to hear. History there, no two ways about it. And now Cromwell was dead. Not good. From what I'd seen, it seemed pretty clear they didn't like each other. Didn't matter. I knew in my gut that Jack wasn't going to take Cromwell's death well. Losing an enemy can sometimes be as bad as losing a friend.

What I didn't know, then, was that to Jack, Frank Cromwell had been both.

It seemed like forever before I made it to the embarkation control room. Jack was sprawled on the floor, profoundly unconscious, a folded blanket under his head, Teal'c by his side. He was bleeding messily from his neck and arms and nose. Shards of glass glinted in his hair, on his shoulders. In his flesh. How he missed having his jugular severed, I'll never know.

Put it down to the luck of the Irish.

Sam was running a diagnostic on the Gate computer system. She looked white, strained. Kept glancing over her shoulder at Jack.

"Janet! Thank God!" she said when she saw me. "I don't think anything's broken this time, but he got well and truly walloped by the bomb's shock wave. And then when the wormhole disengaged and the gravity well collapsed, he hit the wall pretty hard. He's completely out of it, doesn't respond to any kind of pain stimulus. He's got a nosebleed but his ears are clean, I don't think he's ruptured his ear drums or fractured his skull."

"Good," I said, on my knees beside him, medkit open at my side. "How about you? Are you all right? And you, Teal'c?"

"I'm fine," Sam replied, tapping her computer keyboard, scowling at the monitor.

"I am unharmed also," said Teal'c. His eyes were very dark, his mouth turned down at the corners. "It is Colonel O'Neill about whom you should be concerned."

"Trust me, Teal'c," I said, and reached over Jack's inert body to pat his arm. "I am. Now can someone please tell me where all this glass came from?"

"The windows shattered, and the pieces got sucked outwards, towards the gate," Sam explained. "Colonel O'Neill and Colonel Cromwell --" She stopped. Bit her lip. "They were directly in the way. I tried to warn them, but ..."

Quietly, Teal'c said, "Captain Carter."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "Yeah. I know." Said to me, "If it hadn't been for the time distortion of the gravity wave, they'd have both been cut to ribbons. But I don't think it's too bad, is it?"

"No, it doesn't look like it," I replied, as I started a routine vitals check. Pupils first: equal and reactive. That glorious contract and blossom of iris that brings joy to any doctor's heart. Thank God. No serious head injury, then. Replacing the penlight in the medkit, I added, "Siler told us what happened to Colonel Cromwell. I'm sorry."

Teal'c said, "There was nothing any of us could do. O'Neill tried, but no living creature could have prevented Colonel Cromwell's death." And then he looked down at Jack, and frowned. Looked up, meeting my eyes. He knew, and so did I, that Jack is completely irrational about things like this. He'd never forgive himself. Not for Frank Cromwell. Not for Hank Boyd and his team, either.

Tears burned me. I blinked and throttled them. I wasn't going to start thinking about Hank and the rest of SG10. They knew the risks. Nobody made them do it. All of us know our next trip through the Stargate could be our last. We don't talk about it, but we know.

Oh, Hank. No more pizza parties. No more Saturday night bowling. No more Ella Fitzgerald in the mess hall. What will we do without you?

"Doctor Fraiser, are you all right?"

Teal'c. His hand on my shoulder. "I'm fine," I said, not daring to show my face. "Give me some room here, would you please?"

"Of course," he said, and removed his hand.

I listened to Jack's heart, his lungs, took his pulse, 61, and jotted it down. I was starting to feel a little better. True, he was out cold, but so far the picture wasn't looking too bad. Sam swivelled round in her chair, frowning. "There was something really odd going on between the Colonel and Cromwell," she said. "I don't suppose you know what it was, do you?"

"Odd?" I said, as I carefully wrapped the BP cuff round Jack's arm. "In what way?"

She shrugged. "Well, it was pretty clear they knew each other. And that there was some kind of problem. But it wasn't like him and Mayborne. Or Samuels. It wasn't that kind of hostility. I don't know. It was just ... odd."

"I'm afraid I have no idea," I said.

"I think they might have served together," said Sam.

"It's possible," I said. "Cromwell was Special Forces. The Colonel is ex-Special Forces. Don't talk for a moment."

