Janet Alphabet Soup

[fignewton]

icon by samantilles

My thanks to the 26 authors who made Janet Alphabet Soup a reality: Acarlgeek, Amaranth Traces, Calantha, Cleo the Muse, Cnidarian, Colej55, Crazedturkey, Fig Newton, GateGremlyn, Gravity Not Included, Izhilzha, Lokei, Maevebran, Michelle Lunsford, Neith, Pepper, Random, Rigel, Samantilles, Sela, Sue, Tejas, Thraesja, Traycer, Yvi, and Wonderland. (And a special welcome to the soup newcomers!)

Stories range in size from 100 words to over 8,000, and in ratings from G to PG-13. (Detailed medical procedures, and some language.) Expect spoilers for the entire series through Heroes.

A is for Apple
by cleothemuse

Right around the time a certain colonel had his annual physical, a notice appeared on the bulletin board just inside the commissary: An Apple A Day Keeps Doc Napoleon Away. It was accompanied by a drawing of a baseball cap-wearing stick figure brandishing an oversized apple. A few of the rays coming off of the apple were in pursuit of a smaller stick figure, which was fleeing with its enormous syringe.

When Major Samantha Carter stopped by the infirmary later that week, she was astonished by the array of apples inside the office of Doctor Janet Fraiser. Red, green, yellow, and mixes of the three, the apples spilled off the CMO's desk and into a conveniently-placed file box. Said CMO was cheerfully munching on what Sam was nearly certain was a "Jonathon" apple.

Once the office door was closed, Janet explained how the sign came to be. Apparently, she had chided Colonel Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill about his propensity for consuming beer, Chinese carry-out, and pizza instead of fruits and vegetables. She'd stated that if he ate a little more produce and a little less soy sauce, his blood pressure levels wouldn't be quite so concerning.

"An apple a day, huh?" he'd mused. An hour after his physical, the bold-lettered sign debuted. The drawing was tacked onto it a few hours later.

"Ever since," Janet finished, tossing the core of her snack into the wastebasket, "appeasement gifts have been appearing on my desk at irregular intervals."

"Obviously the colonel made the sign," Sam reasoned, "but the drawing looks like something Daniel would do."

"Well, of course," Janet winked. "I asked him to make it for me after I remembered I'd recently come across my mother's recipe for fried apple pies. Tomorrow night... bring a carton of vanilla ice cream with you."

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B is for Birthday Cake
by sjhw_tolerance

"Next year I'm doing cupcakes."

Jonas looked up from his intent study of one of Kanan's mission reports when Janet Fraiser made her announcement. The SGC's doctor swept into the briefing room carrying one of the institutional orange cafeteria trays, setting it with a flourish on the large table. He eyed the contents of the tray curiously - a half a dozen paper plates with large slices of white cake covered with at least an inch of white frosting embellished with brightly colored frosting roses.

"Yum…cake." Sam immediately perked up. She sat at the opposite end of the table with an open laptop, surrounded by even more of the copious hand-written notes the Tok'ra had reluctantly turned over to them. Only Teal'c remained unmoved, his only acknowledgement of the doctor's entrance a low grunt.

"What's the occasion?" Jonas asked. He'd discovered that his new friends celebrated a wide variety of occasions with cake, sometimes not needing any reason at all to indulge in the sweet treat.

"Cassandra's birthday."

"I didn't think you'd have so much left over," Sam commented. Standing, she stretched and then leaned across the table. "Is there one without too much frosting?"

Doctor Fraiser smiled and carefully selected one of the plates, and sticking a plastic fork into the cake, slid it across the table to Sam, who immediately took a huge bite of the cake. Jonas thought the frosting looked just as thick on the piece the doctor gave Sam, but didn't say anything. He'd also discovered that the women on Earth were very similar to the women on Kelowna and neither group appreciated when their eating habits were questioned.

"Jonas?" Doctor Fraiser smiled at him. "Would you like a piece?"

"Sure," he responded. "It looks good."

Fraiser handed him one of the larger pieces, thick with creamy frosting and two huge purple roses.

"Teal'c?" the doctor asked next. The Jaffa grunted again and Fraiser apparently interpreted his response as a yes, because she selected another large piece and set it down on the table next to Teal'c.

"Cassandra is your daughter, right?" Jonas commented, studying his piece of cake and trying to determine the best plan of attack.

"Yes," Fraiser answered. "It was her birthday yesterday." Her voice was dry as she continued. "And as you can see, there is plenty of leftover cake."

Finally deciding to avoid the large frosting roses for the time being, Jonas managed to get a forkful of the moist white cake. "You had a party for her?" he asked.

"Did we have a party, Sam?"

"I suppose if you can call getting Cassie to blow out the candles and spend ten minutes with her mother and aunt a party before she went out with her friends, then yeah, I guess we did."

Jonas looked curiously between the two women; the description didn't sound like much of a party but both women were smiling and didn't seem too upset. "Ah…that sounds nice."

Fraiser laughed. "Don't worry, Jonas. That's perfectly normal behavior from a seventeen year old."

Since he'd first read the old report of SG-1's mission to Hanka, he'd been curious about the other 'alien' on Earth. "It sounds like she's adjusted to her new home then?"

"Oh, we've had our ups and downs," Fraiser commented, her expression turning serious. "Especially last year, when Nirti's genetic meddling manifested itself."

Teal'c growled something unintelligible and all heads momentarily turned to the Jaffa, who was now glaring at whatever image was on the computer monitor in front of him, the plate that held the cake now empty, only a few crumbs left as evidence there had been any cake at all. Fraiser shook her head and then smiled again, picking up the tray. "But yeah, all in all, I'd say she's a pretty normal teenager."

"I'd like to meet her some time," Jonas added, before Fraiser left. "After all, we aliens need to stick together."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonas' idle comment stuck with her all afternoon, niggling at her through post-mission physicals and the resultant paperwork and now on her drive home, 'we aliens need to stick together'.

It had been years since Janet Fraiser had thought of her adopted daughter as an alien. Even through everything that had gone on the year before with Nirti, Cassandra had been and always would be her daughter. And while she knew she didn't think of her daughter as an alien, Jonas' comment made her wonder if Cassandra thought of herself as an alien.

Janet turned into her driveway, the light shining from every window in the house in the early evening twilight, along with the faint sound of music which was no doubt blaring from somewhere inside, reassured her that her daughter was home. Letting herself in the front door, the loud music of Cassie's current favorite group assaulted her ear drums. Dropping her brief case on the closest chair, Janet immediately turned down the volume on the CD player.

"Cassandra?" she called. Kicking off her heels, she peeked into the kitchen - no Cassandra. Hanging up her coat next, she walked in her stocking feet to the foot of the stairs and called again. "Cassandra?"

Satisfied when she heard the thump of feet hitting the floor, Janet went back into the kitchen, opening the fridge and surveying the contents. It looked like there was enough leftover broccoli chicken casserole for two. She glanced over at the dishes stacked in the sink, that is if Cassie hadn't already eaten.

"Cassandra!" she called again. "Have you eaten?"

This time she was answered the sound of thumping footsteps down the stairs and her daughter appeared in the doorway, her purse slung over her shoulder, her hoodie over one arm and her iPod hanging from her hand. "I'm meeting Josie and Stephanie at Martino's," she announced, naming a local pizza parlor.

Janet shut the refrigerator door and studied her daughter. She was dressed as she usually was, low slung jeans with a short sleeved knit shirt that didn't quite meet the top of her jeans, exposing a fashionable sliver of her midriff and scruffy red tennis shoes that were currently all the rage. She had her long, brown hair held back from her face with two butterfly clips, a look of mild impatience on her face.

"Have you finished your homework?" Janet asked.

"Yeah," her daughter replied. "And before you can ask, yes I cleaned my bathroom too."

Janet smiled slightly; she waged an ongoing battle with her daughter regarding homework and chores, no doubt along with Josie and Stephanie's parents. "All right," she finally answered, "just be home by ten."

"Mom!"

She wasn't surprised by the automatic protest and her answer was always the same. "School night, honey. You know the rules."

"Right," Cassie grumbled, setting her iPod and purse on the kitchen table and shrugging into her hoodie. "Ten o'clock."

Janet followed her daughter out of the kitchen and into the living room, waiting as Cassie opened the front door when she remembered her troublesome thoughts over Jonas' earlier comment. "Cassandra, wait."

Cassie paused, the front door open and her hand on the screen door. "What?" Before Janet could answer, there was the honk of a car horn. Cassie looked quickly out the door and turned back at her mother, obviously eager to leave. "Stephanie's here, Mom. I have to go."

"This won't take long." Janet ignored the annoyed look on her daughter's face. "Do you feel like an alien, honey?"

"Well…duh, Mom," Cassie said, with a slight eye roll. "I am an alien."

The familiar frustration of trying to have a serious conversation with her daughter filled her, but Janet wasn't going to give up. "No, I mean, do you feel like you don't belong here, with me."

The horn sounded again and Janet expected Cassie to make a run for it, when the girl surprised her by letting go of the door handle and giving her a quick hug. "Mom, I may have been born in Toronto, but my home is here with you." And with that pronouncement, her daughter made her escape, the screen door slamming behind her.

Janet waited, feeling slightly bemused, in the open doorway and watched as Cassie bounded down the stairs and across the lawn, the two girls waiting in the car waving and talking excitedly as Cassie got into the backseat. Cassie leaned out the open back window, their eyes meeting across the expanse of the yard and mouthed 'I love you'.

The unsettled feeling that had plagued her all afternoon immediately vanished and Janet waved, watching as the car carrying her not-so-alien daughter and her friends disappeared down the street.

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C is for Child
by izhilzha

TO: scarter@dstp.mil
FROM: jfraiser@dstp.mil
SUBJECT: Lunch?

Hey, Sam,

Want to grab lunch up top today? I need some vitamin D; too many extended shifts down in fluorescent light and recycled air.

I could use a chat, too, if you've got time.

Janet

~~~~~

Sam was almost through her egg-salad sandwich when Janet finally got to the point. "I think I might be pregnant."

Sam looked up in shock, barely kept herself from spitting out something idiotic like, I didn't even know you were dating anyone! Because Janet wasn't, they'd had that discussion not even a month ago, and that could only mean a couple of things. "Uh . . . wow," she said, wincing at the inane word even as it dropped into the still, sun-warmed air.

Janet chuckled. "Yeah, I know." She frowned into the bento box she'd brought her own lunch in, picking the last blueberry out of its tiny compartment.

"So what happened?" Not much better than the first comment, but Sam had to know, in case this was something other than an accident. Which was unlikely, since Janet could easily take down guys three times her size, but still.

"Oh, the usual idiocy." And her voice was actually amused, so probably this was okay, for whatever value of okay encompassed a single woman with a military career being thrust into the decision of whether to have a child. Janet smirked. "One of those times when nobody quite realizes the condom broke until it's too late to do anything about it." She shrugged. "And then there was an early call to the Mountain, and that was the day SG-6 came back on stretchers, and I forgot to take the usual precautions."

"So...." Sam tried to figure out what Janet needed; just a listening ear? Advice of any kind? She was dealing with it much more calmly than Sam would have been, that was for sure. "How sure are you?"

"Not that sure, yet." Janet ticked off the indicators on her fingers. "Missed a period, which never happens for me. First test was positive. I haven't done the official blood tests yet, but even over-the-counter ones are pretty damn accurate these days."

"Wow," Sam said again. "What do you--do you know what you want to do about it?" If this were her, she'd get it taken care of; the thought of being sidelined from missions just as the SGC is really getting into it freaked Sam out, and the thought of leaving a baby behind while she trooped off to alien planets was even worse. No guy she'd ever dated would be a good enough father for her trust him to be the stay-at-home, even if said guy wasn't likely to be someone connected to the Mountain. This would be too much. Right now.

"I don't know." Janet fitted the lid onto the bento box and laced her fingers together on top of it. She kept her voice low, almost as if she wasn't sure the words she were saying were hers. "Single, older, military doctor. This . . . this might be a gift. I might not get another chance to do this."

She looked up, and the wide-eyed longing in her face made Sam dizzy. Sure, she'd thought this over herself, but the possibility of being a mother never trumped the glory of getting to bend her brain around the ins and outs of physics, mechanics, alien technology. She'd never gotten far enough to consider the place where that possibility ended, and all she'd be left with is the glory and ambition.

"Wow," Sam said again, but the idea of Janet with a baby in her arms was suddenly a warm and welcome proposition, motherhood by proxy, and she found herself smiling, beaming, even.

Janet beamed back. "I mean, I don't know, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself, but. . . ."

They spent the rest of lunch discussing military daycare, ways to tell the father (if Janet even should), and possible reactions from the rest of SG-1, all leavened with constant maybes and what-ifs, with cautious and secretive hope.

~~~~~

TO: scarter@dstp.mil
FROM: jfraiser@dstp.mil
SUBJECT: Re: RE: Lunch?

Sam,

Tests negative. It was fun to think about, anyway. Thanks for putting up with the shrieking alarm from my biological clock.

Still not dating. Damn military; my time is never my own.

How are you doing after the whole risen-from-the-dead thing? I've got to hear more about that.

Lunch?

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D is for Death, Denial, Doctors, and Daniel
by maevebran

Janet raced along the corridor beside Doctor Daniel Jackson, hoping they could get him back to the planet in time. The heart monitor sounded a tone and should a flat line. They reached the gate room before she had a chance to do anything. There was no time. Colonel O'Neill picked up Daniel and ran for the waiting wormhole.

Janet returned to her office to make out her report while waiting news from the planet. Dr. Daniel Jackson was a sore trial to her medical skills. This was at least the second time he had died since she had taken the post as Chief Medical Officer at Stargate Command. Granted the first time he was off world and the Nox saved him. Then there were the close calls that alien technology had saved him. Janet shuddered just thinking about the sarcophagus. On good days she was glad that the SGC didn't have one. She was proud of her skills and confident she could heal all in her care. But on bad days she wished she had one and then felt guilty as she remembered Daniel's struggle with addiction.

Janet shook herself out of her musings and debated wether or not to fill out the paperwork in front of her. Technically Daniel had been dead when he went through the gate. She should file the death certificate, but this was the SGC and sometimes denial and faith in alien technology paid off. But there was always the trouble she could get into with her fellow doctors if she didn't properly report a death. She pulled out the form and started to fill it out. Her phone rang.

"Dr. Janet Fraiser," Janet answered.

"I hope you haven't filled out the paperwork declaring Dr. Jackson dead again," came the voice of General Hammond.

"Why? Did it work?" Janet asked, relieved.

"It worked. Our boy just checked in," The General answered.

"Did he mention any side effects?" Janet asked.

"Nope, just that he needed his glasses." Hammond said.

"I'll get his spare pair to include in the supplies I send through," Janet said before hanging up the phone.

Janet looked at the half filled out death certificate and decided to leave it as is in Daniel's file. He had been dead after all, and while Janet couldn't picture herself ever giving up this job, someday some other Chief Medical Officer might need the information. She pondered the fact that sometimes denial paid off as she went to gather that shipment of supplies.

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E is for Empathic Concern
by neiths_arrow

As she walked into the room, her eyes were drawn to the monitor. Despite the fact that knowing wouldn't make a difference, she noted that his heart rate was still rapid. A quick scan of his body showed that his skin color had an unhealthy blue tinge. The young patient's chest expanded and contracted with effort. Coupled with quick respirations, it was a classic symptom of a body starved for oxygen.

During SG-2's last mission, the lieutenant had inhaled a benzene-like gas from an alien plant that he had been studying. The gas had already destroyed a large portion of the oxygen-carrying red-blood cells and had damaged much of his bone marrow - the only mechanism that created new cells. The alien chemical created a permanent bond with hemoglobin, so the destruction continued unabated. Until it worked its way out of his system, the residual gas would continue to destroy red blood cells. Even though the destruction rate was slowing, the descent wasn't fast enough. As quickly as they transfused healthy cells, they were being destroyed. It was a battle to keep ahead of the disease. Though they were slowly gaining an advantage, the longer the battle raged, the weaker the young officer became. With less oxygen-carrying hemoglobin, the respiratory system attempted to build up the level of oxygen by increasing his respiration. The heart was pumping at a rapid rate to deliver the precious gas to starved cells as quickly as possible. In an effort to protect the brain, the body was starting to sacrifice non-essential parts by reducing blood flow to those areas.

