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The doors to the infirmary slammed open hard enough to echo.
“Where is he?” Sam’s voice cut through the sterile air - tight, breathless, already breaking at the edges despite the steel she tried to lace through it. Heads turned as the tension swept through the infirmary like a storm front. Conversations faltered. A nurse froze with a chart in her hands.
Janet Fraiser turned from the main desk, her expression immediately sharpening. She’d seen this version of Samantha Carter before. She wasn’t in control - just barely holding herself together by a thread, as if a single word might shatter her.
“Sam…”
“Where is he?” Sam repeated, louder this time, her eyes already scanning past Janet, searching, calculating, as if she could locate him by instinct alone. “I was told he was brought in from PX-747 on a medevac litter - what happened? How bad is it?”
Janet closed the distance between them, her palm finding Sam’s shoulder and pressing just enough to make her feel it. “He’s here,” she said calmly. “He’s alive.”
Sam’s breath hitched. Not relief - yet. Not until she knew everything. “What does ‘alive’ mean, Janet?”
That was the question beneath all of it.
Janet exhaled softly, then shifted into doctor mode. "He fell from a cliff," she said. "Approximately ten feet - give or take. Daniel estimates he lost footing on unstable rock near a ridge. A few feet further and he'd have gone down the whole slope - two hundred feet, easy."
All color drained from Sam's face. "Oh God…"
"Teal'c managed to climb down and stabilized him until they could call it in. They're both in debrief with General Hammond now."
Sam lifted a hand to her mouth, holding it there, fingers resting against her lips as she eased back a step and lowered herself onto a chair.
"I know," Janet said gently. "But listen to me. He was extremely lucky. His left leg took the majority of the impact."
Sam swallowed hard. “Define ‘took the impact.’”
Janet didn’t soften the truth - she laid it out methodically, one fact at a time. “He has open compound fractures of the tibia and fibula - both shattered. The femur is fractured but stable. The CT shows significant soft‑tissue damage, but no vascular compromise we can’t manage. Plus his ribs. Three broken, possibly four - but no pneumothorax. No spinal injury. No head trauma.”
Sam blinked rapidly, processing. “No internal bleeding?”
“We haven’t found any active internal bleeding so far. His vitals are holding steady, which is a good sign.” Janet laid her hand on her arm.
Sam let out a breath that sounded more like something tearing loose than something easing. “So he needs surgery?” she asked, voice quieter now, but still tight.
“Yes, extensive. We need to reconstruct the leg,” Janet said. “Internal fixation - rods, plates, screws. It’s going to be a long procedure.”
“How long?”
“Several hours.”
Sam nodded, sharp. “When?”
Janet hesitated just a fraction. “I’m scrubbing in within the next ten minutes.”
Sam rose from the chair. “Can I see him?” It came out raw, stripped of anything resembling control.
Janet held her gaze. For a moment, she assessed her - Sam’s rigid posture, the shallow edge of her breathing, the way control clung by a thread, barely able to hold on.
Then she nodded. “Come with me.”
-----------------------------
Over time, the infirmary had become some kind of safe haven for them.
Somewhere along the way, without discussion or acknowledgment, it had become the one place where things didn’t have to be hidden quite so carefully. Janet understood - Sam had never doubted that - and she ran her domain accordingly. No questions that didn’t need asking, no attention paid where it didn’t belong.
The staff followed her lead. Professional, discreet, and focused on what mattered, they let things pass without comment: The absence of distance, rank was supposed to enforce. A hand that lingered longer than it should. The kind of touch that, anywhere else, would have drawn notice.
It wasn’t permission, not officially. But it was close enough.
The pre-op area was quieter than the main corridor, the atmosphere not softened but sharpened. Every sound stood out with clinical precision - monitors marking steady rhythms, IV pumps clicking in measured intervals, fabric whispering as medical staff moved with practiced efficiency instead of boots striking tile.
At the far end, Jack lay on a gurney.
Two nurses were working around him, adjusting lines and checking monitors, while another secured the last of the padding around his leg. Their movements were quick and controlled - routine on the surface, urgency threaded just beneath.
Janet stepped slightly aside, giving Sam a clear view. “He’s had something for the pain, to take the edge off,” she said quietly. “Don’t expect him to be fully coherent. We’ll be taking him in in a couple of minutes.”
Sam nodded.
Then Janet was gone again, pulled back into the controlled urgency of preparing for the surgery.
Sam stepped forward.
His left leg was immobilized in a temporary splint, thick layers of padding wrapped tight and secured in place. Faint stains had already seeped through in places — a muted reminder of how bad it had been before they got him here.
