Chapter Text
Pest Control
~ o0o ~
P8T-686
8Km ENE of Stargate
Base Camp
Mid-watch
5 Hours past sunset, local time
"Damn, I think I . . . crap." O'Neill's voice carried to Sam where she lay stretched out near the fire. She sat up and looked over at him, then jumped up to help him sit. He was struggling to not put any weight on his arm, which was swathed in bandages.
"Sir?"
"Erg . . . no, I'm good, Carter. I, damn."
This time his words were laced with pain and Sam glanced down at his bandaged arm, noting the fresh blood staining the once white bandaging. "Sit still, Sir. I'll get Janet." O'Neill's good hand on her arm stopped her.
"Carter, no. I don't want to wake her. Again."
Sam frowned at him, worried by the pain she could see etched in his features. The softly crackling fire caused the light to flicker and dance over his features, and she could see the shadows under his eyes. "Sir," she said softly. "You really need to get it looked at again."
"It'll keep 'til morning, Carter."
Responding to the firmness of his tone, she sat down beside him, near enough so that her knee touched his as they resettled beside the fire. Sam glanced at the other campsites around them, noting one or two figures still moving around, all in silhouette against the low flames of their own small fires. One or two of the larger tents had were illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns, but for the most part the site was quiet. Settled for the night. The very long nights of this planet.
She prodded the fire and set a pot of water on the coals to warm it for tea for her and coffee for her Colonel, though she wished he'd just take tea instead to settle for the night. A faint rustling behind her told her Teal'c was near, and her senses were confirmed by the low voice coming from just beyond the trees.
"Major Carter, is all well?"
"We're good, Teal'c, the Colonel's just . . . restless."
"Yes, the Colonel's just restless," O'Neill parroted.
Sam shot him a sheepish look.
"Very well. Major Griff's team will be taking the remainder of the watches for the night. I will go to my rest now if you have no further need of me."
"Go. Rest. Meditate. Better leave the candles in the pack, though. Wouldn't want Griff's team barreling into your tent in the middle of the night." O'Neill spoke up, handing Sam his mug as he did so.
"I do not bring–"
"Joke, T."
Sam regarded him with a curious look. "Janet give you painkillers?"
"It's just a scratch."
Sam detected more than a hint of annoyance in the response.
Sam slowly poured water into both of their mugs and set them aside to cool slightly. She held out her hand and stared O'Neill down until he reluctantly laid his bandaged arm across her palm. Sam gently set his arm on her knee and began to unwrap the gauze holding the bandages in place, wanting to see how badly he had pulled his stitches.
"Sir, I never did hear how you did this." Sam had returned to the campsite with the science teams and found O'Neill in the medical tent being stitched up by Janet. And amused Daniel had looked on, but she'd been called away again before hearing an explanation.
"Oh, you know," O'Neill shrugged. "It's just one of those things." He wouldn't meet her gaze.
Sam paused and looked up at him, noting the faint coloring creeping up his neck. "You weren't kidnapped by an amorous Unas, were you?" She asked, referring to Daniel's recent adventure with his new friend Chaka.
"Ah, no."
Pulling away the last layer of bandaging, Sam gently lifted the gauze pads and frowned. He'd managed to pull free five of the stitches Janet had carefully put in place. "Sir, Janet really needs to fix this tonight."
"No."
"Sir."
"Carter," there was steel in O'Neill's voice. "No." He tried to tug his arm free and frowned at her when she refused to release him. "Carter."
"Colonel," Sam responded with an equally exasperated tone. They stared each other for a long moment, Sam giving herself permission to hold his gaze and not look away. She searched his eyes, wondering at his reluctance, slowing becoming aware of her fingers stroking the inside of his arm. Surprisingly, he broke first.
"Look. You can do just as good a job as the Doc at this point. Just put some of that cream on it, wrap it in clean stuff, and if it still hurts in the morning, I'll go see the little needle-sticker."
Giving him a slight smile, Sam nodded. It was a compromise. "Fine. But you have to tell me what happened."
As she reached behind her for the med kit, she felt and heard him sigh in resignation.
"Go."