And there was nothing they could do about it but wait. She had tried. Dr. Janet Fraiser was not under the mistaken impression that she could win every battle, but she was damned if she was going to stand by and do nothing. So they had increased his available oxygen, transfused fresh blood, placed him in a hyperbaric chamber, injected oxygen-sparing nutrient and drugs, and tried every experimental treatment at their disposal. She thought they had gained an edge, but the readings indicated otherwise. They had exhausted every avenue to help the young airman and it wasn't quite enough. It amounted to a battle of time - a battle that he was losing every minute that passed. All they could do now was to make him comfortable and wait. But she didn't do waiting very well; she was a woman of action.

Lieutenant Rossi shifted uncomfortably on the bed. His eyelids popped open as he swallowed convulsively and then gasped for air. She caught a quick flash of panic before he got his emotions under control. Fraiser turned her full attention to him and pushed her frustration down. Her feelings wouldn't do him any good. If he had any chance, it would lie with his ability to endure. So she approached and smiled gently. "Well, hello there! It's good to see that you've joined us, Lieutenant."

He attempted a smile, then gasped, "Ross. Name's. Ross." His breathy response made it sound like he was in the middle of running the last leg of a marathon.

Janet smiled. Her mentor had once told her, "You're treating the individual, my dear, not the officer." He had explained that providing treatment to the critically ill transcended rank and station. In order to kick in the body's natural healing abilities, it was important to get to the inner self and that self was not called Lieutenant.

Janet kept her features soft. "You keep hanging in there Ross."

He smiled at the use of his nickname. It made him feel like less of an object and more of a person. Ever since coming back from the planet, he had been carted from one room to the next and had had multiple medical procedures done. He could tell that they were doing everything they could, but it didn't ease his fears. He didn't like being out of control. To have the CMO treating him personally and calling him by name gave him a sense of relief. He had heard good things about this doctor, but now he was experiencing it for himself. He looked up at her with complete trust.

Janet's heart broke at the look in his eye. She only wished she could do more. She leaned over and gently laid the back of her hand against his forehead. She could feel the heat generated by his efforts, even though his body wasn't releasing water through his pores; it was holding onto the precious oxygen that made up water molecules. She made a mental note to make sure his electrolyte balance wasn't off. A sharp alarm startled them both. She looked up to see that his oxygen saturation level had dipped. But, thankfully, they came back up.

"Keeps. Doing it." His expression was worried and he looked with question into her eyes.

His youth reminded her of Cassie. Janet fought a wave of emotion. Not now. Definitely not now. She could break down later. The last thing he needed was the discouragement of seeing his doctor break down. She forced a gentle smile. "Well, we can take care of that." She turned off the alarm. No matter what the level said, there was nothing they could do about it. His body was taking in all the oxygen that it could. He didn't need the extra jolts from the alarm; his adrenal system was already overtaxed.

She studied his face and saw the fear. It was time to engage the compassionate part of her job. Sometimes, all you could do was listen. And other times, all you could do was to sit by someone's side and provide comforting touches. They called it 'empathic concern' in her medical class. Basically, it meant to put yourself in the patient's shoes and then follow your heart. Right now, her heart told her that he sorely needed human contact.

She lost eye contact briefly as she pulled a chair to his bedside. She reached over with a wet towel to cool his brow. It wouldn't be long now. This battle had already been waging for two days already. He would either make it or his body would shut down. It couldn't keep this up for much longer. She would wait with him. He deserved that. His death would not be a pleasant one. Slow suffocation from internal sources was equally as arduous as if from a physical obstruction. He didn't deserve this.

Janet offered her hand. He grasped it fiercely. There was no need for words. He had not moved his eyes from her face since he had awakened. "Doc." His breathing stuttered. It took a lot out of him to admit, "Scared." His hand was shaking in her grasp - from either fatigue or emotion,.

"Sh! Its okay." She leaned over and stroked his hair. He looked impossibly young. Had she been that age when she first enlisted? He had closed his eyes and seemed to take in her mothering care like a desiccated sponge absorbing water. His breathing smoothed as she continued in a soothing voice. "That's right. Focus on breathing. In. Out. Big breaths." She looked at his O2 sats to see that his level had improved slightly from when she first came into the room. "That's good. You're doing good." Any advantage was better than none.

She put herself in his shoes. He was helpless, surrounded by scary equipment, and he was alone. He was probably scared out of his mind - she knew that she would be. Janet continued in a soft voice. "Major Griff tells me that you're from Minnesota. Did you know that Colonel O'Neill is also from Minnesota?" She had his attention. Like most of the newer recruits, he was in awe of the higher-ranking officers. "He tells me that it's beautiful there." Ross smiled and nodded in agreement. Good. She was on the right track. "Did you have a favorite place to go there?"

He was lost in his memories for a while, but a small smile appeared fleetingly on his face. When he opened his eyes, they were shining slightly with emotion. "Lake. Quiet." The effort to speak had cost him.

She smiled in encouragement. "Ross, I want you to imagine that you're there." He closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he retained the smile. His breathing rate hadn't changed in any noticeable fashion, but his sats were remaining steady. She wasn't happy with the numbers, but they weren't getting worse. He was exhausted, but she didn't dare give him anything to help him sleep. Over the next two hours, she watched his breathing and prompted him to return to the peaceful lake whenever his sats went down. Sometimes she regaled him with lighter stories about personnel at the SGC.

Her vigilance was taking a toll on her. She had been working for almost two days straight with little naps when she could. Janet caught the eye of a passing nurse. Her patient was still. "Ross, I'm going to get a cup of coffee, but I'll be right back. Nurse Adams is going to sit with you until I come back."

She and Adams shared a look of understanding. Adams picked it up immediately and continued in a similar soothing voice. "Hi Ross. I'm the one who usually wakes people up to give them a sleeping pill."

Janet left in the middle of her routine. A little humor never failed to calm down a tense situation. As soon as she entered the hallway, Major Griff and the remaining members of SG-2 shot to their feet. "Doctor Fraiser. How is he?" They looked just as eager as they had earlier in the day.

Dr. Fraiser decided to hold off on nagging them for the moment. "He's holding on. Every minute that he holds on increases his chances of recovery. But I won't lie to you. It also 'decreases' his chances."

Griff looked down. "I should have been there." His face was stern with self reproach.

"Major. You did everything you could have possibly done - you got him back to the SGC." She hoped, for Griff's sake, that the young Lieutenant survived. She didn't think Griff could survive the loss of another person under his command. He took the losses personally and it took its toll. He already looked older than when she had first met him. Her guess was that he would retire rather than risk it again. She had seen it before.

Her voice got more stern. "Now. All of you. I don't want to see you here when I get back. You need to rest."

They looked at her with pleading eyes. "Can we see him?"

The strong sense of team hood was strong at the SGC. From what she had seen, SG-2 had quickly bonded. Maybe it would help the youngest member of the team. Besides, this might be their last chance to say good-bye. She relented, "I'll let you see him briefly. But then you all need to get some rest." They nodded in acquiescence but with a lighter attitude. She escorted them in and then went to get coffee.

When she came back, they were just leaving. Her patient looked relieved. She had made the right call. He seemed to be struggling harder to breath after the brief visit, so she pulled the chair closer to his bed. Her inner sense told her that tonight would be it. Either he would win or the disease would win. In either case, she was there for the long haul. She would wait with him.

Sometime around 3am, Janet fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. She had spent most of the night going between soothing her patient into calmer breathing, cooling his brow, and anxiously reading his monitor. She wasn't sure what woke her the next morning, but her head was resting on the bed. It took her sleepy brain a moment to decipher the clock from her sideways position. "5:58 am" flashed to "5:59 am." She jerked awake to look at her patient. He was deathly quiet. Her eyes flew to his monitor. His oxygen levels, while not perfect, had definitely improved to a level that was closer to normal. His breathing rate had calmed considerably, and he had lost the bluish tinge to his lips. She felt bad about disturbing him, but she needed to make sure he was doing well. She drew the blood herself. Apparently, he wasn't as unaware as she thought because he woke up as she withdrew the needle.

"How are you feeling?" She needed to check his mental status, so she used an open-ended question. She hoped the prolonged time of oxygen deprivation had not damaged his brain function. They would need to do a full series of CT scans to determine that.

He croaked. "Better." He looked at the clock. "You stayed with me." It was a statement of fact tinged with disbelief.

Janet didn't have a chance to brush off her role in his recovery because he was already asleep. She smiled in relief and thanks. They had won this battle.

She called the nurse over to watch over him while she got some rest. She trusted her staff to call her if there was any change in his status.

Janet then went out into the hall to call his teammates. She wasn't surprised to find that Major Griff was still there. He had apparently ordered his team to bed, but didn't feel he needed the same consideration. He frankly looked like crap. She thought for a moment that he probably looked like she felt. His face softened with relief when she released a smile. "It looks like he's going to be okay."

Griff wasn't the reserved type. For a minute, he looked like he was going to shout down the hallway, but he restrained himself lest the other marines witness the display of emotion. "Thanks, Doc." He firmly grasped her hand in gratitude before he went looking for the rest of his team. .

The crisis had passed. Janet felt a wave of fatigue wash over her. She could finally go home to Cassie and to her own bed. It had been an exhausting three days with very little sleep.

~ ~ ~

When Ross came back for his final checkup, she gave him the good news. He was released for full active duty. There was never any doubt in his mind that he would choose to return to the SGC. It was the only family he had. As he was leaving the examination room, he turned back. "Doc." The word hung in the air for a long pause while he searched for what to say. "Thank you." There weren't enough words to express his feelings.

~ ~ ~

Lieutenant Anthony Rossi stood stiffly in a posture of respect while they played Taps. He couldn't believe she was gone. There was always a chance that one of them wouldn't come back, but he never thought that it would or could be her. He had been walking around in a daze since he found out. Wisely, the General had called off all missions while they processed the latest events and dealt with the film crew.

Ross felt alone in his loss. He didn't think anyone else could understand what she did for him that night. She kept him alive just by her presence. He had never told anyone, but he'd been close to giving up - until a little angel in high-heeled pumps made it her job to be there just for him. Her steady voice and gentle touch helped him take in the next breath and the next. After she had fallen asleep, he kept breathing because he didn't want to disappoint her. Then he began to feel his breathing ease until he was able to fall asleep without fearing that he wouldn't wake up again. There was no doubt in his mind that he wouldn't have made it without her kindness and her care. God this loss hurt.

Major Carter was speaking now. Her words were broadcast over the base PA system for those who weren't privileged enough to be in the Gate room. She was listing off the names of other lives that Doctor Fraiser had saved. As he listened to the long list, Ross looked around surreptitiously. He saw his feelings mirrored in the eyes of everyone there. No one moved. No one spoke. There was nothing that could be said. She had made a difference to every single one of them. It didn't make the loss any easier, but he knew that he wasn't alone.

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F is for Finding Her Place
by sg_wonderland

I know I'm not imagining the exhaustion in General Hammond's voice when he asks me to sit down and inquires about my adjustment. We do the small talk for a few minutes, how I'm settling into the apartment, finding food and furniture before moving into work related areas. "We're almost fully staffed, sir," I flip through my notes. "We still need three more nurses and I'd like to have some with emergency room experience. What we are doing, I would very much liken to triage."


"So noted, Dr. Fraiser." The general makes a few notes of his own. "The last of the equipment should be here no later than Friday. Please conduct a complete inventory and let me know if there's anything missing."

"Yes, sir."

"Anything new in the infirmary of which I need to be made aware?"

This is the opening I've been waiting for. "Sir, we need to develop policy for medical personnel going into the field."

The general gives me a startled look. "Dr. Fraiser, I hope you're not suggesting letting medical staff travel through the gate?"

"Sir, that's exactly what I'm suggesting. And this incident on P3X-797 only makes it more vital that we get some of the infirmary staff trained as field medics."

"Dr., do you have any idea how much training is required for the teams going through the gate?"

"Sir, I'm not suggesting that type of training; I'm not advocating they be attached to specific teams. And I hate to keep harping on 797 but realistically, someone with some medical training should have accompanied the team to rescue Dr. Jackson. There was a significant probability he was injured. Certainly, SG-1 is to be commended for that rescue, but did anyone take the time to gauge Dr. Jackson's physical or neurological status? From what I understand, Mr. Teal'c slung him over his shoulders and carried him about the planet. That could have exacerbated any existing injuries." He looks like he's about to speak so I plow on. "Sir, I know Captain Carter has basic field medical training and I think it's something everyone on every team should receive. But I'm just asking you to consider having a trained field team who can be ready to retrieve injured personnel off world."

"I admit that thought never crossed my mind. And that's why we desperately need someone of your caliber, Dr. Fraiser." I know my face is flushed with pleasure. "Can you write something up, give me an idea what that might entail?"

"Yes, sir," I stand, recognizing the dismissal. "And thank you, sir."

"Thank you, Dr. Fraiser."

*

"Chuck, can you see how many of the large blood pressure cuffs they sent us?" After seeing the sizes of some of the biceps around here, I worry that we aren't going to have enough.

"Yes, ma'am. Oh, and Dr. Jackson finally came down." Chuck thumbs toward the bed at the end of the ward.

"Thank you." I straighten my jacket and stroll over. "Dr. Jackson, thank you for coming in."

He is seated on one of the beds, his feet swinging impatiently. His eyes peep shyly at me framed by long shaggy hair and glasses. "I don't really know why I'm here."

"You're here because you were injured on your last mission and I need to know that you're fit for duty."

"I'm fine!" He protests.

"I'd be interested in knowing where you obtained your degree, Dr. Jackson." I note his blood pressure, a bit higher than I'd like to see it, but this is stressful work.

"UCLA for undergrad, PhDs in philology and archaeology from the Oriental Institute and Egyptology from the University of Liverpool's School of Archaeology, Classics and Egyptology."

His mischievous eyes are at odds with the innocent expression. And tell me he thinks he's gotten one over on me; I suppose this is as good a time as any to show him, and the rest of these folks, who's boss. "Alright, Dr. Smarty Pants, you may have more degrees than me but I have the one that matters in this forum. And until I'm satisfied you're 'fine', you're not going anywhere." He deflates noticeably.

"Daniel." We both jump at the voice that booms behind me. "You're not giving the good doctor a hard time, I hope?"

Dr. Jackson makes with the big eyes again. A look I now realize isn't as innocent as it initially appears. "No, Jack, I would never do that." Evidently, Colonel O'Neill has Dr. Jackson's number because he laughs in what sounds like disbelief.

Ignoring a pair of angry blue eyes, the colonel leans against the side of the bed, insinuating himself into the patient's comfort zone. "So, Dr. Fraiser, how is he?"

As Dr. Jackson's commanding officer, he is privy to any and all medical information about him. "His blood pressure is a bit high, but it isn't anything to be alarmed about. Yet. I was going to suggest that Dr. Jackson consider taking weekly allergy shots, it would really cut down on the over the counter meds." I address this last bit to the patient.

"That would probably be for the best." Colonel O'Neill nods before Dr. Jackson has a chance to speak. "We don't need him sneezing on all the aliens."

"Jack." The colonel gets a glare for his trouble.

"Daniel." He answers calmly.

"I am perfectly capable of making informed decisions about my own medical condition." He hops down from the bed. "If you two don't mind." He jerks his jacket on and practically flounces out of the infirmary, leaving me staring somewhat dumbstruck. I've never heard anyone use that tone when speaking to their commanding officer; it bordered on insubordination.

The colonel just grins that much harder at my expression. "If there's one thing you need to learn, Dr. Fraiser, it's that Daniel is never going to be one of those 'yes, sir, whatever you say, sir' types." He shrugs as he walks away, pausing at the door. "Might as well get used to it right now, save yourself the headache."