For a moment, she just stood there, taking it in. An IV line ran into his arm, fluids dripping steadily. Another fed medication - strong enough to replace his usual restless energy with a heavy, unnatural stillness.
But - he was conscious.
She saw it as she moved closer - the slow, delayed way his head turned, as if even that small motion required effort. His gaze searched for her, blinking heavy and uneven, struggling to focus.
Sam stopped at the edge of the gurney, hesitating for half a heartbeat as though that last step would make it real.
He looked pale under the harsh infirmary lights, the color drained from his face. It made something in her chest tighten. His eyelids drooped, blinking slow, like staying awake cost more than he was willing to admit.
“Hey,” he murmured when he finally found her, voice rough and low, softened by a lingering drowsiness.
She leaned over him. Her hand found his first, fingers curling around it, holding on for a moment. "Hey, you," she whispered.
Her other hand drifted up, then stopped short of his face, hovering as if she were afraid to confirm he was really there. Only when his fingers tightened around hers did she let herself finish the motion, her palm settling against his jaw, thumb tracing the line of a few shallow scratches there. She let it rest there, grounding herself in the warmth of his skin.
Jack’s lips twitched. “Sorry.”
Sam frowned slightly, her thumb stilling against his skin. “Sorry for what?”
“For being so stupid,” he muttered. “Turns out gravity still wins.” The attempt at a grin was weak, uneven, but it was there.
Her breath caught - half laugh, half sob. Her thumb brushing his cheek lightly.
“Are you in pain?”
He swallowed, slow and uneven, his brow tightening faintly. “No. Not right now.”
A beat, like he was hunting for the words. “Before they hit me with the… happy juice? Yeah. That sucked. A lot.” His lips twitched again, but it didn’t quite make it into a full smile. “S’okay now.”
Sam shook her head, but her eyes burned, tears gathering faster than she could blink them away.
Jack’s gaze sharpened just a little - enough to notice. “Hey,” he said softly. “None of that.”
“I was told you fell down a cliff,” she said, the words tumbling out now. “Jack… do you have any idea….”
She let out a broken huff of a laugh, her fingers tightening against his jaw instead of just resting there. “You could have…” Her voice faltered. “You could have died.”
Jack watched her, and for a moment the drowsiness seemed to lift off him like something burned away. He took in the tremor in her hand against his jaw, the way her breath kept catching on words she couldn't finish, the tears swimming in her eyes.
His hand shifted in hers, slow and heavy, interlacing their fingers instead of just lying there. "I didn't," he said quietly.
"That's not the point."
He watched her for a beat, his expression softening into the faintest of smiles. "Kind of is."
She shook her head again. One tear slipped free.
“Carter.”
The sound of her name stilled her. She dragged the back of her hand across her cheek, wiping it away.
“I’m okay,” he said.
She glanced instinctively at his leg, and he followed her gaze. “Well,” he amended. “Parts of me are okay.”
Despite everything, she almost smiled. It didn't last. The corner of her mouth fell before it had even finished forming, the moment's brightness gone as fast as it came.
"Janet says your leg is…" She stopped, swallowing hard, her thumb going still against his jaw again. "… she says it's bad."
“Yeah,” he said, glancing down as much as he could. “Kinda noticed.”
“They’re going to…”
“… rebuild it,” Jack cut in. “That’s the word she used. Like I’m a project.” His mouth twitched. “Rods, plates. A whole hardware store.”
Sam let out a breath, shaky at the edges but lighter than the ones before it. "Something like that."
Her hand moved from his face to his hair, smoothing it back gently. “And your ribs?” she asked more carefully. “Janet mentioned…”
“Only hurts when I laugh,” he said. A beat. “So don’t make me laugh.”
An involuntary smile tugged at her mouth before she pressed her lips together, forcing it back.
Jack’s eyes drifted to her again. “Yeah,” he said. “Still got it.”
She gave him a look. “You fell off a cliff.”
“Hey,” he murmured, faintly smug. “I nailed the landing. Mostly.”
This time the laugh won, short and helpless, escaping before she could stop it. Her hand stilled in his hair, and when she spoke again her voice had dropped, all the lightness gone out of it. "God," she whispered. "I was so scared…."
The words hung between them - too honest, too exposed for anywhere but this quiet, hidden corner.
Jack’s thumb brushed lightly against her wrist where their hands were still linked. “Hey,” he said again, softer now. “I’m still here.”
“By sheer luck,” she said, her chest tightening at the thought of the cliffside.
His eyes flicked to her, that familiar spark of defiance sharpening. “Hey,” he said quietly, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.”
She huffed a small breath, wiping at her face with her free hand. “Don’t joke about that.”