Sam tilted her head. Was he sending her away? She shook her head and frowned at him, her confusion probably quite clear because O'Neill wiggled the arm resting in her lap.
"G'wan, Carter. Do your worst."
That stung, she hated the idea of causing him pain. More pain. "Sir," she said, her voice low.
"Kidding. Go on." He offered her a tiny, if pained smile.
O'Neill was silent as she opened the kit and laid out the tools she'd need. As an afterthought she added another log to the fire to bring up the light a bit, and also brought out her small Maglite. Handing it to O'Neill, she tipped the beam down to where she needed it. Once she was ready, she looked up at him. "So?"
The Colonel looked away from the fire and back at her. "Right. So . . ." He hissed as Sam began to carefully clean away the blood from the opened stitches, but began speaking. "I'd have been fine, really, if it hadn't been for the squirrel."
Pausing, Sam looked up. "A . . . squirrel did this?"
"Yes. Well, no."
O'Neill leaned close and Sam's breath caught in her chest. For a fleeting instant, with his face so near hers, she had the wild urge to lean in and kiss his cheek. Especially when she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Just as she lost control of the last of her reserves, he leaned back with his coffee in hand and she let out a shaky breath.
Oh. Wow. Too close.
"Um . . . so. Squirrel?" She asked, trying to regain her equilibrium
"It wasn't so much the squirrel . . . or whatever it was, a squirrel-like-thing . . . really it was when my pack got caught."
"On what?"
"Well, it was really a 'by' what, Carter."
"By?" Sam continued to gently wipe the eight-inch line of stitches clean. Her attention on her task, she absently noticed that the injury was clean, not jagged and torn as she would have expected from an animal attack. Even as she thought it, O'Neill's next words jerked her attention back to his story.
"Teal'c thinks it was a bear."
Sam froze. "A . . . bear?" She stared at him, her hands tightening unconsciously on his arm. "Colonel, are you telling me a bear did this to you and I'm just now hearing about it?"
"Easy, Carter. Turns out it wasn't a bear. Well, not a full-grown one, anyway. Not even a baby bear. Perkins thinks it was more like a cross between a bear and a big cat."
Still staring at him, Sam could only shake her head. "A . . . bear-cat? What the heck is–"
"I know!" O'Neill interrupted her, his face suddenly animated. "That's what I said! One minute I was talking with Teal'c about the Cup finals and the next thing I know . . . ow!"
"Sorry." Sam hastily loosened her grip and grabbed a fresh piece of gauze to wipe the blood from his arm. She bent low again over him, absently reaching out and taking hold of his other hand and repositioning it for better light. Her attention focused on his arm, she missed the look on his face as her hand wrapped, however briefly, around his. With a last swipe of the wound, she blew on it to dry it more quickly, then felt O'Neill shiver. She looked up, surprised at the expression she caught on his face. "Okay?" She asked softly.
"Uh," O'Neill swallowed hard and flicked his gaze away. "Yes. Fine. Good. Um, where was I?"
Turning back to his wound, Sam said, "Somehow a bear-cat thing and a squirrel stole your pack and you got an eight-inch gash in your arm."
"Carter," O'Neill said with exaggerated patience. "I told you. I got this, he twitched his arm in his hands, "because of the squirrel-thing. The bear . . . thing had nothing to do with it."
"Then why–"
"Once the bear-thing snagged my pack–"
"Wait, was the pack on you at the time?"
"Well . . . no."
"Where was it?"
"I was . . . otherwise occupied."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Otherwise occ– oh." She felt her own blush creeping up. He and Teal'c must have taken a nature break.
"Right. So . . . the bear-thing comes out of nowhere and the next thing I know my pack is being dragged off. Naturally, I follow."
"Naturally," she said dryly. "Um, right away?"
"Well, after . . . ah . . . securing things."
"Ah, right." Again Sam blushed and this time she was grateful her face was turned toward his injured arm. She was sure she was as red as a beet by now. The thought of Colonel O'Neill leaping up from his . . . business . . . and having to put himself together as he ran . . . she bit back a small chuckle and then stopped as she was suddenly hit with a mental image of him leaping up, important . . . parts . . . bouncing as he tried to get himself together.