*

I suspect that General Hammond would very much like to hide beneath his desk every time he sees me coming. But this is a subject I don't intend to abandon. I am right and I know it. Fortunately, he has come to agree with me and I now have a fully trained off-world medical rescue team. We're ready for our first emergency. But before that occurs, there is one last thing to which he has to agree.

I have to go through the gate; I cannot ask my staff to do something I haven't done myself.

"Dr. Fraiser, your value as Chief Medical Officer…"

"Means that I must be the first member of my staff to go through the gate, I have to understand what it is I'm asking them to do." I interrupt him. I've learned that he is a fair and just man and he will listen to reason. "It doesn't have to be a dangerous mission; in fact, I'd prefer for it not to be." His eyes twinkle just for a second. "I understand SG-1 has an upcoming mission that is an overnight visit to an uninhabited planet. I think that would be a good choice. They are the flagship team, sir; I have every confidence in Colonel O'Neill's command."

He gives me a long, expressionless look before he finally nods. "Alright, Dr. Fraiser. You have a go to ship out with SG-1 this afternoon. I'm sure Captain Carter would be glad to help you gear up. In the meantime," he reaches for the phone, "I'll need to break the news to Colonel O'Neill."

I take the opportunity to escape.

*

I don't think I am imagining the fury on Colonel O'Neill's face that afternoon as I follow Captain Carter into the gate room. However, he is nothing but professional, cool, giving me a clipped order. "You will do exactly as I say, Dr. Fraiser, without question, is that clear?"

"Yes, Colonel O'Neill. Crystal clear." The colonel whirls around to look at Dr. Jackson, who seems to have been overtaken by a coughing fit. "Okay, Teal'c, take point, I'll cover our six. Captain Carter, if you would assist the good doctor through the gate."

"Thanks, Jack, but I can walk on my own." Dr. Jackson nearly chortles as he strolls by and follows Teal'c through the wormhole.

"Smartass," the colonel huffs under his breath as he herds Captain Carter and me through the gate.

*

Dr. Jackson catches me as I stumble out of the gate. "Easy, Dr. Fraiser, just take a few deep breaths." He leads me down the steps and gently lowers me to sit on the ground. "Do you need to lie down?"

I want to, I desperately want to lie down and throw up. But I see Colonel O'Neill smirking behind him and I stiffen my spine, assure him that I'm fine. Dr. Jackson continues to hover over me, help me sip some water, until he reassures himself that I no longer need assistance.

"Daniel, if you'd be so good at to tell me what we're looking for on this fair planet."

"The UAV showed the remains of a deserted village approximately three miles southeast of our position. We're going to recon the village, check out any mineral deposits or anything interesting that we might encounter." Dr. Jackson rattles the words off like he'd been using military speak his entire life.

"And here I thought you were asleep during our mission briefing. Teal'c, take point."

The hike that ensues gives me my first opportunity to observe the SGC's best and brightest in the field. Colonel O'Neill is vigilant, his easy-going manner clearly a façade to mask his prowess. Teal'c is silent, but as attentive, as careful as the colonel. Dr. Jackson walks beside me, making conversation about what he hopes to learn on this planet; I try to ignore the fact that he is, for all intents and purposes, baby-sitting me. Captain Carter trails behind us, occasionally adding to our conversation but she has the same watchful expression as the colonel.

*

The village has been deserted for years, probably decades, Dr. Jackson theorizes as he patiently shows me indications in the ruins that demonstrate the decline was gradual and not a sudden, cataclysmic event.

"I think we'll set up our camp here. Fresh water, plenty of fuel for a fire." O'Neill pokes his head in through the wide doorway.

Dr. Jackson nods. "Sounds good, Jack. Sam wants to sample some of the materials used to build the structures."

Colonel O'Neill ducks his head as he walks in; Dr. Jackson theorized the natives were petite in stature, judging by how they all have to duck to enter the doorways. Everyone but me, of course. I'm just awaiting the inevitable short jokes. The colonel squats down beside us, his voice suddenly serious. "Anything I need to worry about, Daniel?"

Dr. Jackson smiles and shakes his head. "No, Jack, I don't think so. These people, or whatever they were, have clearly been gone for decades. I think their crops began failing and they simply moved on to better farming land." He had pointed out that some of the land looked like it had been used for farming; there was evidence of rudimentary irrigation which fascinated him. Colonel O'Neill nods as he stands, his knees popping loudly, although his expression doesn't reveal if he's in pain. "We'll be out in a few minutes, to help set up camp."

"Make it snappy, Teal'c loves watching the tents go up."

Dr. Jackson grins at me as he carefully, reverently, packs up the artifacts he had set aside to take back with him.

*

The tents are up, three of them. One for Captain Carter and I, one for Dr. Jackson and Colonel O'Neill and one for Teal'c. Although I certainly expected the two Air Force officers to be able to efficiently and quickly set up a camp, I have to admit to a certain surprise in watching Dr. Jackson. He has the tents erected and a ring of stones set up for a campfire by the time Colonel O'Neill and Captain Carter have collected firewood and Teal'c has done a perimeter walk. Some of my amazement must show on my face because Dr. Jackson murmurs wickedly, "Contrary to popular belief, archaeologists do not like to do it in the dirt." I choke back a snort of laughter.

*

Dinner has been cooked and eaten, thank goodness this is just an overnight mission because I am not looking forward to eating any more of those MREs. Fortunately, Captain Carter produces some candy bars to go with the after-dinner coffee, which is much better than I expected, but then I hadn't counted on Dr. Jackson's coffee addiction. If you have to go into the field, I make a silent note to myself, make sure to take some good coffee with you.

"So, Dr. Fraiser," Colonel O'Neill leans back against the log where Dr. Jackson is currently perched, "what have you learned so far?"

I take a good long drink of my coffee, try to marshal my thoughts. "I think that I wouldn't want to do that wormhole thing on a daily basis, that there are obviously things out here that we can't even imagine and that I was right to insist we have trained field medical units."

He waves a negligent hand around. "Have you seen anything around that causes you to think we need another civilian in the field?"

His 'civilian' stiffens at the ill-concealed insult before he pipes up. "I think those little marks on her collar mean she's not a civilian. But I could be mistaken."

I might as well start at the top if I'm going to have to convince these military types. "Colonel O'Neill, who on your team has the most medical training?"

"Right now, that would be you." He smiles at his own joke.

"I'm not a member of your team. Answer the question, please."

"Captain Carter, although I've patched up more than a few wounds in my time."

I nod in satisfaction. "Captain Carter, please lie down on the ground." She looks toward her commanding officer, who gives a shrug as if to say 'humor her'. She sets her cup down and complies. "Colonel O'Neill, your only medically trained officer just tripped over a root, striking her head on a rock and spraining her ankle. She is unconscious and immobile. Treat her, please."

He eyes me warily, then says, "Daniel, treat Carter's ankle."

I quell Dr. Jackson with my hand when he starts to rise. "Mr. Teal'c has accompanied Dr. Jackson to the deserted village. You are the only one here. Please treat your team member."

He finally crawls to his feet and bends over Captain Carter. "Hey, Carter, you okay?" Both Dr. Jackson and the patient laugh at his manner.

"What's the first thing you need to tend to? Her head injury or the ankle?"

"If she's unconscious, how did I know about the sprained ankle thing?"

"Good point, Colonel, unless you actually witnessed her fall, you wouldn't know. You need to do a cursory examination to discover her injuries and decide which one to treat first."

He finally takes me seriously and does a fairly good job of examining her for broken bones, takes his flashlight out to check her pupil reactions. "Her eyes look okay, but her ankle is swollen badly."

"Excellent. Now, do you remove her boot or not?"

"Well, if you take the boot off, you might not be able to get it back on. Which is a problem if you need her to be ambulatory. But if you don't remove it, you can't tell if there's much circulation going on."

"Correct, Colonel."

"So what's your call?"

"Unless the patient is conscious and able to give you information, you err on the side of caution and remove the boot. Once you're satisfied there is sufficient circulation, you can put the boot back on and tie it back, not too loose, but secure enough to give some stability. Thank you, Captain Carter, you can get up now." She smiles as she stands and resumes her seat. "Dr. Jackson, you're next."

"I didn't sprain my ankle," he volunteers quickly.

"Dr. Jackson, please lie face down on the ground." He immediately obeys, clearly enjoying himself. "Colonel O'Neill, you have found Dr. Jackson in his current state. He is conscious but does not seem to be aware of his surrounding and he's slurring his words." Picking up on my cue, the patient gives several incoherent mumbles.

"How is that any different from Daniel on any given day?"

"You are unable to determine if Dr. Jackson has ingested an alien substance, if he has been injured or if he has inadvertently taken too much allergy medication. He may or may not be acting like himself. Please treat the patient."

Colonel O'Neill stands for a few moments, trying to decide what approach to take. "Hey, Daniel, what's up?" The patient grumbles under his breath. The colonel kneels and places a gentle hand on Dr. Jackson's back. "Daniel?" When Dr. Jackson tries to move, the colonel helps him roll over.

"Congratulations, Colonel O'Neill, you just paralyzed Dr. Jackson." I inform him. He steps back rapidly, shocked and confused. "Dr. Jackson injured his spine when he fell. By moving him, you just separated the vertebrae in his back. He might live, if you can get him through the gate without displacing any more vertebrae." I give him a moment to digest this information. "How would you accomplish that?"

Finally he nods. "Okay, I get it. I shouldn't have let him move; I should have immobilized him and called for a field team. I get it, I do."

"That's all I ask for, is that you understand this is a good thing. We can help, if you'll let us. Thank you, Dr. Jackson." Before any of us realize his intention, Dr. Jackson grabs the unsuspecting colonel's ankle and jerks, sending him sprawling. In a heartbeat, Dr. Jackson is on him, has his knee in the colonel's back and one arm pinned behind his back.

"This is for your previous remark, Colonel O'Neill." Dr. Jackson informs his prisoner.

"Get off me!" We all know he can dislodge Dr. Jackson if he truly wants to but he lies still, snarling.

"Dr. Jackson, you can let him go now." Dr. Jackson appears to be enjoying himself far too much. "Dr. Jackson." With obvious reluctance, he releases the colonel, quickly springing away as the colonel makes a futile grab for any part of his body.

"So, Colonel, what was your first mistake?"

He beats his hat on his pant leg before jamming it back on his head. "Trusting a member of my own team, obviously."

"I'm sorry, but I did ask Dr. Jackson to aid me in my demonstration merely to make a point."

"That he's been paying attention during those hand-to-hand lessons?"

"No, Colonel, the lesson I was trying to teach was that you cannot take injuries at face value. You took it for granted that Dr. Jackson wasn't badly injured because there were no outward signs of trauma. Trust me, Colonel, there are going to be situations when you are going to welcome a trained field medic."

"If it were you or Teal'c who'd been hurt, I'm not sure Sam and I could get you back without help." Dr. Jackson points out helpfully. "I agree with her, Jack. And it's not like they'd be going through all the time, only when someone really, really needed them."

"I also see the advantages of this plan, O'Neill." Those are the most words I've heard from Teal'c all day.

"What did you do if a Jaffa got injured in the field?" His medical history is a source of great fascination within the medical staff.

"It would depend on several factors, Dr. Fraiser. If their injuries were not dire, their symbiote would heal them. However, if the injuries were severe or if they were not needed…" Teal'c leaves the sentence hanging suggestively in the air.

"Then they were left behind." Colonel O'Neill finishes for him. "Okay, okay, you've made your point. God knows there've been times we could have saved some lives if we'd been able to get a medic."

"Thank you, Colonel. And if it will make you feel any better, I won't be on any field unit unless I'm asked for specifically. I just thought I should do what I'm going to be asking my staff to do."

He grumbles without malice. "So I don't have to worry about you winding Daniel up again?" Looking over at Dr. Jackson, he promises softly. "You just wait, Daniel. When you least expect it…" The colonel makes a slashing motion across his throat.

Dr. Jackson doesn't seem to be in the least perturbed. Or frightened, either.

*

"Colonel O'Neill," I pick up his chart and give him a quick glance. "How was your last mission?"

"I had to take not one but two smart-ass doctors into the field. Both of whom kicked my ass. Other than that, I'm fine. What do you think?"

I fail to hide the smile. "I think, Colonel O'Neill, that you are an excellent team leader and that you can take defeat very gracefully." I finish his exam while he mutters ungraciously about unnecessary (in his eyes) medical tests. "There. You're free to go. Thank you for your help with the field units, I'm sure your evaluation made all the difference."

"I can see the need for the field units, don't get me wrong. It's just…I don't want to see these people getting killed just trying to help someone else, you know?"

"Yes, Colonel, I do know." I think he'd die before he'd let anyone see how big-hearted he truly is.

He lopes to the door, then stops, his hand on the wall. "Listen, Doc, we're going to take Teal'c out, show him what a real meal is like. Want to join us?"

I'm surprised at the feeling welling up in me. He knows I'm alone, that I have no family here in Colorado Springs. I take a few quick blinks, waste some time fooling with his file until I can look up with clear eyes. "Colonel, I'd love to. Shall I…?"

"Just swing by and drag Daniel out of his office and meet us up-top in," he glances at his watch, "fifteen minutes?" He waits for my nod before he disappears.

I hand the infirmary over to Dr. Warner, freshen my makeup and leave my lab coat behind. I don't know why the colonel thinks Dr. Jackson needs to be dragged from his office, I ponder as I wait for the elevator. After all, he's a grown man who seems quite capable of taking care of himself. That thought freezes in my mind as I take a good look at the office he has allegedly occupied for a scant couple of weeks. The room looks like some kind of alien emporium exploded within the walls. I shake my head before I knock lightly on the door. "Dr. Jackson," I speak when he fails to look up.

"Oh." He finally notices me. "Hi."

"Colonel O'Neill asked me to pick you up. He invited me to go to dinner with the team."

"Oh," he glances back down at something that seems to have caught his attention. "Um, that is…"

"I suspect that if we don't show up, he may send Mr. Teal'c down to look for us."

A sudden, genuine smile lights up his face. "Oh, well, we wouldn't want to upset Mr. Teal'c, would we?" He turns off the light and proceeds to leave everything exactly where it is, suggesting he'll be sneaking back in the minute a couple of backs are turned.

It occurs to me, as we wait for the elevator, that dealing with SG-1 may not be nearly as simple as I'd envisioned. It seems that all of us are still finding our place in this brave new world.

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G is for Gross
by amaranthtraces

Clink. Janet drops the fifteenth piece of shrapnel into the nearby pan. Only one left. She turns her head, allowing the nurse to dab away the sweat on her forehead before it rolls into her eyes, and squints at the scans that illustrate the locations of the metal fragments littering Lieutenant Woeste's abdomen.

She turns back to the body laid open on her operating table.

"Retraction."

Carefully pushing aside a lacerated piece of liver, she spots it. There, glistening red and silver with blood and steel, nestled an inch from his gallbladder.

"Gotcha..."

Janet removes the fragment, allowing herself a brief smile beneath her surgical mask. Now the real work could begin. As she drops the shrapnel into the pan to join its friends, she catches a whiff of something unmistakeable.

"Okay, we've got a bowel perforation. Suction."

-oOo-

"So." Janet consults the chart in her hands and stops at the foot of the bed. "What have we here?"

All four members of SG-13 are squirming on their gurneys, scratching at their arms, necks, legs, everywhere.

"Routine post-mission check-up," says the nurse. "They seemed fine at first but then began to complain of formication."

"What?" Colonel Dixon's head whips up. "That's not what I said!"

Janet hides a smile and puts down the chart to examine him. "Formication, Colonel. It's an 'm' not an 'n'. Means you have the sensation of insects crawling under your skin."

He's still scratching at his forearm, and Janet pushes his hand away to examine him.

Dixon's head flops back into his pillow. "You've gotta do something, Doc. It's driving me nuts."

"Me too," says Bosworth from the next bed over. The rest of the team groans their agreement.

"It's quite a normal sensation, Colonel, particularly after exposure to off-world..." Janet frowns as Dixon's skin ripples under her fingers. She watches as a dozen or so pea-sized bumps rise under his skin and creep farther up his arm. "Might be more than just a sensation, actually." She turns to her staff. "Get them into quarantine."