She turned back to the computer and I took Jack's blood pressure. A hundred over fifty. A little low, but not unbearable. "Teal'c, I need a gurney. Could you bring me one from the infirmary?"

"Of course," said Teal'c. Rose to his feet in that liquid metal flow of his, and left the control room on silent feet. I ran my hands the length of Jack's body, feeling for interruptions to its structure, but he was whole. Amazing.

"Is he okay?" Sam said.

"Probably," I replied. "Once I've cleaned him up I'll run some routine x-rays and an MRI to make sure, but his vitals are good, his colour's not bad, and he appears to be in one piece, for a change. Lord knows, he's looked worse."

She managed a quick grin. "True." Then the swift amusement faded, and she stared at Jack without really seeing him. Pale. Shivery. Haunted, even.

"How about you?" I asked gently. "It must have been pretty awful watching Cromwell get sucked into that gravity well thing."

She nodded, swallowing. "Yeah, it was. The Colonel tried so hard to hold onto him, to save him, but ... like Teal'c said. It was hopeless." She blinked away tears. "He's going to be pretty upset when he wakes up."

"It's a miracle any of you survived," I said, and had a shivery moment of my own. Another close call. Another 'almost died' footnote for Jack's medical file. How many more before that damned Irish luck finally ran out?

Something else I didn't want to think about.

Sam said, staring into thin air, "Right at the end, just before the bomb detonated, he stopped trying to climb back up to us. He just ... stopped, and hung there. His face was -- it was serene. Calm. No fear. No panic. Just complete acceptance."

"He made his peace with death a long time ago," I said quietly. "His own, at any rate. Other people's is a different ball of wax altogether." I reached out my hand, laid it against Jack's cheek. Cool. A little clammy. Silver glinted strongly at his temples, threadily elsewhere.

It didn't a year ago.

"It was close, Janet," said Sam, and rubbed her arms. "It terrifies me to think how close ..."

"Then don't," I advised, unwrapping the bp cuff. "A miss is as good as a mile in this business. What might have happened didn't, so let's just count our blessings. We'll be up to our eyeballs in postmortems soon enough."

When she didn't reply I looked up. She was slumped in her chair, staring at a nearby video monitor. Mesmerised by Hank Boyd's fear twisted face. "I don't want them to be gone," she whispered. "Abby and I had tickets for Les Mis. Can you believe she'd never seen it? She was really looking forward --" She stopped. Pressed her fingers to her eyes. "It isn't fair." Her voice ached with pain. Loss. Rage.

So did I ... but it would be long hours before I'd have the chance to let myself feel any of those things. "No," I agreed steadily. "It isn't." Then I turned to the open doorway, mindful of my patient. "Where the hell has Teal'c got to? I need that gurney."

That's when we both heard the clattering of regulation issue boots in the corridors and on the stairs outside. Raised voices barking orders, acknowledging. A moment later General Hammond entered the room, followed by Teal'c, and an airman pushing my gurney.

"Dr Fraiser," the General said, staring down at Jack. "How is he?"

"He should be fine, sir," I said, standing, "but I do need to get him to the infirmary."

"Of course," said the General. "Airman, give the doctor a hand to --"

"Unnecessary," said Teal'c, stepping forward. In one easy movement he bent down, lifted Jack and deposited him carefully on the gurney. Jack didn't so much as flicker an eyelid. He really was out cold.

"Thank you, Teal'c," the General said, with a discreetly amused glance in my direction. Then he turned to Sam. "Status, Captain?"

"Everything seems to be operational, sir," she said, all traces of distress eliminated. A military brat to her bootstraps, is our Sam. "The main problem is that we've lost the iris. Without it we have no way of stopping unwanted inbound travellers."

"That's already in hand," the General assured her. "A new trinium strengthened iris is being manufactured even as we speak."

"Wow," said Sam. "That was fast. Sir."

General Hammond's smile is positively wolfish on occasion. Teeth bared, he said, "I lit a fire under one or two people. In the meantime there'll be around the clock security in the Gateroom. Teal'c, I'd like you to co-ordinate that, please."

Teal'c nodded gravely. "Of course, General."