Oh . . . my.
Tucking that image away for examination at a later date, she focused instead on the work she was doing on his arm. She wasn't completely successful, however, because she had another flash, and she cursed her overactive imagination. This time the sound that came out of her was closer to a groan than a chuckle and she tried to stifle both by turning it into a cough.
"Something funny, Major?"
Apparently an unsuccessful cough. "No, Sir. Nothing at all." Sam bit back a smile as she slathered antibiotic ointment on his stitches, careful not to apply too much pressure. "So," she prompted. "The bear took your pack . . ."
"Teal'c was no help, he was, um, well . . . he caught up with me eventually. One of my straps snagged on something and yanked the bear-thing back. It fell and yowled. A lot. I realized about then that the mama bear-thing might be around so I was going to grab my pack and run."
"And that's where the squirrel comes in?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly? What does that mean?" Sam looked up at him, taking a moment to take a sip of her tea as he drank his coffee. "But I thought you said–"
"Carter, you wanna hear this or not?"
O'Neill's eyes twinkled in the firelight and Sam realized that she'd never be able to resist that look. She tipped her head and smiled back, delighted when his small smile widened slightly. He was enjoying this, she realized. Dragging it out for her. She wondered if he were enjoying it as much as she was. She waved a hand it what was patently an O'Neill-like gesture. "Sorry, please continue."
"As I was saying," he continued, emphasizing her interruption with gentle good humor. "Just as I stepped forward, Mama bear-thing let out a huge roar and charged me. Teal'c was too far away to do anything, so I jumped for the nearest tree."
"I thought bears could–"
"Carter."
"Sorry."
"About halfway up I remembered just that very fact and looked down and sure enough, there was the mama, just a few feet behind me."
Now he had Sam's complete attention. His arm lay across her knees, her fingers wrapped protectively around it as she watched his face. She could see it now, and wondered how the heck he'd gotten away with just a cut on the arm when faced with an angry mother bear . . . or whatever . . . protecting her child.
"About this time, T finally shows up and fires a shot, scaring the bear. She got the heck out of dodge pretty quickly, her baby running along behind. I climbed down, got my pack, and we headed back to base camp." The Colonel stopped and took a long swallow of his coffee, watching as Sam re-covered his line of stitches with sterile pads and began winding gauze around his arm to hold it in place.
After a few moments, Sam looked at him and frowned. "I don't understand. If you didn't get cut by the bear, or the tree, where does the squirrel come in?"
Now O'Neill looked sheepish and he hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak but a new voice answered, humor lacing his tone.
"Oh, that's really the best part, Sam."
Both officers looked up to see Daniel stumbling sleepily toward them from the now darkened archaeology tent. He slumped beside Jack and deftly removed the coffee cup from O'Neill's hands. Sam watched her Colonel's eyes narrow as Daniel finished the last of the coffee in the mug, grimacing at the bitter taste before handing the empty cup back. He yawned and stretched, then pushed himself to his feet, clearly heading to bed.
"Wait," Sam looked from Daniel to O'Neill and back. "What's the best part?" She caught O'Neill's fierce look at Daniel but knew her friend would ignore the unspoken command from the Colonel.
Daniel grinned down at Sam. "Apparently, when they got back to camp, Jack set his pack down and began making dinner."
"But I thought it was Team Four's turn to make dinner," she protested, looking back at O'Neill.
"It was," came O'Neill's dry response.
"Until Jack caught Kauffman adding those pepper-things to the soup."
"Oh." Sam shuddered. "I hate those."
"I know." O'Neill nodded in satisfaction, then winced as his movement pulled his arm slightly in Sam's still-tight grip.
"I still don't see how . . .."
Daniel started to chuckle. "Jack yelled at Kauffman and told him to toss out what he'd made and to grab the extra meals from Jack's pack. Kauffman jumped about a foot, turned, reached into the pack, and out popped this squirrel."
"No."
"Yes." Now Daniel was laughing quietly. "I'm not sure who was more surprised, Kauffman or the squirrel. All I know is that Kauffman let out a scream."
"It was a girly scream." O'Neill huffed.
"Hey," Sam frowned at him.