-oOo-

"What happened?" Janet asks as the nurse sedates Dr. Blake.

Dr. Lee's stammering isn't helpful at all. All Janet manages to catch is 'horticulture lab', 'vine', and 'predacious'. Combined, the words are enough to give her the general idea.

"Sit down, Dr. Lee, before you hyperventilate," she orders, and then begins to examine her new patient.

Blake's leg injury is obvious. Necrotic skin tissue sloughs away, forming a random pattern of black pieces against the white bed linen. Janet places her fingers on either side of the wound, which is surrounded by several inches of swollen, cracked, red skin. Yellow-green pus that smells of decay oozes from the cracks.

A purple thorn is embedded deep in the centre of the wound. Janet picks up forceps from her tray. The sharp prongs sink into his flesh, and she eases the inch-long thorn out of Blake's leg. It goes into a sealed sample jar and is whisked away.

That clinches it, Janet decides. No more alien plants allowed on the base under her watch.

-oOo-

"Hey, Doc, I don't feel so hot."

Major Harper doesn't look so hot either. In fact he's looking downright green.

Janet was enjoying a rare coffee break. She sighs and walks over. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know." His hand is on his abdomen, which is never a good sign. "I just feel like I'm gonna - "

Harper pitches forward, ejecting a blast of vomit across Janet's chest. She sighs again, confirms that yes he did manage to get it into her coffee too, and guides the poor man onto the nearest gurney.

An orderly helps her get him out of his soiled uniform as two airmen stumble in looking almost as bad as Harper.

"Looks like we have a new gastro on our hands," Janet says.

She's getting her new patients settled and is about to sneak away for a change of clothes and hopefully a shower when there's a clatter behind her. She turns to find Harper reaching for a bedpan and retching into it.

He curls himself into the foetal position. "Oh, crap," he moans.

"It's alright, Major," says Janet, tugging the privacy curtain closed around his bed.

She pauses when she realises the true reason for his moan and pained expression. A large dark, wet, and rather pungent stain is spreading near the Major's backside.

At least he didn't manage to get that into her coffee.

-oOo-

"Okay, standard IV fluids and antibiotics for all of SG-8," Janet orders her staff. "And Major Jankowicz's thigh needs suturing."

The rescued team taken care of, Janet turns to the leader of the rescuers. She looks Colonel Reynolds over carefully, taking in his various...adornments. "So, how did this happen?"

"Was a condition of SG-8's release."

"Well," she says, grabbing a pair of scissors and examining the feathers cross-crossing his ears. "If I snip these in the middle, we should be able to pull them out of both your earlobe and the cartilage at the top."

Reynolds grimaces. "Sounds fun."

She can tell he's making an effort to sit as still as possible. She imagines it might have something to do with the long porcupine-like quills skewering each of his nipples. "These may be a little more painful to remove."

"Yeah, well." He utters a harsh but resigned huff of laughter. His shaking hands lift the painted animal hide that hangs over his groin. "I imagine that these will be even worse."

Oh.

Ouch.

-oOo-

Janet's dragging a forkful of eggs through a puddle of ketchup as Warner slides into the chair next to her.

"How's Siler's finger?"

"He'll be fine," Warner says, nodding. He reaches for the syrup and proceeds to drown his pancakes.

"Did you reattach the tip?"

Warner leans back and reaches into his lab coat pocket, producing a red baggie. "Nah, the piece was too small to bother. See?" He waves it in the air and plops it on the table next to Janet's tray before he digs into his breakfast. "Does that look like an avulsion injury to you, or an amputation?"

"Hmm." Janet takes another bite of ketchupy eggs then picks up the baggie. She squishes the fleshy lump against the plastic to get a better look. It's hard to see through the film of blood in the bag, but there's a yellowish-white spot near the centre of the fingertip. "Do you think that's bone?"

Warner shrugs, dumping another load of syrup over his plate. "Don't know. Could just be adipose tissue."

Janet munches thoughtfully, poking at it some more. "Texture's not quite right for either." She turns baggie over and sees a piece of fingernail still attached to the flesh. She's pretty sure she could have reattached a piece this size, but it's too late now. "Could just be something Felger scooped up when collecting the tip from the floor."

Behind them, a chair scrapes loudly backwards. Janet turns in time to see Harriman dumping his uneaten meal into the trash before practically sprinting out of the commissary.

She'll have to keep an eye on him. Could be another case of that gastro.

-oOo-

"Welcome back." Janet looks over the members of SG-1 as they file into her infirmary. "You four don't even look like you've been offworld."

Sam hops up on her usual gurney and smiles. "Quiet mission for once."

"A welcome change, if you ask me," says Colonel O'Neill, waving the pulse oximeter a nurse has clipped to his finger.

Janet clicks on her penlight and checks Teal'c's pupillary response. "No one's suffered any bumps to the head or other mishaps?"

"Indeed we did not, Doctor Fraiser," says Teal'c.

"Just a hundred or so fluffy bunnies," Daniel says with a smile.

Janet laughs. "Right." Her fingers work their way up Teal'c's neck and to his jaw. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she nods and moves to the next bed.

"Seriously." Sam's legs are swinging over the edge of the mattress. "Daniel thinks they might be intelligent."

The Colonel makes a strange sound like a strangled snort. Janet makes the mistake of looking over just as a nurse is checking the back of his throat for indications of Goa'uld entry.

Janet's eye begins to twitch as the wooden tongue depressor slides into Colonel O'Neill's mouth, and she can almost sympathetically feel its porous texture grating over her tongue.

She closes her eyes and turns away, failing to completely suppress her shudder.

God, tongue depressors are gross.

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H is for Hanka
by yvi

Janet had never given the planet that her daughter came from much thought. She had thought about the culture, of course, and sometimes, Cassie spoke about something from 'back on Hanka' - she never said 'back home' after the first year - that made Janet think about the fact that Cassie had not been raised on earth, something she sometimes forgot because it was so easy to.

But Janet never really thought about Hanka. Hanka was a dead planet now, uninhabitable and devoid of life.

And then Cassie wanted to go there. It hurt her to see her daughter suffer like she did, but then, when she was healthy again, Janet found herself thinking about her daughter's home planet. And to her surprise, she felt she needed to go there.

Cassie wasn't enthusiastic about the idea. "I don't want to go back there, ever," she said, her voice bordering on screaming and slammed the door behind her.

With that, the topic was closed. Janet sighed, but understood. She wouldn't press the issue any further.

The general was a bit more understanding than that. "I can send SG-1 with you if you want to," he said.

Janet thought about it for a moment, but shook her head. "I would prefer another team, General." She knew he wouldn't let her go alone. But she needed more peace than her friends could give her.

"SG-9 is due to leave tomorrow evening. I will talk to them and ask whether they can be here in the morning. How much time do you need?"

"Not long. I just want to... see it."

General Hammond nodded. He didn't ask any further.

*

The next day, Janet stood geared up in the gate room. She was nervous, even though she had no idea why. Cassie didn't know that Janet would visit her former home. Janet had decided not to tell her so they wouldn't get into another scene. After all that had happened, she didn't need another one of those.

SG-9 was behind her as she stepped through the gate, covering her. But as soon as Janet arrived on the other side, she had forgotten about them. She didn't know exactly what she expected to find here, but maybe it would give her some peace, some closure after all that happened.

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I is for Inchmurrin

by randomfreshink

"Doctor, you wanted to see me?"

Janet looked up from the file she wasn't seeing, the paperwork she didn't know how to finish. Not this time. The urge to stand hit with automatic conditioning at the back of her knees, tugged at her shoulders for her to straighten. But Hammond was already waving her down as he shut the door behind him. Good, he knew this was off the record--she had a peace to make here. So did he, going by the look on his face. Shock mixed with awe, mixed with loss, mixed with god knew what else--the same tumbled inside her, and had to be showing on her face. So she closed the file, turned her chair, and started to reach for her lower desk drawer as the general spoke.

"I've seen some things in my time--we all have, but--" He broke off the words with a shake of his head. He sat down in the other chair in her office, sat as if weight and years and gravity and this day dragged him down into it. But the chair had comfort to give, physical comfort if nothing else. She'd seen to that when she'd first gotten here. Now he leaned forward, stared at his hands--and she made a mental note to get back on him about his diet. But not today. Not now.

Opening the drawer, she pulled out the only prescription she could offer for a day like they'd all had today.

Hammond's eyebrows lifted, and he sat back. She glanced at him, and then away again, because this was bending regs, and not something two officers still technically on duty could discuss.

Five years or so of working with the man--working for him, his medical CO--and she still had to guess about the line to walk. Jack O'Neill strolled it like a blind man, careless, unheeding--instinct perfect. But just now the colonel was walking the base like the rest of SG-1--like all of them who'd been in the isolation ward today. The walking wounded.

She put the bottle down with a thump on her desk, and pulled out paper dispensary cups.

Hammond's eyebrows stayed up, but interest and approval showed in his eyes, lit the pale blue from behind. "Inchmurrin?"

Efficient and brisk, she uncorked the bottle. "Almost as old as I am." She poured whisky into two cups, put the bottle down, gave one cup to Hammond and took the other.

Hammond stared at it, then lifted the cup. "To Dr. Daniel Jackson."

She repeated the name and they touched cups and threw back the shots. The whisky burned like smoke going down, exploded in an empty stomach like the sun coming out on a dark day. Lips pressed against the smoldering inside of her, she poured two more shots. Hammond's eyebrows inched up again, but he took the second shot.

"My family came from there--Inchmurrin. They put the 'I' in Fraser when they hit Ellis Island, or that's the family story. They took it in memory of the island they'd left. Daniel--Dr. Jackson…" Her throat tightened on the rest of the words. But her lips twitched once at the memory, and then pulled down with all she had to for this day's remembrance. But the whisky had loosened everything else.

"It's Innis Mheadhran in Gaelic, or Mirin's Island, he told me…" She stopped, had to swallow hard and she stared at the amber liquid in her cup. "It's in Loch Lomond and named for some saint, and the only other thing I remember is that he had all these stories, but he'd never heard the song…."

She couldn't tell the rest of it because she could still see his face back then--the hair too long for regs, the wide eyes behind the glasses, the bright flare in those eyes, the eager interest in learning something new. God, he'd died--had left them--wrapped like a mummy, but with his body crumbling, not preserved. They'd lost him because he never could resist that need to go poking into things, and they hadn't….

Clearing his throat, Hammond lifted his cup again. "It's not a bad thing to have stories to tell--a family needs its stories."

He drank, and she had nothing to say. So she lifted her cup and copied him, tossing the whisky back. The Latin aquae vitae had become uisge beatha to the Gales--Daniel had told her that as well when she'd had him in here with a cup in one hand and deep loss in the other. Life's water to life's breath, and was that because it took your breath, he'd asked. He hadn't seemed to expect an answer, but after losing his wife, he'd looked as if all expectation had been drained from him.

The second shot went down smoother, but the cup, ruined now by drink, sagged. She tugged two fresh ones out of the stack. Hammond didn't stand to go or protest when she poured a third round.

It felt as if it must be her turn now, so she lifted her cup. "To the high road."

"To traveling together," Hammond offered back. She touched her cup to his, and they finished this round together. Then she put her cup down, and put her stare straight on him so she could tell him the truth that she couldn't admit to anyone else.

"I can't be glad the colonel stopped Jacob. If there was a chance…"

"Not enough of one. And I…I won't pretend I know how Jack knew that's what Doctor…what Daniel wanted. What he needed to do."

"But Jacob might have healed him. He could still be here!" She heard the begging in her voice, the denial, the anger quivering under everything else. Her fingertips shook with it, her head ached with the pounding of it. The colonel couldn't have known--but he had. What Daniel wanted.

What she couldn't accept.

Hammond stared back at her, clear-eyed. And the doctor in her wouldn't shut up. With his greater body mass, the general wouldn't feel the whiskey the same way she could--it wouldn't rip through him like a flame thrower through paper defenses.

"Monday morning quarterbacking?" he asked.

"We lost a man, sir." There, she'd said it. Had spoken the truth, or as much of one as they had. Daniel hadn't died, but they had lost him.

Hammond nodded, glanced down at his empty cup, then crushed it in his hand and tossed it into the trash. "Yes, we did. We let our guard down, got a little careless, and we had no choice left but to let him go. We let what we do everyday become a little too everyday and it damn well should cost us. Which means we have to do better. An expensive mistake like this damn well needs to produce some damn good learning."

He let out a breath, and she could scent the whisky on it--a smell of peat, of dark rich earth, and wood, and grains soaked so long they'd transformed into something else. Digging into her desk, she found breath mints that had been there too long. Covering our sins, she thought. And maybe they had to be covered back up when they'd been stripped down to bones.

Except she thought of how she'd stood in the back of her infirmary, watching two men talk, listening to one describe his coming death with unflinching certainty. They had lost too damn much this time. And she thought of the custom of sending someone off with a drink or three--Daniel, she knew, had respected custom. He'd understood that sometimes there was nothing to hold onto except rites handed from one generation to the next.

Leaning forward, she put the cork back into the Inchmurrin. Hammond seemed to agree with her decision for he stood. And she had to ask, before he left, because she needed far more than a drink, or even a long hour of cursing the world.

"Do you think we'll see him again?"

She had to ask because she could write down a time for when Daniel Jackson's heart had stopped beating, but what did she put for his transformation into--into what? Light? Energy? Something that, when she closed her eyes, burned on the back of her retina still. Something that had felt like Daniel in the room. Something that had left the iso ward, leaving them, and leaving her nothing of him but empty bandages on a barren bed.

Hammond paused at her door, and glanced back. The trouble eased from his face, leaving only weariness. But he offered up a twist of a smile. "Doctor, the one thing I do know after all this…" He waved a hand at the office, at her infirmary, at his command. "Never assume anything."

She gave a nod, put the whisky back in its drawer, and stood. "Guess we'll keep to the low road then, sir."

With a nod he left. And she sat down and opened the medical report that she had to finish and file.

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J is for Janet
by tejas

Daniel had looked it up once. "Janet" meant gift from god. He watched her work on Teal'c. Face focused, the pain he knew she felt contained, compartmentalized, tucked away. Deft hands wielded instruments; her strong voice snapped out orders, and, bit by bit, she helped Teal'c climb back from the abyss.

Finally the alarms quieted, staff drifted to other duties, Teal'c slept peacefully in his bed. Janet stood alone, head bowed, hand resting on Teal'c's shoulder.

Daniel touched the tear on her face, saddened when her hand passed through him as she brushed it away. Janet would look after them.

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K is for Kill
by calantha42

The first time Janet Fraiser saw a person die she was thirteen years old. It was Christmas, and her parents had taken her north to Vermont, to visit her maternal grandparents. She'd never seen so much snow in her life, and up there, in Vermont, the sun slipped under the horizon early before dinner.

Christmas eve and they have just finished opening gifts. Then her grandfather had chest pains. Her father ran to telephone for an ambulance. She watched her mother help her grandfather lie down on the couch. Her grandmother stroked his craggy forehead and whispered gently.

They waited, Janet quiet and anxious. Helpless, she watched his breathing get more uneven. He had beads of sweat that caught the dancing firelight, and it wet the fringes of his white hair. Then, he let out a last breath - she knew it was last, even though it was the first time she'd seen one.

So much snow on the roads, the paramedics said to them an hour later when they arrived. Janet had sat during that hour quietly with her grandmother and the body of her grandfather. Her mom kept trying to coax her away, shield her. But Janet wasn't scared.

After the funeral, and the trip home, her mother fussed about her constantly, convinced she had been traumatized. No, she insisted. She was sad, so very sad. That she didn't have more time to know her grandpa. That her grandmother was all alone. Janet also felt shock, even though she knew on the conceptual level that death existed. But she wasn't terrified like mother thought she'd be.

*

Janet excelled in high school. She was assertive, composed, confident and above all, competitive. She would be top of the class, there wasn't any other option.

"You think you're so clever," Bradley Smith said, passing her in the hallway with a wink, "That's cute." He oozed paternal condescension. It only gave Janet more motivation.