“Can’t help it,” he murmured. “Part of my charm.”
Her hand returned to his face, cupping his cheek fully now. She closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself.
Jack watched her, taking in the cracks she couldn’t quite hide. “Sam,” he said quietly.
Her eyes opened, unguarded, before something snapped back into place. “I’m fine.”
It wavered.
He tilted his head slightly. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
“I just…,” She drew in a breath, tried again, softer. She stopped, shook her head. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”
“That’s called deflection.”
“Focus,” she corrected, but her voice caught on it.
“Carter.”
“I’m handling it,” she said, and this time it wasn’t controlled so much as held together. “That’s what matters.”
Jack didn’t answer right away. He just watched her, seeing how tightly she was holding it together. The way her breathing hitched just slightly between sentences. The way her shoulders wouldn’t settle.
“Not the same thing,” he said quietly.
Her jaw tightened. “It has to be.” And there it was - closer to the truth than anything else she’d said.
“Carter.”
She looked at him again, and this time she didn’t quite manage the composure. “What?”
“What is it?”
A pause.
“It was the way I got the notification,” she said, too quickly. “Just minimal details.”
“Yeah?”
“They said you were inbound,” she went on, voice thinning despite herself. “Critical. Unresponsive.” She swallowed. “That was all.”
A beat. Then, quieter: “They said you fell.” Another swallow. “Nothing more.”
Jack’s grip tightened slightly around her fingers. Her eyes flicked to his, fear slipping through before she could stop it.
“They wouldn’t confirm anything else,” she admitted. “Not your vitals, not…” She cut herself off, breath catching. “I didn’t know if, when I would get here… if you…”
She stopped, jaw clenching hard.
Silence.
“I didn’t know what I would walk into.” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. After a moment. “I was almost convinced you were dead.”
Jack felt something in his chest shift hard enough to hurt. “Well, to be honest – I wasn’t sure I wasn’t,” he said quietly.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide open.
“Just for a minute,” he added. “After I hit the ground.” He glanced away, eyes unfocusing slightly. “It got real quiet.”
Sam didn’t move.
“Thought that might be it.”
Her fingers tightened in his.
“And the first thing I thought was…” He paused, brow tightening slightly. “You.”
Sam went very still.
“Not the mission. Not the team. Not even how bad it was gonna hurt.” A faint exhale. “Just you.” Her grip tightened around his hand.
Jack swallowed, gaze drifting for a second before coming back to her. “And I kept thinking… if that was it - if I didn’t get back…” He shook his head, just a fraction. “Then we’d have left it like this.”
A beat.
“All careful. All… off the record.”
“Jack…” Her voice was barely steady.
He huffed quietly, not quite a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Great plan, right?” Then, softer, more honest: “Didn’t feel so great lying there.”
His eyes held hers now, clearer than before. “I kept thinking - was it worth it? Keeping it hidden like that.”
Silence stretched.
“Didn’t feel like it,” he said simply. Jack watched her, something settling heavy and immovable inside him.
Sam swallowed hard, her composure slipping another fraction. “We made that choice for a reason,” she said quietly - but it lacked conviction. After a beat: “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t cost something.”
“How many more times do you think we get away with it?” he asked.
She blinked at him. “What?”
“This,” he said. “Walking back from things we probably shouldn’t.”
Her first instinct kicked in. “That’s not how probability works…”
“Sam.”
She stopped. Her control was thinner now, fraying at the edges. “I don’t know,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” he said.
Silence stretched. Her hand was still on his face.
Jack looked at her. The thought that had started out there on the cliff settled into something sharper, heavier. Something he could not ignore any longer.
A nurse stepped in at Jack’s other side, movements efficient and unobtrusive as she checked the monitor readouts and adjusted the IV. “Sir, I’m going to give you a bit of oxygen,” she said calmly.
He lifted his head slightly at her prompting, just enough for her to guide the thin tubing into place, looping it over his ears and settling the soft prongs beneath his nose before securing it with a quick, practiced motion.
Jack’s nose wrinkled immediately. “Wow,” he muttered, voice rough. “Deluxe treatment.”
The nurse huffed a quiet, knowing breath and moved on without comment.
When she was gone, Sam leaned in slightly closer and took his hand again, her fingers sliding back into his as if she’d never let go.
Jack blinked, slow and heavy, but focused.
She didn’t look away.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a clarity that cut clean through the haze of medication, he murmured, “I’m going to retire.”
Sam froze. The words landed like a shockwave. “What?”
Jack’s expression stayed the same, but there was a quiet certainty there now, cutting through the fog. “I’m done,” he said. “After this.”