O'Neill shrugged and Daniel laughed again. "It really was, Sam."
"Definitely a girly scream." O'Neill gave an overly dramatic shudder.
"But how did this," and she tipped her chin toward O'Neill's arm which still lay, now neatly rebandaged, in her lap. "Happen?"
"As Kauffman jumped backward, Jack jumped forward, and Kauffman was still holding his knife."
"Oh my God. Sir, you could have been–"
"Skewered by a scientist! I know!"
"Hey!" This time both Daniel and Sam fixed him with a glare. "You guys don't count. You're . . . well you don't."
Sam squinted at Daniel and then back at O'Neill. She wasn't entirely certain she shouldn't be more insulted. Daniel, however, appeared satisfied and, after giving them a final nod, headed toward his and Teal'c's tent. Sam absently followed his progress, unaware the she still held O'Neill's injured arm cradled in her lap. She slid one hand up to his elbow and the other down to his hand, automatically checking for uneven or warm spots as she went. Once at the bottom of the bandage, she trailed her fingers across his hand, her mind on the Colonel's story. She didn't notice the Colonel's fingers closing around her own.
Sometimes it frightened her, how close they came, all of them, to death almost every time they stepped through the gate. But it was on missions like these, innocuous ones, where they'd been on site for more than ten days, that it really hit her just how dangerous their job really was. How easily it could all be taken from them. Unconsciously she tightened her fingers around his, then froze as she realized what she was doing. Slowly, she lifted her gaze and found his waiting for her.
"Sam?"
Ducking her head, Sam tried to lift his arm away to return it to his side, but stopped as he resisted. He squeezed her fingers again. "Carter, what?"
She didn't know how to tell him, how to share what she was thinking. It was like one of those stories where the person survives a ten-thousand foot fall from an airplane only to be killed by a bus the next day. They'd never know, would they, which mission would be it? She sighed.
"C'mon, Carter. Out with it."
"I was thinking about . . ." losing you, her traitorous mind supplied. Out loud she finished, "Hawkins and his team. How quickly something so . . . simple . . . can go bad." She tipped her chin toward Daniel's tent. "Look at Daniel. He was kidnapped by a lonely Unas and . . . in true Daniel-fashion makes a new friend. But . . . he could just have easily been–"
"Lunch?" O'Neill's tone wasn't flippant, and his brown eyes were serious on hers.
"Yeah." Sam gave up trying to move his arm, it was apparent that he would remove it when he was good and ready. She instead found herself fiddling with his fingers, feeling and mentally cataloging the calluses she felt there. "I expect it, you know, on the big, scary missions. But on things like this . . ."
"Carter," O'Neill squeezed her fingers and she met his gaze. "It was an accident. A clumsy sci– er, guy with a knife and . . .." He looked pointedly at his arm. "It's not a big deal."
"I know." Sam was struggling to hold back her emotions and this time she firmly lifted his arm up and away, placing it gently onto his own lap. "It's just . . . I can't imagine coming back into camp, a place that's really supposed to be our home-away-from-home to find that you . . . that one of us . . . had been killed because –"
"Of a squirrel?"
In spite of her self, Sam let out a watery laugh. "Yeah."
"Think of how I feel, Carter. Think of it, taken down by a rodent?"
Sam tipped her head at him and narrowed her eyes. "Are we still talking about the squirrel, Colonel?"
"Not exactly."
"Sir."
"Okay," he conceded. I might have been referring to Kauffman." He picked up his empty mug, then looked inside and frowned, throwing a dark glance toward Daniel and Teal'c's tent before setting his cup aside again.
Amusement laced her tone. "I won't tell, Sir."
He straightened, pleased. "Thank you." He faced her. "Wait . . . tell about what?"
"That you came out on the losing end of a battle with a squirrel."
"It was a scientist."
"A scientist terrorized by a squirrel." She cocked her head. "Though I'm not sure which is worse." She shrugged and added, "Either way, your secret's safe with me."
"Thanks."
"But I'm sure Daniel's already told."
"He wouldn't."
She just lifted an eyebrow and swallowed the last of her tea.
O'Neill sighed. "Where's that Unas again?"
~ o0o ~
End.