For Biology, 40% of their grade was from a dissection. It was today.

Once in class, Janet felt comfortable slipping on latex gloves, the scalpel felt like an extension of her hand.

"Ew," her lab partner Barb said, standing as far away as possible as the fetal pigs were distributed in metal trays. Death, Janet noticed, made people very afraid.

She looked over to Bradley, expecting a jibe about her delicate womanly disposition. Instead, he was silent, his eyes wide, pupils constricted. She could see how pale he was, how stark his ash brown hair was against his face.

"Mr. Shaw," she called for her teacher. "I think Bradley's going to faint."

She never did remember what happened to Bradley. Instead, she became wrapped up in the dissection of the pig, and ended up with an A+ and a letter of recommendation from Mr. Shaw to any of the colleges she wanted to apply to.

*

By the time Janet reached the SGC, she was no stranger to death. Her medical residencies had shown her the gamut of disease and injury and violence. More than once, Janet had witnessed someone's last living moments.

Of course, there was the sheer moment of terror in her first week at the SGC when she realized that they were dealing with a possible pandemic, from another planet, with a disease like nothing they had seen before, that had the potential to kill millions of lives - and it was up to her to find a solution.

And she did, she helped save them all. To General Hammond and everyone else she was the picture of poise when the crisis was averted, but once she got back to her new apartment, filled with still-packed boxes and take-away cartons, the adrenaline rush truly hit her.

She relished in role of pushing back death, feeling some degree of control over the inevitable. She twirled, did a ridiculous little dance in her socked feet on the linoleum, and flopped onto her sofa. She worked on a project that explored other planets and fought against tyrannical aliens. They sought her out, of all the possible doctors, because she could help them. She could keep them alive.

*

Janet was hot. She pushed back a piece of sweat soaked hair that had fallen out of her ponytail and checked her watch. 1800, earth time. Midday on this world, though. She was stuck in this muggy shack until the rest of SG-1 secured the gate.

She turned again to her patient, the reason for this field excursion. Daniel was asleep, long dark shadows falling along his form from the skewed boards that made up the shack's walls.

He was stable now that she had gotten some fluids into him, though he'd still need some surgery when they returned. But that could wait until the men who wanted them all dead and were presently guarding the gate were taken care of. After all, they were the one's who'd shot Daniel in the first place.

She checked the bandages at his shoulder, took his pulse, and then sat down again. Waiting made her antsy. There wasn't anything else she could do. She glanced at her radio, willing Colonel O'Neil's voice to come through.

She heard a swish. Instantly alert, she grabbed her gun. The grass outside swayed in the breeze, sounding almost like water. And again, a swish in the grass. Someone was here. Her heart accelerated, and she forced herself to take a deep breath. She might spend most of her time in the infirmary, using her medical skills, but she was trained for combat. She had to protect Daniel, he was hurt, and she needed to get him home.

Gripping her P90, the gun heavy and unwieldy despite dozens of hours on the range, she slowly approached the door, which leaned on it's hinged and was already slightly open.

The door moved and she was blinded by sudden sunlight. A dark silhouette rushed her and she fired, a rapid spray of bullets, aimed for the center, the gun recoiling against her and pushing against her shoulder as her heart was pounding against her chest.

The person - the man - fell back and she ran towards him, her gun pointed to his chest. She kicked away his staff weapon that had fallen at his side. Panting, she finally focused on his face. His face, his eyes, they were open still. But it was frozen, and oh god, he was dead.

She stumbled back, stunned. Blinking, she remembered that this was an attack, there could be more. She looked up, and around. There was nothing but waving grassland and stark blue sky. Nothing else.

"Janet," she heard.

Daniel. She turned, and went back into the shack.

"Daniel," she said, "it's okay. Just a Jaffa, but he was alone. You should be resting." Her voice sounded calm and even.

Daniel was still lying down, and he simply nodded, obviously tired. He closed his eyes.

She grabbed her radio and saw that her hands were trembling. Maybe she wasn't so calm. She radioed Colonel O'Neil, and reported the situation. Yes, they were all right. Only one Jaffa. Yes, he was dead.

She caught a glimpsed of the corpse outside the door, the sun glinting off of his armor. She felt a sudden rush of nausea and pushed the wooden door shut, shadowing the inside of the shack once again. She clenched her teeth and focused on the sweat dribbling down the small of her back under her clothes. She listened to Daniel's rhythmic breathing.

She had seen a lot of dead bodies. A sob rose in her chest. This was death, this was nothing new.

She had never killed before.

*

The airman guarding Niirti had no drug allergies - Janet took care to note. He would only experience a nasty headache afterwards. She stuffed the hypodermic into her lab coat, hoping no one would notice the slight tremor coursing through he body. She had no other choice.

She strode towards the room where Niirti was being held. The airman went down without a problem. She held out the gun and pointed it at Niirti's head.

"Tell me how to save Cassandra," she said.

Niirti didn't even look concerned.

"Tell me, dammit!" Janet shouted, her hands shaking momentarily with emotion.

Janet wanted this bitch dead. She wanted to know how to save Cassandra, and then, she wanted to see that woman take her last breath and be swept from existence. Niirti was a monster, experimenting on children and killing an entire world when it suited. Janet had held Cassandra for hours while the little girl cried after night terrors. Heard halting confessions about how Cassandra climbed into bed with her dead mother's corpse, cold and stiff, and stayed there until and the maggots started eating her mother's face.

Everybody would die eventually, and Janet wanted this woman to die today.

"Dr. Fraiser, stand down," she heard General Hammond say. She hadn't even noticed him step into the room.

They wanted to negotiate. Sam is there too; they say they will make Niirti help Cassandra. Cassie can't die. Janet blinks back tears. She won't let that happen.

She takes the gun off Niirti and lets out a breath. She won't kill today.

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L is for Lockdown
by sg_fignewton

Janet Frasier has taken two oaths in her life: one as a doctor, and one as an officer in the United States Air Force.

Those oaths are clashing for the first time.

Janet knows that she isn't infallible. Despite all her efforts, one day, someone will die in her infirmary. She's been lucky so far - well, a combination of luck, hard work, a marvelously efficient staff, and some desperate improvisation. People die in the course of this terrifying war, but she's winning the battlefield in her own domain. Every life she saves is another victory, even if some lose the struggle before she has the chance to fight on their behalf.

It happens, Janet knows. She leaves the arrogance of belief in one's own omnipotence for the Goa'uld, although some surgeons she's worked with could give them a run for their money. Janet hates knowing it, but she's all too aware of the inevitable.

There will come a time when she won't be able to restart a heart, when offworld germs prove impervious to onworld medications, when the injuries are too severe or the blood loss too great. A moment will come when she feels a pulse falter and fail, when resuscitation meets unresponsive lungs, when adrenaline or defibrillation or a dozen little tricks and cheats just don't work any more. And when it happens, she will bow her head in defeat, mark the time for the official record, and mentally add one more tally to the grudge she has against death.

But she doesn't want it to happen like that today.

It seems unfair - but when is life fair, after all? - that she needs to fight against alien diseases, wounds caused by alien weapons, when she only has Terran methods at her disposal. The temptation of using Goa'uld technology to help defeat Goa'uld depredations is a seductive, sibilant whisper in her ear: It would be worth it. Think of all the lives we can save. She forces herself to remember how Daniel Jackson's body almost shut down, how he'd been strapped down and sedated and still found the insane strength to grip her arm with steely fingers and hurl her bodily across the room.

No, she has to use the arsenal that human ingenuity and human dedication has distilled and invented, the medications and machines that she knows and trusts. But they aren't working this time, because even though she's broken enough of the viral chain to determine how to fight it, tetracycline isn't enough. Janet has a young lieutenant tossing restlessly in her infirmary, fever soaring, who desperately needs an alternative.

And she can't get it for him.

Wildfire. Base locked down. Nothing goes out… and nothing comes in.

Graham Simmons is allergic to tetracycline.

...to practice and prescribe to the best of my ability for the good of my patients...

She needs that alternative.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Doctor."

She wants to take the general by the shoulders and scream at him, "Forget the stupid miltary rules! You're killing my patient!"

But she's taken that other oath, too.

...I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic...

Foreign, ha. Can't get much more foreign than an alien orb from a dead world pinning Colonel O'Neill to the wall. O'Neill is slowly dying. The entire base might not be far behind.

Maybe all of Earth.

Like the other officers in Stargate Command, she isn't just defending her country. She's fighting on the front lines to save the whole world.

Lockdown. Wildfire.

Stop the organism from spreading deadly tendrils to the rest of the planet. Let a young man die.

Janet Frasier has taken two oaths in her life.

The two of them have never truly clashed.

Until now.

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M is for Mr. Teal'c
by cnidarian

"Dthint aah oo ith oredhy?"

Janet resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As she had quickly discovered since starting at the SGC, Samantha Carter was extremely proficient at a great many things, but talking sense around a tongue depressor was not one of them.

"I'm almost done, Captain, then you can ask me questions," Janet responded, keeping her tone light. "And the answer is, yes, you've done this once already, I know. But we're implementing new procedures and I'm also giving everyone an exam to establish their normal healthy stats. An individual baseline of sorts, to use as a comparison when something is wrong in the future." That was assuming something would go wrong; she wasn't a pessimist by nature, but this first contact mission set-up was, in her opinion, slightly nuts.

Captain Carter blinked at her in silence. Janet stepped back.

"Done. Fire away," she said, switching off her penlight.

Expecting further questions or even mild grumbling, she was surprised when the captain grimaced sympathetically.

"That sounds like a lot of work."

Janet's turn to blink. The members of SG-1 weren't the first into the infirmary that day and they would be far from the last. Running physicals for the whole base was a lot of work and whenever an airman complained about having to give up twenty minutes of their day, for their own good no less, she wanted to remind them that it wasn't exactly her idea of fun, either. The captain was the first person to show a little understanding. And after the manic events of last week - a Neanderthal virus, talk about trial by fire - Janet needed the encouragement more than she wanted to admit.

Regarding the captain, she shrugged. "I could probably gather most of the data from existing charts, but doing it this way means my staff and I get a better 'feel' for each of our patients. Personally, I think it's worth it."

Her tone must have retained some residual defensiveness; the grimace was back as Captain Carter slipped off the gurney.

"Colonel O'Neill has just been in here, hasn't he." It wasn't quite a quite a question, more of a statement, and enough that Janet felt she could confide her unease if she wanted to. "If he gives you a hard time, it only means he's figured out already that he trusts and respects you. He's just got an...interesting way of showing it."

"So I'm starting to see," Janet said, grabbing a pen and making a final chart notation. The colonel had to be the most unorthodox second-in-command she had ever met. But she could also recognise he was very capable, a good strong leader who cared about his team and, for that, she was prepared to put up with a lot. Besides, she was pretty adept with the wicked one-liner herself.

Janet turned back around and removed her gloves. "Okay Captain, we're finished here. Thank you for bearing with me. I think you might be my favourite patient so far today," she added dryly.

That earned a smirk. "Do I get a sticker?"

Janet laughed and made a show of checking her lab coat pockets.

"Nothing regulation issue, sorry," she joked. The new gloves snapped against her wrist and she mentally returned to professional matters. She glanced at the new chart and took a deep breath. Now for the challenging exam; nothing in Gray's could have prepared her for this.

She called after the retreating figure. "On your way out, could you send Mr. Teal'c in, please?"

"Teal'c."

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just 'Teal'c'." The explanation was hesitant and a little apologetic.

Oh. That explained the mirthful twinkle in Colonel O'Neill's eye during the last post-mission, then. And the way Dr. Jackson appeared on the verge of blurting something, before thinking better of it. Going by what she'd seen of the team dynamic, at the time she'd just assumed both the former and the latter's behaviour to be something of a constant state. Apparently not.

"Right. Thank you for letting me know. I hope I didn't cause any offence."

"Oh, no, don't worry. He's been reading up on our culture, requesting more books than we can get hold of and generally letting Daniel talk his ears off." Captain Carter smiled fondly. "I'm pretty sure he understood you intended it as respectful."

"I hope so. As far as I'm concerned, you are all my patients and I wanted him to know that I will treat him with the same care I give anyone." Janet stopped and fluttered her hand. "My inexperience dealing with alien physiology notwithstanding."

"I know how you feel. This is all so new and I'm expected to be able to solve problems or explain things. The science I studied has practically been re-written - I feel like a novice half the time!" The captain shrugged and then grinned. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else, though."

Janet found herself beaming back. "No."

There was a moment of shared emotion, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration, then she made a shooing motion, still smiling.

"Send Teal'c in, please. And thank you, Captain." She hoped it was clear she wasn't just grateful for the title correction. She had a feeling this was the beginning of a good friendship.

"Welcome." There was a pause and Janet looked up to catch sight of an impish grin from the doorway. "And it's Sam."

Then she was gone, but Janet could've sworn the grin stayed there for a split second longer.

When she opened the door for the final member of SG-1, he stood in front of her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"Teal'c," she greeted him, gesturing towards the gurney.

"Doctor Fraiser," he intoned, inclining his head, and she knew, then, that he understood her mistake.

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N is for Necessary Means
by traycer_

It was a good time to be in the commissary. There were only two other people sitting at a table across the room, and the relative quiet soothed Janet Fraiser's pain as she pondered the values she had held so dear. She was not proud of what she had done, but there were no other alternatives. Her beloved daughter was dying and the only woman who could save her was being stubborn and set in her ways.

Janet took a sip of her coffee, remembering the mixture of pain, anger and grief that had festered within her until she took a gun and went after that witch, Nirrti. At the time it was the only thing she could think of doing. Cassie didn't have much more time. But now that the showdown was over, Janet had a revelation. She was no better than the very people she hated, those who would take a life without even batting an eye.

The Hippocratic Oath, she thought bitterly. So much for sticking to her vows.

"Hey," Sam Carter said. She was standing next to Janet with a tray in her hands, obviously wondering if she should sit down and join in on the self-pity party. Janet nodded in greeting, but regretted it immediately when Sam took that as an invitation and sat down across the table from her. Great, Janet thought with a resigned sigh. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now.

"Cassie seems to be doing great," Sam said.

"Yeah." At what cost, Janet wondered. She was happy that her daughter was responding well to the treatment, but she would reserve her celebration for when Cassie was completely out of the woods.

Sam, on the other hand took Janet's response as a negative. "You don't sound so thrilled."

Janet shrugged. "I'll wait until she is well enough to go home before cracking open the champagne."

"Come on. With you on the case, she'll recover in no time."

Janet took a sip of her coffee as she nodded in agreement. She had already proven that without a doubt. "She'll be fine," she told her friend.

Sam stared at her for a moment, then looked down at her own coffee cup, apparently unsure what to say next. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Sam spoke up.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired." Sam didn't appear to believe a word of it, but Janet was not about to discuss her short-comings, no matter what.

"Come on, Janet. Something's wrong." Janet shrugged again, while Sam was not to be deterred. "Is there something you're not telling me about Cassie?" Her voice took on a more urgent tone when she asked, "Has she taken a turn for the worse?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Janet said with a smile. "She is responding remarkably well and will probably be going home in a couple days." Sam stared at her with concern, and Janet couldn't help but blurt out, "It's just that I was so sure she was going to die, and Nirrti was just sitting there doing nothing…"

She stopped and looked away, afraid to see Sam's reaction. She wasn't sure that her friend would understand. How could she? Janet wasn't so sure she understood herself.

"Nirrti would have let her die," Sam said with conviction. Janet looked up at her friend, wondering if maybe she did understand. Sam went on though, her serious expression setting the tone. "No one blames you for what you did."

"Well I do," Janet said, anguish making the words seem harsher than she intended. "I went in there fully intending to kill her if she didn't help Cassie." She stared at Sam, wanting more than anything to make her friend see past the facade that Janet had built up throughout the years. "And I would have, Sam. Despite my hesitation, I would have blown her out of existence."