She stared at him, searching his face for signs of delirium, confusion - anything that would make it not real. "Jack, you’re on strong pain meds…”
“I know what I’m saying.”
“You just fell off a cliff,” she said. “You don’t make life decisions right after falling off a cliff.”
“Seems like a good time, actually.”
“Jack…”
“I mean it.” The grip of his fingers tightened just enough to make the point.
“No more off-world missions,” he said. “No more ‘gravity disagreements.’ No more…” He gestured vaguely. “…of this.”
Her heart was racing now - but not from fear this time. “Why?” she asked.
He looked at her. “You know why.”
Her breath caught.
Silence stretched between them - thick and fragile at the same time.
“You’re not thinking clearly,” she said finally, but there was less conviction in it now.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe I finally am.”
She shook her head slightly. “We can talk about this later,” she said. “After surgery. After recovery. When you’re not…”
“Sam.”
She stopped again.
His voice softened. “That could've gone very differently,” he said. “And the only thing I could think about on the way down…” He paused, breath catching slightly. “…was that I'd spent too many years waiting for the right moment.”
Her eyes filled again. “Jack…”
“I’m tired,” he said quietly. “Tired of pretending I don’t…” The words caught. He looked away for a heartbeat, toward the open doorway, before meeting her eyes again. “…you know.”
She did. God, she did. Her hand trembled slightly where it cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing faintly over warm skin that would soon feel distant, unreachable.
"You don't have to decide this now," she whispered. "That's your entire career, Jack. The Air Force. Command. The Stargate."
“If that's what it takes. I'd give it up.”
She searched his face, almost willing him to hesitate. “For me?”
He didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm. “For us.”
Sam’s breath hitched.
A movement at the door broke the moment.
A man in pale blue scrubs stepped into the doorway, an ID badge clipped to his chest. "Colonel O'Neill? I'm Dr Weber, your anesthesiologist."
There was an easy confidence about him, the quiet authority of someone who spent every day shepherding patients safely through the threshold between wakefulness and sleep.
Jack blinked slowly, then offered a faint smile. "Nice to meet you, Doc." A beat later he added, "Hope I wake up for the sequel."
The corner of Dr Weber's mouth twitched into a knowing smile. He'd heard countless variations of that joke over the years, but he never dismissed the fear beneath it.
"That's very much the plan," he said evenly. "I'll be with you the entire time. My job is to keep you asleep, comfortable, and wake you up again once the surgeons are finished."
Jack gave a small nod. "Sounds like a decent gig."
"I like to think so," Dr Weber replied, the quiet confidence in his voice leaving little room for doubt.
He scrubbed the IV port with an alcohol swab before attaching a small syringe, every movement calm and economical. "Just a little more midazolam," he said. "It'll help you stay relaxed while we get you settled in the operating room."
The plunger moved slowly beneath his thumb, the medication slipping into the IV in a clear, colorless stream. "You may start to feel warm," he said gently. "Maybe a little floaty."
Jack’s lashes fluttered, slower now, like each blink cost him. A few seconds passed. Then some more.
By the time Dr Weber reached for the second syringe, Jack looked pleasantly adrift, as though every sound had to travel through water before reaching him.
"I'm also giving you hydromorphone," Dr Weber said. "Just to stay ahead of the pain." He switched syringes with practiced efficiency and eased the medication into the IV with a slow, controlled push, his attention shifting between Jack's face and the monitors. "There we go," he murmured, disconnecting the empty syringe.
“You’ll start to feel drowsy,” Weber said, adjusting the IV line with careful hands.
Jack exhaled, longer this time, his focus slipping, gaze unfixed.
Sam saw the subtle change, the slight delay in his focus, the way his gaze softened even more and began to drift. His eyes slipped half-closed, then opened again, unfocused.
Sam couldn't tear her eyes away. She watched every movement as though memorizing them would somehow keep him safe - the careful push of the medication, the anesthesiologist's unwavering attention, the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest.
She knew he was in the hands of an expert. Knowing it and feeling it, however, were two very different things.
Dr Weber rested the stethoscope against his chest, listening first to his heart, then to both lungs with a few quiet breaths. Satisfied, he tucked the earpieces away and glanced at the monitor. "Looking good," he said.
“I can’t believe you screwed that up so badly,” Jack said suddenly, almost absently.
Dr Weber paused for the briefest moment, eyebrows lifting as though wondering if the remark had been meant for him. Then he followed Jack's unfocused gaze and relaxed.
Sam blinked, thrown. “Jack?”
A faint frown crossed his face, like even he wasn’t sure where the thought had come from. “Why am I talking to myself? Dunno…” he muttered.