Hammond added, "I've also got replacement armoured glass on its way for in here. We should be back to normal -- or what passes for normal around here -- within forty-eight hours."

Which was great, and I for one would sleep a lot better knowing that, but in the meantime ... "General," I said. "If you'd excuse me?"

"Of course, Doctor," he said. "Don't let me hold you up."

So we wheeled Jack to the infirmary, where we inched him out of his g-suit and uniform and I combed the worst of the glass out of his hair. Then we ran all the tests, x rays and MRI and a CAT scan too, just to be on the safe side. When all that was done we wheeled him back to a small private room in the infirmary, I pulled up a chair and a pair of tweezers and started easing slivers of window out of his flesh.

It's a fiddly job that requires complete concentration. In fact I was concentrating so hard that it took all of Daniel's excited volubility to bring me back to an awareness of my surroundings. I could hear him half a corridor away.

" --- and when we still couldn't open the gate to you after about seven tries we knew something was really wrong. We knew it wasn't our gate because we opened it to a couple of other places, just to make sure. I just about passed out from relief when we finally got through to you."

I finished extracting the last shard of armour plated glass from Jack's shoulder, dropped it with a satisfying clink into the tray, and looked up to see Daniel and Sam coming through the door.

"Hey, Doc," he greeted me, half smiling, half frowning. "Jack in the wars again?"

"Again," I agreed. We smiled at each other. Daniel is a comforting person to have around. Very accepting. Calming, in an exciteable kind of way.

Sam, staring at Jack, said, "He's still out."

"Yes," I said. "The MRI showed some bruising to his brain. Concussion, in layman's terms. Nothing life threatening, and not enough to cause permanent damage. But he'll probably sleep for a day or two, which isn't such a bad thing. He's going to be one sore and sorry Colonel, what with the shake up from the explosion and hitting the gateroom wall and the glass cuts."

"What about them?" said Sam, arms barricaded across her chest. Holding in the fear, and the pain.

"Oh, they're not too bad, on the whole," I reassured her. "A couple of deep ones. I'm just about to stitch those. The rest will be okay with some betadine and butterfly strips."

"From what Sam's told me, he was lucky," said Daniel. The half smile was gone and his face was all frown, now, as he stared down at Jack with his arms folded tight across his chest, too. They looked like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, he and Sam, concern creasing their faces into identical masks.

Damn Jack anyway. He's making us all old before our time.

"Very lucky," I agreed.

Daniel cleared his throat, painfully. "Not like SG10."

The three of us exchanged looks, and I saw my own anger and grief and sorrow reflected as though in mirrors. The moment was broken by General Hammond, who came into the room looking tired and worn. Grief was in him, too, buried beneath his professionalism ... but not so deep that we couldn't see it. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get down here," he apologised. "I've been on the phone with the President and the Joint Chiefs."

Something in the way he said it boded no good. Daniel and I pulled a face at each other, and Sam said, "Trouble, sir?"

He nodded. "Let's just say that this latest little incident has put the fox among the chickens in a major way. But that's my problem, Captain, not yours." He turned to Daniel. "Good to see you, Dr Jackson. I take it Captain Carter has brought you up to speed?"

"Yes," said Daniel. "I'm just sorry I wasn't here to help."

The General smiled, gently. "Don't take this the wrong way, son, but I'm glad you weren't. When it looked like we were all going to hell in a handbasket, it was a small comfort to know that a few of us would survive, albeit 'out there'." Then he turned to me. "What's the story with Colonel O'Neill, Doctor?"

I filled him in, finishing with, "I'll have the nursing staff check on him at regular thirty minute intervals, but as I said, I really don't expect him to wake up for at least twenty-four hours."

The General nodded. Turned to look down at Jack, sleeping so peacefully beside us. It's not until he's silent, quiescent, that you realise just how overwhelming his waking presence is. He dominates a room without even trying. And it's not because he's tall. I've known tall people who fade in the middle of an empty closet. And it's got nothing to do with physical appearance either, because he's really not that good looking. At least, not until he smiles. I don't know. It's that same something that makes a champion racehorse stand out in a field. Charisma. Strength and fire and force of personality.

In the end, it's why the Maybornes and the Kennedys and the Samuels of this world don't like him. They feel the lack in themselves, and are resentful.