"No," Sam said as she shook her head. "No you wouldn't. Not if it meant destroying Cassie's chances along with it." Janet could only stare at her friend, tears welling up as she remembered feeling like a failure when she couldn't pull the trigger. She had known going in there that Nirrti wouldn't help her. Nirrti had said as much. But when the time came to actually pull the trigger, Janet had hesitated, and by the time she got up enough anger to help her shoot the woman, the guards had decided to act.

"That's not the point, Sam. I wanted to hurt her, to force her to save Cassie. She told me that I was just wasting my time." She looked away for a moment, desperately trying to calm down as memories kept reminding her of her worst fears. "And when she told me that, I just lost it. I wanted her dead. I hated her so much at that moment, that I wanted her dead."

"Then why didn't you kill her?" Sam asked. Janet stared at her friend, wondering at the coolness she displayed as she casually mentioned killing another person. A memory sprang up in Janet's mind, strong and unbidden. Oh God, she thought with a sudden understanding of past hard feelings.

"I couldn't take a life," she said. "And besides, the guards wouldn't let me." Sam smiled at that admission, but Janet wanted to share her realization. "Sam. Do you remember when Apophis died in the infirmary?"

Sam nodded, her confusion clearly apparent. "Colonel O'Neill came in to talk to him." The memory was so clear; Janet could almost see the Colonel standing in front of her. "I wanted to save Apophis, but Colonel O'Neill told me to just let him die." She looked over at her friend to see that she was nodding in reluctant agreement. Janet allowed a small smile to form on her face. Sam knew her commanding officer all too well.

"The Colonel can be a little passionate about those things," Sam said with an apologetic smile.

"So can Daniel. He said pretty much the same thing." Sam was now looking at her cup, unsure of what to say, while Janet knew exactly what she wanted to say. "I didn't understand at the time. I mean, how could they hate a man so much to want him dead?"

Sam stared at her with a sad expression, but Janet wasn't finished. "It was so important to me that Apophis live, because that's all I know. I was trained to succeed, Sam. Granted I didn't always win the battle, but for the most part I did everything in my power to heal those who were suffering. And for me to just stand by and let a man die just because O'Neill, Teal'c and Daniel wanted him dead…" She stopped then, realizing that she was going off on a tirade. "I'm sorry," she said with a sad smile. "I only bring this up because I now know how they felt."

Sam smiled then and laid her hand on Janet's, "The Goa'uld are evil, Janet. They would just as soon see you dead as to spit on you. They don't care about our morals or our feelings, and what's one more dead human to them?"

Janet nodded. She knew that as well as anybody. It just bothered her that she was becoming one of them.

"And by the same token," she said in response to Sam's statement, "What's one more dead Goa'uld to us?" Sam just stared back at Janet, apparently at a loss for words. "That was what I was thinking, Sam. I wanted Nirrti to save my daughter or die trying. Even if it meant killing her myself." She wiped away the moisture that welled up in her eyes again, determined to see this through to the end with dignity. "I took an oath to save people, to keep them alive by any necessary means, and yet I was willing to turn my back on everything I believed in to save my daughter."

"But you didn't kill her," Sam said, her voice strong and steady. "You said yourself that you couldn't take a life." Janet sat there stunned, wanting to believe Sam, yet so very afraid of the truths and lies that lay beneath the surface. "And Cassie is alive because of your actions. We wouldn't have had the power over Nirrti to get her to at least try if you weren't there aiming that gun."

"I suppose you're right," Janet found herself saying.

"Darn straight, I'm right. You saved Cassie's life."

"Using whatever means necessary," Janet said with a wry grin.

"You got it!"

Sam was grinning broadly at her, and Janet was suddenly very glad her friend had come in when she did. She still had her doubts, but Sam's words made things a little clearer. Nirrti was still alive and so was Cassie. Janet had won in the end, despite her earlier misgivings. And she knew that no matter what, the Hippocratic Oath was just as important to her now as it was before she had aimed that gun at Nirrti.

She looked down at her cup for a moment, then back up at Sam. "Thank you."

"Anytime, my friend," Sam said with a wicked grin. "So, when does Cassie get to go home? Dominic's been asking about her."

"Dominic," Janet said with a shake of her head. "Cassie's growing up so fast. She'll be heading off to college before I know it."

Sam nodded, then sipped at her coffee. Janet took a sip of her own coffee, as she thought about the future. Cassie was going to be okay, and Janet relaxed for the first time since her daughter's birthday. They had so many years ahead of them and she vowed to make sure they make the best of every last one of them, no matter what obstacles stood in their way. Cassie deserved nothing less.

"Well," she said as she stood up to take her leave. "I'm going to go check on Cassie. Will you be joining us later?"

"Yep. We have a date with a chess board. And this time, I'm going to win."

"Good luck with that," Janet told her friend with a wry smile before heading off toward the infirmary. With any luck, she just may be able to beat Cassie in a game of chess before Sam gets there. But then again, she had plenty of time to spend with her daughter. All the time in the world.

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O is for O'Neill
by sela21k

Temperature, blood work, history update. O'Neill knew the drill.

Frasier could always tell what kind of mission it had been by the way his examination had gone. Most times he was wisecracking, fussing gently with the nurses, teasing, flirting but cooperating - barely. They took his pressure and he'd fuss about the cuff being too tight. He'd call them vampires and complain about how many vials of blood they took even though it was the same number every time. The experienced nurses would ignore him, the younger ones would giggle and the Pa's would roll their eyes in exasperation but they all went about their business in a competent, efficient manner because it was Col. O'Neill and they knew the drill.

She knew if he became bored or if he were tired and cranky with it all, he'd raised the volume and that would be her cue. She would come in, tell him to keep it down, pull out her pen light and look in his eyes. He'd always make some lame comment like, "Nothing to see here. Move along." or "I've lost my keys - see if you can find them in there." If he were feeling playful, he'd say nothing at all just keep his eyes closed. Most times she'd wait until he opened them and pretended to be startled to see her. "Oh, hi Doc - didn't see you there." or some such nonsense. She would smile, sometimes roll her own eyes but she always responded according to the look in his that told her if the mission had gone well, not so well or badly. It was the way they communicated with each other. They both knew the drill.

She'd do the physical examination then, pulling on the latex gloves with an extra loud snap that made him involuntary shudder then grin. He'd take off his shirt and she'd carefully go over his skin, cataloging any new scars and making sure the old ones hadn't changed. He'd growl about her cold hands and wiggle when she touched his ticklish areas. "Be still colonel," she'd admonish him gently like a mother to an impatient child and he'd settle down. She never had to tell him twice. O'Neill knew the drill.

He would become serious while she finished making her notes on his chart, writing up any medical instructions or prescriptions for him to take. He'd listen very careful to her summary, asked any questions he might have or would make a few thoughtful comments about the rest of the team. It never failed to amaze her how observant and detailed he was. She figured it was a result of his black ops training which she knew about because of course, she had read his file. As a doctor she found it hard to believe sometimes that this thoughtful, intelligent man could also be a cold, efficient killer. But he was a military officer, as was she and Frasier knew the drill.

Her own training came to mind when he would pat her on the shoulder or squeeze her arm gently when she gave him leave to go. "Thanks Doc," he'd say on his way out and she think for only a moment on how those hands that were so gentle could also be so deadly. But there was never be a whisper of it in her manner or tone when she approached him. He had told her once in a vulnerable moment that he had come to the SGC to begin again and to leave all that behind. He knew when he told her that she would not bring it up again and in that moment she became his friend as well as his doctor.

And for that too they both knew the drill.

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P is for Parenting
by thraesja

"You're going to be late!" Janet calls from the front door.

Cassandra finally stomps her way down the stairs, wearing something not quite as wildly inappropriate as the last outfit. She's on the cordless phone. Again. "I don't think he meant it like that, but that's how it came out when he...I know!"

It's sometimes both a blessing and a curse how well she's adapted to life on Earth.

"Cassandra!" Janet calls again, for what probably isn't the hundredth time, though it certainly feels like it.

"Gotta go. My mother," Cassandra says, like Janet's some sort of chronic and incurable disease. She hits the end button with her thumb and sighs melodramatically. "What do you care anyway? You're not even going."

"Don't take that tone with me, young lady."

"Don't break your promises and maybe I won't have to."

Janet sighs. Science Fair Day. She loved them as a kid but completely hates them as a parent, especially the ones she has to miss. "I promised to try. I want to be there, Cassandra, but there has to be a physician on base and my replacement is too sick to work." Damn Greene and her bronchitis, anyway.

Cassandra rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

Janet clenches her fingers into her purse and vows to call her mother and apologize for all the crap she pulled at this age. "You're going to do great. Sam thinks it's fantastic and she would know."

Cassandra makes a face at the floor and then glances at Janet out of the corner of her eye. "You'll pick us up from the mall afterwards though, right?"

"I'll be there."

XXXXXXXX

"You still need me to let Max out tonight?"

Janet looks up from her report on Lieutenant Nguyen's shoulder dislocation to see Colonel O'Neill leaning around her doorframe. "Yes, please."

He hovers for a moment longer. "I can take him home with me for the night if you want. Just in case?"

She can hear the hope in his voice and smiles ruefully. She's the only one with legal rights as far as Cassandra's concerned, and she and her ex never had kids, thank God, yet somehow Janet still finds herself enmeshed in the occasional custody battle. Though as far as canine custody is concerned, she'd happily relinquish her 'rights' entirely. Except Cassandra would kill her, and Colonel O'Neill's off-world too often to properly care for a dog. "That's fine, Colonel."

"Great." He starts to grin but then smothers it. "You owe me one."

She's careful not to let him see her rolling her eyes. "Yes, sir."

XXXXXXXX

"No. I said no and I meant no."

Janet massages her temple as Cassandra rants a bit more on the unfairness of life in general and of Janet in particular. It's not swaying Janet's mind, though it is annoying her.

"Cassandra. You need to concentrate on getting through the last round of judging. You'll have a whole hour with your friends afterwards before I pick you up. That'll have to do. Front entrance, 6 sharp." She pauses for moment, recovering her temper. "You'll do fine, honey. Good luck."

It isn't until she's hanging up her phone that she realizes she's not alone. Teal'c is watching from the doorway, his hands clasped behind him. "You okay, Teal'c? Do you need me?"

"I do not. Major Griff required assistance to the infirmary following a training mishap. His injury is minor; a nurse is seeing to him." His head tilts to the side. "You are troubled."

Janet sighs. "I thought I'd get better at being a mom as time passed, but I don't seem to be getting the hang of it."

"It is a difficult time in Cassandra Fraiser's life."

Janet nods, unsure what else to say.

"Parenting an adolescent is often...trying." His voice holds a note of sympathy more personal than someone just being nice, reminding Janet that Teal'c's a parent, too.

"You find Rya'c trying?"

A small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "The Jaffa are a proud, independent people. Many are also wise. Difficulties arise when the former attributes are present before the latter."

Very true, and not just for Jaffa. "Any advice?"

"I have read of a king in the history of Earth who was given a ring bearing the inscription 'This too shall pass'." Teal'c's smile fades as his eyebrow rises. "I remain hopeful the assessment is accurate."

Janet can't help but smile at his discomfort. "Indeed."

XXXXXXXX

Janet's packing up her things when Daniel comes in looking for a prescription for his allergy meds. A glance at the clock tells her she's running late, but she humours him and writes one anyway.

"In a hurry?" he asks, glancing down at the script she gives him. "It's even less legible than usual."

"I'm sure the pharmacist can translate it, Daniel, even if you can't." She has to chuckle at the squinted glare he throws her. "I have to pick Cassandra up at the mall. We had an argument this morning and she's not going to be pleased if I keep her - "

The lights flicker about a second before the base alarm sounds. A few seconds after that, there's a call for a med team to get to Major Carter's lab, stat. Janet grabs her recently-discarded lab coat and heads out, pleased to see Jeffries and Singh and a gurney already halfway to the elevator. Janet heads for the stairs, barely noticing that Daniel's on her heels.

The lab is a mess. There's some sort of device on the floor by the bench, scorch marks radiating from its shattered remains. Sam is cradling her right hand to her chest, but it's the young airman she's kneeling over that demands Janet's immediate attention. He's unconscious and Sam's frantically feeling for a pulse she obviously can't find.

Janet nudges her out of the way. "What happened?" She replaces Sam's hand with her own on his neck, confirming that there's no detectable pulse.

"The device short-circuited and zapped us. Bosworth took the brunt of it."

Singh hands her the defibrillator before she asks. Janet and her team spend the next several minutes getting Bosworth's heart out of V-fib and into a sinus rhythm. Once he's secured on the gurney, her team heads off ahead of her. Janet orders Sam to the infirmary, too. From the looks of things, she's fried her hand pretty nicely, but Janet won't have time to find out how badly until she's sure Bosworth is stabilized.

Time. "Shit. Cassie."

"I'll get her, Janet," Daniel says. "You worry about Sam and the airman."

She'd forgotten he was there. Janet spares a quick thought that poor Daniel has no idea what he's volunteered for, but she has no choice but to accept and no chance to explain before she's running out the door behind her team.

XXXXXXXX

Janet's exhausted by the time she gets home. Doctor Schwartz arrived to relieve her no more than ten minutes after the accident, but Janet was forced to stay when Bosworth coded twice more before they finally stabilized him. Janet's hopeful he'll make a full recovery.

She lets herself in - realizing she actually does owe Colonel O'Neill one when there's no overeager dog waiting to be tripped over - and finds Daniel lying flat on his back, knees bent to fit his too-tall frame onto her too-short couch, one arm flung over his eyes. His laptop's on the coffee table, rows of hieroglyphs walking like Egyptians across pixelated pyramids. She's debating whether to wake him or just fetch him a blanket when he groans, "You didn't tell me they were evil."

She snorts. "They're teenagers. Of course they're evil."

"You also didn't tell me I had to drive four of them home." He's still hiding under his arm.

"Was it that bad?"

The arm finally moves and he blinks incredulously up at her.

"It was that bad," she deduces.

Daniel shudders slightly as he sits up and plants his feet on the floor. "I'm not entirely sure, but I think one of them spent the whole drive hitting on me."

Ah. Janet had forgotten Rose was going to be one of the girls along for the ride. No wonder Daniel is in such a state. "She probably did."

His chin drops to his chest, and he shudders again, not-so-slightly this time. He's quick to recover, though, and he looks back up at her. "Is Sam okay?"

Janet nods and sinks down beside him, her exhaustion catching up with her again. "Just a couple of second-degree burns. It'll hurt for a few days, but there's no permanent damage." She smiles at his sigh of relief. "Airman Bosworth wasn't so lucky, but I think he'll be okay, too."

He nods. "Good." He watches the Egyptians dance across his screensaver before standing up and snapping the laptop closed. "Cassie won her division."

Janet blinks at the non-sequitur before putting it together. Maternal pride fills her. "She did? That's great!"

Daniel smiles. "Remember that when you're driving her to Denver for State finals next month."

Crap. She'll have to book the time off now. And put Greene in a bubble so she doesn't catch anything else. "I'll make Sam come with me. Serve her right for indiscriminately sharing her textbooks."

"I wondered where Cass got the idea for 'Euclidean Solutions in Quantum Gravity'," Daniel says as he packs his laptop into its case. "If you're not careful, you're going to have a physicist on your hands."

Janet grunts acknowledgement. Her exhaustion is catching up with her. She lets her head sink back to rest on the couch.

"There's leftover Chinese in the fridge, if you're hungry," Daniel says from the vicinity of the entranceway.

Janet hears the bolt turn and the door open before she works up the energy to say, "Daniel? Thanks."

"Anytime," he replies, and the door clicks shut behind him.

XXXXXXXX

Janet manages to eat some almond guy ding and two spring rolls before admitting defeat and heading for her bedroom. She's just collapsing into bed when there's a light tap on her door.

"Mom?" Janet turns the bedside lamp back on as Cassandra comes in and sits down on the edge of the bed.

Janet can see her picking at the comforter. "I'm sorry I didn't pick you up like I promised."

"Daniel said there was an accident in Sam's lab. He didn't seem too concerned about her, but..."

"You were worried?"

"Yeah."

"She's fine, Cassie. Everyone will be fine."

Cassandra nods; the tension leaves her shoulders. "I'm glad."