Dr Weber’s tone remained calm, almost reassuring, as if this were the most ordinary thing in the world. “Don’t worry. That’s the medication,” he said quietly to Sam, but loud enough for Jack too. “People sometimes say whatever’s on their mind as they go under.”
Jack’s gaze drifted somewhere past her shoulder, chasing something only he could see. Then, quieter, almost conspiratorial, “I wouldn’t mix that with water… if I were you.”
Her laugh broke halfway through, sharp and watery. Her thumb brushed his cheek again, but this time it was slower, as if memorizing the feel of him while she still could. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Dr Weber adjusted something near the IV, his movements precise. “You’re doing just fine, Colonel. Just keep breathing normally.”
Jack’s lips twitched, the expression softer now, looser. “I wish they’d make a TV show out of this…” A pause, his eyes sliding past her. “Lots of drama. Would have… good ratings…”
His voice thinned, the words smearing together. “Better than… the real thing…” He was losing coherence, slipping further away from her.
“Breathing looks good,” Dr. Weber said, not looking up from the monitor, his voice meant for the nurse.
Sam swallowed hard. This was it. The argument about retirement, about choices, about everything that had seemed so impossibly large just minutes ago - it all fell away. None of it mattered now.
His hand slipped from her wrist, fingers loosening in hers. “Carter,” he murmured, already drifting.
Something in her chest tightened at the way he said it - soft, unguarded, like he didn’t have the strength left to hide behind rank or habit.
“I’m here,” she whispered quickly, leaning closer without touching him again, as if proximity alone could anchor him.
A faint, almost boyish smile tugged at Jack’s lips, his gaze drifting as he blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. “You’re so beautiful.”
The words hit her like a misstep in gravity - sudden, disorienting. For a moment she just stared at him, breath catching, her mind scrambling to reconcile this version of him with the man who deflected everything with a joke or a sidestep.
Heat rushed to her face. She glanced up at Dr Weber, a quick, almost helpless flicker of embarrassment crossing her face, as if she needed confirmation this wasn’t as real as it felt.
“That’s… the medication talking,” she managed softly, but her voice wavered, betraying her.
Dr Weber only offered a small smile before turning his attention back to the monitors, giving them the illusion of privacy.
She looked back down at him. Her palm pressed more firmly against his cheek, as if she could imprint the feel of him before the drugs took him under completely. “Jack,” she said softly, leaning closer, her voice catching despite her effort to steady it.
His eyes shifted toward her, not fully focused - but not gone yet.
“I’ll be here, waiting.” she said.
“Good,” he mumbled. “Wouldn’t… want to,” he sighed deeply ”… wake up to... Daniel.”
A breathy, tearful laugh slipped out of her, the tension cracking just enough to let something warmer, achingly fond break through the fear. She shook her head faintly, eyes shining. “Come back to me,” she whispered.
His eyes were half-closed now, the medication dragging him under in slow, steady pulls. The faint curve of his lips lingered for a heartbeat, then softened as his fingers loosened in hers, slipping from her grasp. His breathing deepened, slow and even, each exhale a little heavier than the last.
“Always do,” he whispered, the words barely formed, already dissolving into the quiet.
Sam hesitated. The room snapped back into focus: the sterile hum of the monitor, the doctor at the edge of her vision, the boundary she was about to cross.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
Then she leaned in anyway and pressed a soft, trembling kiss to his forehead - brief, careful, and impossibly intimate. Something she would never, ever allow herself anywhere else.
Footsteps approached. “Sam,” Janet’s voice came, gentle but firm. “It’s time.”
Sam closed her eyes briefly, pressing one last, lingering touch against his cheek before she let her hand fall away.
Jack’s eyes had slipped closed, his breathing slow and even.
Janet stepped in close, her expression softening as she took in Sam’s face, the way she lingered, the way she couldn’t quite let go.
Her hand came up to rest lightly on Sam’s arm, thumb brushing once in a small, grounding gesture. “We’ll take good care of him,” she said softly.
Someone raised the side rails, the quiet clicks suddenly too loud in the room, then unlocked the bed - preparing to move him.
“Let’s go,” Janet said softly, nodding toward Dr Weber.
Sam stepped back as they began to wheel him away. Her hands fell to her sides - but her gaze never left him.
Not until he disappeared through the double doors.
And even then –
She stayed exactly where she was.
She would wait as long as it took.
And she waited, caught between something dangerously close to hope and the quiet, persistent fear that he had made a life-altering choice before he'd had the chance to truly think it through.
The answer would have to wait until the double doors opened again, and he was safely out of surgery.
THE END