To be honest, it was intimidating at first. Now its absence unnerves me.

It unnerved General Hammond too. A man not without charisma himself. He said, frowning, "You're sure he's going to be all right?"

"Well," I said. Cautious. Conservative. I'm not a big fan of 'the operation was a success but the patient died' school of medicine. "When it comes to head injuries nothing's guaranteed. I'm sure you're aware of that. It's quite a severe concussion and as you know, sir, it's not his first. But I've seen nothing in his test results to indicate complications. At this stage I do expect him to make a complete recovery."

"Excellent, excellent," said the General. "As I told you, I've been in conference with the President and the Joint Chiefs for the past three hours. They wanted me to extend their congratulations and gratitude to you, Captain Carter, for your sterling work throughout this crisis. You'll be hearing more through official channels, eventually, but they were most anxious that I pass on the message to you personally, and as soon as possible."

Sam flushed. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He smiled at her, as warmly as I've ever seen him smile. "Sam, you never cease to amaze me. Your father would be so very proud of you, right now. I am very proud. It's an honour to know you."

Sam looked like she wanted to burst into tears. "Mmm," she said, in a strangled little voice. "Thank you, sir."

Daniel, sensing danger, said brightly, "Gee, Captain, can I have your autograph?"

Which made us all laugh, and gave Sam a precious few seconds to regain her self-control.

Sobering, General Hammond continued, "We've also decided that any official memorial services for SG10, and Colonel Cromwell, will be delayed until Colonel O'Neill is well enough to attend. Given his close associations with both parties, I don't think it would be fair to do anything else."

"Colonel Cromwell," said Daniel. "That's the Special Forces guy who was killed?"

"That's correct," said the General.

"So I was right," said Sam, largely to herself. "There was something going on between them."

General Hammond gave her a sharp look. "What makes you say that, Captain?"

"Oh, well, sir, it was just ... Colonel Cromwell called Colonel O'Neill by his first name, and it was pretty clear they knew each other well and --" She cleared her throat. "I just got the feeling that there was something going on. Sir."

"That may or may not be the case," said the General. "Either way, it's nothing to do with us."

Sam blinked. "Of course not, sir."

The General looked at me. "Keep me posted on Colonel O'Neill's condition, Doctor. Notify me the minute he regains consciousness."

"Of course, sir," I said.

He gave us all a nod, and left. Daniel raised his eyebrows. "Why do I get the feeling the fox isn't just in with the chickens, it's tearing their throats out as well?"

"Because it is?" said Sam. She shook her head. "There must be some serious heat coming down from upstairs."

"I guess so," Daniel agreed. And grinned. But you're okay. You're a hero. Again."

She punched him. "Watch it."

Rubbing his arm, still grinning, he said, "I was going to ask you to give me a hand unpacking all my stuff from P3X808, but I guess you're too important now to stoop to such menial --"

"Janet," said Sam, "does the sight of blood disturb you? Maybe you should avert your eyes ..."

"Pax, pax," said Daniel, raising his hands. "So. You gonna help? There's some really neat stuff."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. It'll make a nice change from quantum gravity theory, at any rate."

"That's a good idea," I said. "You two children run away and play. I have to get out my needle and thread and embroider pretty patterns in Colonel O'Neill's neck."

"Gee," said Daniel. "My favourite spectator sport. Not. Wanna meet up in the mess hall for dinner later?"

Cassie was sleeping over at a friend's place, and I wouldn't be going home any time soon. "Sure," I said. "Why not? 1900?"

"See you then," said Sam, and they left, scuffling like school kids. I fetched a suture kit. Odd as it may sound, I find stitching cuts therapeutic. All those nice, neat little knots tidying up the messy bits. To be on the safe side I injected the wounds with local anaesthetic, but I doubt Jack would have felt it even if I hadn't. As I pierced and pulled and looped and tied I wondered where he was. What he was dreaming. Happy dreams, I hoped. There was such a world of sadness waiting for him when he woke.

When the suturing was done, and he was slid neatly into a medical gown, propped up with pillows, tucked beneath a blanket, tubed and taped and monitored with EEG and EKG, I left him in peace and retreated to my office to write up notes.


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