"Me too." Janet smiles. "I hear you won."

"Yeah. Whoda thunk?"

"Oh, I dunno. Me," Janet says, counting on her fingers. "Sam. Daniel. Colonel O'Neill. Mr. Fitzpatrick. Teal'c, if he knew what a science fair was..."

Cassandra finally returns the smile. "Thanks, Mom."

Janet shrugs. "I'm still sorry I wasn't there for you."

"It's okay. Daniel was kind of a hit with my friends."

"With Rose especially, I hear."

Cassandra starts to giggle. "Oh, God. You should have seen them. Rose was prattling and batting her eyelashes and sighing everywhere, and Daniel just had that look..." Even in the dim light Janet can see Cassandra furrow her brow and squint sideways at her in a near-perfect impersonation. She has to laugh.

"We okay?" Janet asks, once they settle back down.

She nods. "Yeah. Assuming you can make it to Denver."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Well, that's not quite true. She might have to miss it for the world, or at least to save some of the people who save the world. But between Cassie's resilience and Janet's surprising amount of back-up, they'll muddle their way through.

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Q is for Quackery
by rigel_7

"Anyway, he shaid that hish gread-grunfufferz grunfuvver took vem - "

Jack O'Neill grimaced, and cast a baleful eye over the infirmary. "Janet," he said, pausing to remove the thermometer that was the source of his pronounced lisp, "Are you even listening? I'm regaling you with the pertinent facts here."

"Put it back in, sir. It'll let you know when it's done."

"Ish bwoken."

"It's not broken, and you're supposed to put it under your tongue, which might need to stop flapping about for a moment so I can finally take the reading."

Janet gave him her best no-nonsense finger wagging gesture which was known to have hypnotized more than a few three star generals into a complacent stupor.

"Oh thank the Lord," she said as a high pitched beeping began and she snatched it out of O'Neill's mouth before he could demonstrate his twirling abilities. "Well, you're within normal range - "

"Yeah, for certain values of normal," Daniel interjected from the next bed over. "Like divide by zero kind of normal."

"Why thank you." Jack beamed.

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Oh I think it was. You're just having a hard time admitting to my current state of brilliance. Would anyone other than my extraordinary self have managed to persuade Nefur to part with this." He waved around a small pouch with a rather conceited swagger.

"A five year old child could have walked away with it."

"Please. I had to use every last trick in the diplomacy book to persuade him for the merest sample. Daniel, I even ate the ceremonial offal. Did I see you volunteer to eat the ceremonial offal?"

"I'm pretty sure that was a vegetable."

"Ceremonial. Offal."

Janet began tapping her foot. Trying to get SG-1 cleared post mission was like an exercise in herding cats.

"So what is it this time?" she asked, almost dreading the answer that she knew was coming.

"I resent that implication, Janet. I'll have you know these beans have healing properties."

"Beans, sir?" She bit her lip, fighting back a laugh.

Daniel cleared his throat. "Magic beans."

"I'll bet."

**

"Well look at it, Janet!"

"I am looking at it, sir. Reluctantly, but I can assure you, I'm looking."

"It's purple."

"I can see that."

"It's not supposed to be purple."

"Well, no. I'd say that's fairly abnormal."

"In what twisted universe would that ever even remotely be considered normal?"

"Ah, Sam might be a better person to ask about that one, sir."

"Does it look like I'd even be remotely comfortable asking Carter what the odds are of having purple - "

"Point taken, sir."

"Oh, God and it itches like burning as well."

"I can give you a topical cortisone cream for that."

"And the purple?"

"Maybe it'll come out in the wash."

**

Janet raised an eyebrow. "And then she said you had to do what with it, exactly?"

"Something about having an untouched virgin carry it next to their skin for about a month. Daniel was kind of hazy on the timeframe seeing as he was translating it on the fly."

Daniel tapped him on the shoulder. "Don't forget the crossroads."

"Oh yeah, and apparently if you bury it in a jar at a crossroads under the light of the moon - "

"You're not telling it right. It has to be a full moon, she was adamant about that."

"Sorry, full moon then. And recite the invocation; then you increase the power threefold. That's three times, by the way."

"Oh I understood that part," Janet said

"You know I think we might have left out the bit about adding the hairy beast."

"Hair of a beast of burden, Jack."

"Right, like I said, the hairy beast. A pale hairy beast being the best sort, naturally."

"Naturally."

"I wrote it all down for you, Janet. Don't worry about remembering all the details right now."

Daniel handed over a stack of papers that had been carefully typed out and then, from the look of them, handed over to a pre-schooler for a gleeful scribbling session with a magic marker.

"And I added some footnotes," Jack added proudly. "Daniel's prose can get a bit dry in his mission reports."

**

"The thing is, Janet, he said it was completely safe. I only let him try it because he insisted."

"Sir, you're in the isolation room for a reason." Janet buzzed the intercom again.

"Do I look contagious to you?"

"Well, no, sir - you wouldn't look contagious, and that's kind of the point."

"It's not like Daniel's never had an attack of the crazies before, you know."

"I wouldn't call it - "

"I can count them on one hand." He began ticking them off. "Okay, maybe two hands - but he's the statistical outlier. He clearly attracts the crazy."

Janet began to laugh, although she really probably shouldn't have, as the General had made it abundantly clear that this was a serious breach of protocol.

"And I'll have you know that it's entirely possible that giant ant people could even know be plotting to take over the government. Daniel Jackson has been proven right on whacked out theories before."

**

"Did I ever tell you how attractive you look in a Hazmat suit, Janet?"

"Don't even start, sir."

"I'm sure once we air the place out a bit, let the breeze in, it won't be noticeable at all."

"We're a mile underground, sir."

"I really thought it wasn't that bad."

"That wasn't an odor that humans were ever meant to experience. I'm sure of it."

"You might want to look into Daniel's diet after we get the all-clear. He's been really gassy lately."

"This isn't one you can blame on the dog, you know."

"Daniel's not a dog. Although he does make funny noises and twitch his legs if you rub his belly."

**

"They're not magic beans," Jack objected.

Daniel snorted. "Plant them and we'll find out."

"Those look like dried lima beans to me, sir."

"Lima beans?"

"I've got some just like that in my kitchen at home. I put them in soup."

"Are you saying I was duped?"

"Maybe not duped exactly."

"I traded a whole pack of Twizzlers for these."

"You traded Twizzlers for what you thought at the time was a potential medical miracle?"

"Possibly."

"I have no words, sir."

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R is for Radiation

by lokei

Janet's skin is crawling and her stomach churns, reminding her forcefully of Machello's little anti-Goa'uld bugs. She's feeling the same feverish desperation now, and the same horrible feeling of being completely out of control. This time, however, she's not the patient, and there's nothing she can do to stop it. Every time she looks at Daniel, she feels worse, but she can't stop, wouldn't even if she could. In the years of her service at the SGC, she's been congratulated for her empathy, her resourcefulness, her determination, and her nick-of-time cures.

She's ready to curse her empathy now, which she knows, and General Hammond knows is simply a word to cover the fact that she's grown to care for every serviceman, woman, and civilian under her care, some of them far too deeply. Just like radiation, they get in under her skin, and there's no protection left for her against Sam's ready smile, Jack's flippant attitude, Teal'c's polite disdain for medical assistance, or Daniel's weary 'here I am again' resigned shrug.

God, Daniel - he's here, trying so hard to hold on to some level of dignity, but she knows he's doing it as much for her as any other reason. She's the only one here right now: the others are off yelling at the Kelownans, and Daniel's holding it together because he's always been too intelligent for his own good, and he knows everything she's not saying as she wraps gauze carefully around his arm. She bites her lip to keep from cursing her absolute inability to do anything, rage and regret trading blows on her consciousness.

"Janet," he says softly, and she blinks hard before meeting his gaze. When he sees he has her attention he nods slowly. He's always been good at reading people - a skill she can only approximate with her X-rays and MRIs.

"I would do it again," he says. "It had to be done, and I would do it again." His hand tightens on hers where she's unconsciously taken hold, and she nods. He's burning hot as a small sun, and she thinks there will never be a day to come when she won't close her eyes and see the afterglow.

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S is for Security
by gategremlyn

Janet couldn't help but laugh at the antics of SG1. Truly, they were like little kids sometimes, staking out their territory - and Daniel, of all people, was the worst. What was he thinking making Bregman run down the hallway after him? She snorted and then looked around to make sure she hadn't been heard. Daniel stood at the far end of the infirmary, talking animatedly with Cameron--Doctor Balinsky, the linguist and archaeologist from Daniel's department assigned to SG13. The way the two of them were waving their hands about and the way Colonel Dixon was rolling his eyes, they must be talking about some recent find. She thought she could hear the words "artifacts" and "ruins" but maybe that was because she always heard those words coming from Daniel.


It was so nice to have him back in the fold, so nice to hear those words again and be able to enjoy them. It made the world spin a little more securely on its axis knowing he was again a part of it. While he'd been gone (her heart skipped a beat at the thought), she'd winced every time she'd heard someone talk about artifacts and ruins. It hurt her, still, to think how she'd failed him. The laughter from across the room interrupted her thoughts. None of it mattered now. He was back and more alive than ever. She listened in as Daniel described, one more time, his "escape" from poor unsuspecting Emmet Bregman.

She had a meeting with Bregman in a few hours so she was putting some files in order, leaving some of her staff to conduct the pre-mission physicals for SG13. She was disappointed because she liked Dave Dixon. They'd had more than one talk about trying to balance family with the demands of the Stargate program. As a father of four, he understood her frustration when she couldn't get to a parent/teacher conference or to a soccer game. He was an easy going man and a good team leader. He and Jack O'Neill went back aways, and the fact that Jack respected him made Janet like him all the more. Speaking of children, she needed to remember to call Cassie at lunch time and remind her to pull a casserole out of the freezer for dinner.

Still, what must the poor Emmett Bregman be thinking? Here they were, SG1, the flagship team, the saviors of the world - of the galaxy - behaving like, well, teenagers. She picked up her coffee cup to hide her smile. There was something endearing about their antics with Bregman. Daniel, especially, was usually so serious, always focused on his work. Everybody knew he wasn't really good at obeying orders from anyone, not even Jack O'Neill. The colonel adjusted, of course, as any good commander would, and smoothed the way for Daniel to do what he did best.

She took a sip of her now cold coffee. How did people drink this vile stuff? Maybe she had time to stop by Sam's office for a better cup before she went back to work. Unless Sam was tied up with Bregman. She dumped her cup in the trash. Sam's reaction to Bregman surprised her, even more than Daniel's did. She'd never really seen Sam tongue-tied. Sam was the brightest of the bright, a theoretical astrophysicist, an accomplished member of a front line team, and a blushing schoolgirl in front of the camera. What she wouldn't give to have seen that. And why did all her descriptions come back to children? Even Teal'c was being stubborn and sulky.

Not that they weren't entitled, she thought. After you've saved the world a few times, you've no doubt earned the right to be a little contrary in the face of outrageous bureaucracy. Colonel O'Neill, even more than Daniel, was not good at bowing to public relations nonsense. He'd been playing tag with Bregman ever since his arrival. But honestly, peridot? What on earth was the colonel thinking? And Mary Steenbergen? Really!

~::~

She kind of liked Bregman--when he wasn't being a pain and bothering everybody, of course. He had a kind of intensity, maybe even a sincerity that intrigued her. He'd shown her an uncomfortable, almost sweet side when he'd talked about his late wife. She didn't like to admit to herself that she'd been touched by his attention. He'd told her she looked good in front of the camera, and even if it was posturing on his part, she'd been flattered. And amused--but mostly flattered. It didn't bother her in the least to do a little posturing of her own by telling him that her daughter was an alien. He seemed to think that would be worth another interview. She got the feeling that not much impressed Bregman but maybe "my daughter is an alien from another planet" would work.

It was too bad their meeting had been interrupted. When a general called, you went. It was part of the joy of being in the military. When there was an emergency, you responded. She watched as her team gathered their gear in their usual efficient way. She'd trained them well and they were ready to go within minutes. She knew there was a man down on the other side of the 'gate. That would be her assignment while the rest of her people set up a triage station and prepared for more wounded, something she fervently hoped wouldn't be necessary. Each of them knew what was expected of them and each of them would perform admirably, of that she had no doubt. It was too bad Bregman couldn't see what when on in the field. Even more than their reports (and boy, had they given him some interesting reports), a day in the field would show him what SG units were all about.

Daniel, Sam, Colonel O'Neill, and Teal'c would be waiting for her on the other side of the 'gate. Naturally, they'd gone ahead to secure the area and to lend their aid to SG13. That's what they did and they did it well. For all her joking, there was nothing childish or surly about the way they did their jobs. They were the best of the best, the team Emmet Bregman didn't know. Janet did. She had every faith in their ability to bring SG13 home.

She didn't get to go through the 'gate often, only went when she was really needed - like today. And while she took her job very seriously, it gave her a thrill to watch the 'gate whoosh to life. It was exciting to go halfway across the galaxy no matter what waited on the other side. SG1 had things under control, and they would keep her as safe as she could be. When she got back, she'd see if she could get them to ease up on Bregman who really wasn't the ogre they made him out to be. Then she'd see if she could get him to ask her out on a date - if she still remembered how to date. Right now, however, she needed to focus on her mission.

She watched the event horizon form, waved her team forward, and went through to meet SG1 on the other side.

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T is for Thanks
by samantilles

"Dr. Frasier did everything she could. I think she went three days without sleep. Even in the end she didn't want to let me go. I owed her, a lot more than I ever gave back."

***

Janet found Dr. Jackson nursing a cup of coffee in the commissary, seemingly lost in his thoughts, or perhaps new memories. In the past months, she had only engaged him in the infirmary in a very formal manner since his return and she hoped she would eventually re-attain the easy-going comfortable friendship he willingly offered before he ascended. Her heart jumped when she was greeted with a genuine smile and any risk to take the seat across from him diminished into nothingness. She greeted him by name as she sank into the chair, returning his smile with one of hers. But then the conversation stopped there.

After a few minutes, each rotating their coffee mug, neither willing to meet each other's gaze, Daniel cleared his throat. "I never said thank you, by the way." His voice was quiet, reserved.

"Pardon?" Janet tried to hide being completely thrown off guard.

"For helping to get all those people out of my head, for helping me get back into sorts after I returned…" His gaze returned to his cooling coffee momentarily before he looked back up at her, gave a sanguine grin and took a deep breath, "for everything?"

Janet stared at the top of his head for a moment before grabbing his hand and pulling towards the center of the table. "Having you back after we, after I lost you, is more than enough. Watching you," she couldn't continue as she choked down a tear, "I couldn't do anything. I have never felt as helpless as I did that day." He squeezed her hand in his.

"Thank you, Dr. Frasier."

***

Daniel woke with a quite start, his breath caught in his chest with the memory of Raphael racing towards him. He exhaled and willed his heart to slow as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shake off the adrenalin rush. Janet pushed back the curtain just then.

"I see you're awake!" She beamed him a smile. Daniel's effort to return her smile did not go unnoticed by the perceptive doctor.

"When can I get out of here, Janet? I'm going crazy!" Daniel always could pull out a perfect whine to get what he wanted.

She took his wrist in her grip and turned her attention to her watch. "Not too much longer I think. The systemic infection seems to be finally leaving your system. You were touch and go there for a little while." She gently replaced his arm on his chest and gave it a pat.

"Don't remind me!" He chuckled weakly. "What I wouldn't have given three days ago to be put out of my misery!"

Daniel was startled as he watched Janet's face go dark with grief. "Don't say that." Her voice was reserved, guilty.

He pulled her arm into his grasp. "Janet?"

She took a seat on the bed, allowing her arm to remain in Daniel's possession. "Don't ever say that, Daniel. Ever."

"What are you talking about?" He quickly thumbed the remote to sit up in bed, his full concentration on the woman in front of him.

"When you-" She choked on her words, "when you were dying, I seriously considered-" She shook her head to fight off the tears.

He squeezed her hand. "Putting me out of my misery."

She nodded, using her free hand to wipe away a tear. "The pain you must have been in. I didn't know which was worse, watching you die that horrible death, or knowing that I killed you right before the Tok'ra or the Asgard showed up."

He pulled her into his arms and she welcomed the embrace. He began processing the information. If she had let him die earlier that day, had she not fought to keep him until that very last moment… He might not have accepted Oma's invitation to ascend. He'd be dead now. He tightened his hold on her and he promised himself never tell her what might have happened. "Thank you, Janet," he whispered into her ear. "You made the right choice. Thank you."

***

Daniel watched as Emmett Bregman walked back into the lit corridor and left him alone to embrace the solitary darkness of the corner of the isolation room. Ever since his descension, memories flooded into his mind uncontrollably, even ones he already remembered. Images beat into him, the emotions so strong it physically hurt. He remembered Janet smiling every time when he woke up in the infirmary over the past seven years, the way she soothed him by swiping her hand through his hair when he was in pain, and the casual checking of his pulse from his wrist as she stood by his bedside and engaged him in conversation. He held tightly to his wrist as he broke into sobs. Thanks would never be enough to make up what she gave him.

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U is for Ulalgia
by colej55

Dr. Fraiser happened to be heading toward the general's office when "unauthorized off world activation" sounded overhead. After a long morning of paperwork, she felt the need to stretch her legs, which prompted her to forego the use of the desk phone in favor of some face time with the base's commander.

Now, standing back a bit, barely peering over Walter's shoulder in the control room overlooking the gate, she waited with both interest and trepidation to see what would be coming through.

"It's SG-1's IDC, sir," the sergeant said, looking up at his superior for further instruction. "They're not due back until tomorrow. There's a radio transmission coming through."

"General Hammond, it's us. Open the door!" was all that the colonel said via the MALP.

"Open the iris," the commander ordered over his shoulder, already heading down to the gate room – with his Chief Medical Officer hot on his heels.

This can't be good, Janet thought with cynicism as she watched the miraculous, but increasingly familiar puddle form, her hands poised impatiently on her hips. What has the colonel done to himself now? In the short time that she had been stationed at Stargate Command, the physician had already surmised that Jack O'Neill was going to prove to be both a constant challenge to her medical talents and her coping skills.

The four members of SG-1 emerged from the gate and quickly made their way down the ramp, though none appeared outwardly to be wounded or injured.

"Colonel, report," Hammond ordered with characteristic terse, military precision.

"Daniel clammed up on us and refused his morning coffee, so we cut the soiree a little short."

The doctor immediately turned her attention toward the silent archaeologist – just in time to see him rolling his eyes in seeming exasperation over Jack's description of his illness. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the general turning around to look up toward the control room. He pointed first at her, then made the universal sign for use of the telephone. Almost immediately, "Med team to the gate room," boomed over the PA system.

"Dr. Jackson, I want you to sit down right here on the steps and let me get a look at you while we wait for help."

Once again, the linguist rolled his eyes, although his usual groan of disapproval was strangely absent as he complied with her request. It was a well known fact that Daniel hated being fussed over almost as much as the colonel did, however he gently lowered himself onto the ramp stairs as requested, a grimace of obvious pain covering his face.

Still not comprehending the problem, and knowing that the colonel could be sarcastic and antagonistic, the doctor suggested, "Colonel O'Neill, Teal'c, why don't the two of you head to the infirmary for your post-mission checkups. Sam, if you don't mind, could you please stay and fill me in on the nature of Dr. Jackson's illness."

Just as the captain opened her mouth, presumably to give her report, two medics jogged into the room with a gurney.

Dr. Fraiser placed her hand reassuringly on Daniel's shoulder and said, "I think we should transport you to the infirmary where I can perform a proper examination. Do you need help getting onto the stretcher?"

She was concerned to once again note that he made no attempt to speak or even move his head, as he instead appeared to choose to wave his hand as an indication that he could handle the maneuver. Even so, Janet stepped back and motioned for the medics to provide assistance.

They carefully helped Dr. Jackson to his feet and kept a firm hand on each of his arms as he sat on the stretcher and began to pivot around.

Observing her patient with an eye trained to look for subtle nuances, the doctor's concern was piqued by his odd behavior in that he made no effort to lie down. Instead, he seemed to sit upright in an awkwardly stiff manner, his back ramrod straight.

"Dr. Jackson, can you lie down or would it be easier if you sat up?"

He held up two fingers, which she took to mean the latter.

"Okay, we'll adjust the bed to make you as comfortable as possible."

The back of the gurney was raised to its highest position and the pillow was eased behind their patient for additional support. Even so, Daniel barely leaned back against it, though his hands gripped tightly to the now raised safety bars – so much so that his knuckles were turning white.

"Please try to relax," Dr. Fraiser said soothingly. "Are you in pain?"

Using his fist, Daniel made a rapid nodding motion.

Okay, he's in a LOT of pain, Janet thought, still trying to ascertain what the problem might be.

"Captain, can you explain what happened while we make our way to the infirmary? And let's move slowly and carefully, please, as we don't want to cause Dr. Jackson any additional discomfort."

She thought she saw a hint of relief on his face, although she hadn't a clue about what she was preparing to treat.

As they made their way from the gate room, Sam responded, "Actually, I don't know much more than what Colonel O'Neill has already told you. Everything seemed to be fine when we went to bed. Daniel and I shared a tent while the colonel took the first watch and Teal'c performed kel-no-reem. I was to have taken the next watch, but instead I awoke to Daniel leaving the tent. When he didn't return, I got up to check on him, where I found Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill standing over him as he sat by the fire. He had written a note that said his mouth hurt and he couldn't lie down any longer. When he refused breakfast or morning coffee, the colonel figured that something was very wrong, which is when we decided to cut the mission short. It took us a long time to make the return trip to the gate because Daniel seemed to be in so much pain."

"Did anyone take his temperature?"

"No, I tried, but he wouldn't open his mouth," Sam answered, sounding apologetic. "I'm sorry, Janet. I'm clueless."

"Thanks, we'll take it from here," the doctor responded with a quick touch to her friend's arm. "Why don't you get cleared and changed. Perhaps we'll have some answers by the time you're done."

The captain gave Daniel's hand a quick pat, as it was still firmly clenched to the rails of the bed, "I hope your feel better. I'll look in on you in a bit."

* * *

Dr. Fraiser pulled the curtain around the gurney as the medics finished backing the bed into its berth in the infirmary.

"Okay, Daniel. I gather that you can't talk and that moving is painful."

Her patient made an affirmative nod with his fist.

Placing the back of her hand gently against his cheek, Janet observed, "You feel feverish to me. Have you had any chills?"

Again an affirmative nod of the hand.

"Were you sick before you went to bed?"

"No," wagged the fist.

"So, you woke up with a fever and oral pain."

Hand-nod, "Yes."

"Did you eat anything unusual? Something other than an MRE or your normal stash of power bars?"

Again, he motioned in the negative.

"Okay, can you open your mouth for me to get a look?" she asked, removing a fresh tongue blade from its sterile wrapper.

When she looked back at her patient, Daniel had let go of the bedrails. As she turned on her penlight and prepared to make her examination, he grabbed her hands before they got near him, a look of seeming panic covering his face.

"It hurts too badly to open your mouth?"

He released her hands and motioned an emphatic, "Yes!"

Trying to appeal to his rational side, the doctor spoke slowly and calmly, stating in a matter of fact tone, "Now, Daniel, you know that there is no way I can help you if I don't know what's wrong. You have to let me examine your mouth. As soon as I know what we're dealing with, I can give you something for the pain."

The offer of relief seemed to work because he gripped the bars of the bed firmly again, shut his eyes tightly, and parted his lips slightly.

Again turning her light on with a click, Janet intoned reassuringly, "I'll be as gentle as possible." As she touched his lower lip with the wooden blade, she could see her patient visibly tense and clench his teeth tightly together. "Easy now, I need to see inside your mouth."

When she carefully pushed his lower lip down, she was surprised to see his gums swollen and his mouth bathed in blood.

With heightened concern, the doctor said, "Daniel, your gums are bleeding and I really need to see inside your mouth. Can you please unclench your teeth – even just a little?"

Although the motion seemed to cause very nearly unbearable pain, he tried to comply with her request, parting his teeth slightly. Still, it wasn't enough for her to perform a proper examination.

"All right," she said, stepping back a moment to think. As soon as she did so, he relaxed a little, as he opened his eyes, giving her what appeared to be an apologetic look. "Let's try some more questions."

The hand nodded, "Okay."

"Are you having any trouble swallowing?"

Yes.

"Trouble breathing?"

This time his open hand waggled, implying either "a little" or "maybe".

That's not good.

"Daniel, if you're having trouble swallowing and breathing, I think we should sedate and intubate you as a precaution."

Her patient slumped slightly, but made no effort to protest.

* * *

After administering a substantial dose of I.V. Versed, on Dr. Fraiser's nod, the nurses moved swiftly to lower the bed on which their now sleeping patient lay. Janet tilted Daniel's head back sharply while using her thumb to apply pressure to his chin, causing his mouth to open. When she peered through the laryngoscope, preparing to slide it down the back of his tongue to assist her in visualizing his vocal cords, she was amazed at what she saw. Not wasting any time, she deftly slid the breathing tube down his throat, relieved that his airway had been safeguarded.

No wonder he wouldn't let me examine him. He must have been in absolute agony. Although the physical findings were clear, their cause was not. She knew the name of his disorder, but was immediately alarmed at its implications. He had been absolutely asymptomatic 48 hours previously when she had examined him and declared him mission fit, but now his life was in danger and there wasn't much she could do about it but provide comfort and supportive measures while hoping that he would pull through.

Before heading to brief General Hammond and the rest of SG-1, Dr. Fraiser wrote orders for continued sedation and pain medication to be administered with IV fluids and for a scrupulous oral care regimen to begin. She had no idea what had caused his illness, but whatever it was, it had moved quickly and now her patient was in serious trouble.

* * *

As expected, four sets of eyes were intently staring at her as she slid into her seat at the conference table.

"So, what is it this time, Doc? Beriberi? Dengue Fever? One cup of coffee too many? Scurvy?" the colonel quipped both rapid-fire and rather glibly.

Seeming to ignore him, the general turned toward the physician and said simply, "Dr. Fraiser," effectively giving her the floor.

"Well, sir, he has a very severe case of ulalgia and uvulitis…."

"You who?" Jack interrupted, wide-eyed. "Did you just say something about Daniel learning to play the ukulele?"

"Colonel, please," Hammond responded, obviously aggravated. "Now is not the time." Again turning his attention to his CMO he added, "Please proceed, doctor."

Jack nodded and shrugged his shoulders, a gesture that Janet had early on learned to be a silent apology. She took no offense at his lame attempt at humor, as she understood it to be one of his veiled coping mechanisms. In truth, she found him to be fiercely protective of the people under his command and especially so toward Daniel, whom she had surmised the colonel had taken "under his wing" after their shared experiences on Abydos and the loss of Daniel's wife, Sha're, to the Goa'uld.

"As I was saying, I believe that Dr. Jackson's pain and other symptoms are being caused by a severe case of Stevens-Johnson Syndrome involving his gums and soft palate. His uvula has partially split from the swelling. He had to have been in agony and, quite frankly, I'm amazed that he made it back to the gate without vomiting or losing consciousness. His mouth was full of blood and he had a fever of 102 when I first examined him, which implies that he is either severely dehydrated or that he has added an infection to the primary issue. An allergic reaction of some sort is most often to blame for the initial presentation of Steven-Johnson and we all know of Daniel's history in that area, however I can't say for sure that allergies are to blame. Sometimes fungal infections come into play and, in truth, in a full 50% of cases, the cause is never discovered. Furthermore, the mortality rate can range from between 5% in less severe cases to 40% or more when large portions of skin are involved. Even with survival, a number of patients suffer permanent damage. This is very serious, sir."

Janet paused to allow the information to sink in before continuing to describe her present plan of treatment. Secretly, she needed the extra few moments to make sure that her professionally detached façade didn't fracture, leaving her an emotional mess right there at the conference table. She had grown fond of all of the people that she cared for, but had cultivated a special affection for the members of SG-1 – perhaps because they spent more time in her infirmary, being a "front-line" team, than other personnel who were not as "exposed".

"As a precaution, I have placed Dr. Jackson in isolation, put him on a vent to protect his swelling airway, and have ordered the administration of sedation and analgesia for his comfort. My staff is culturing the fluid from around his gums, looking for signs of a super-infection, and running a full battery of tests aimed at locating the source of the initial reaction, but we won't have some of the results for several days, which may be too late depending on the source and type of response we're dealing with... especially if he is developing septicemia," she tacked onto the end of her very long statement. "In the meantime, I have begun administering supportive IV fluids and an oral care program, hoping we'll get lucky and wipe this out before it spreads any further. There has been some mention of the use of steroids in the literature, but they can just as easily cause the syndrome to worsen…." After pausing for a moment, the doctor continued, "Quite frankly, I'm hesitant to do much more than try to keep him alive and comfortable for the moment."

Taking a deep breath, Janet prepared for a flood of questions for which she had no answers. Instead, those around her merely sat in stunned silence.

"Thank you, Dr. Fraiser," the general said soberly, finally breaking the quiescence. "Captain Carter, can you help shed any light on whether something on the planet might have caused Dr. Jackson's illness? Did he come into contact with anything other than standard issue MRE's or perhaps and airborne allergen? Did you see him take any medications? "

"Not that I noticed, sir. His allergies didn't seem to be bothering him at all. We didn't encounter any indigenous people, so he didn't sample any local fare."

"He isn't exactly Euell Gibbons… you know… the whole nuts and berries thing…" Jack tacked on while looking down at his fingers, which were twiddling nervously with a pencil.

"Nor did I see Daniel Jackson put anything unusual into his mouth," Teal'c added with echoed concern. "Furthermore, he was not making any explosive emanations from his nose or mouth."

"That's sneezing, T.," Jack corrected absent-mindedly. "Then again, you know our Daniel… always getting into things when nobody's looking," Jack added in an apparent small attempt at levity, though he seemed just as worried as everyone else.

"Doctor, do you have any further instructions for the rest of SG-1?" the base commander inquired.

"Not at this time, sir. You are all free to go home, but if you so much as sneeze or develop even a hint of a rash, I want you to report to the infirmary immediately."

"Um, sir, what about the MALP? In our haste to get Daniel back to the gate, we left it behind. Shouldn't we go back and retrieve it?" Jack inquired.

"Colonel, until we know exactly what's causing Dr. Jackson's illness, I'm not willing to put any more of our people at risk. If need be, we can detonate an onboard charge and destroy it."

"I just thought that perhaps we could go back, do a little more recon, scout out the local flora and fauna… retrieve the MALP."

"Colonel O'Neill, while I realize the goodness of your intentions, my mind is made up." General Hammond then let out a slight, weary sounding sigh. "Okay, people. That will be all for now. I expect you all to go home and get some rest. Dr. Fraiser, I'm assuming you will keep me apprised of Dr. Jackson's progress?"

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed," was the general's simple statement as he rose to leave the table.

The military members of the group immediately stood in respect, but nobody seemed ready to leave the room, save Dr. Fraiser, who was eager to get back to her patient and to begin looking for the cause of his sudden, very dangerous illness.

* * *

"You know doc, you're going to ruin your eyes trying to read like that."

Janet looked up and saw the long, dark silhouette of Colonel O'Neill leaning casually against the doorframe.

"I didn't want to bother any of the other patients by turning on the overhead lights," she replied, pushing some stray strands of hair back in place as she raised her head to address her visitor.

"Yeah, speaking of patients, how's Daniel doing?"

"He's developed the beginnings of a rash, which isn't a good sign, and his tongue is starting to erode along with the rest of the skin inside his mouth."

"Ouch," the colonel responded with a wince that was visible even in the dimly lit office.

"Frankly, we're still losing the battle and I don't know what enemy we're fighting."

A few moments of silence passed between them as the colonel appeared to be thinking about her statements. Meanwhile, Janet slumped down into her chair in exhaustion.

"So, colonel, how come you're still on base when I told everyone to go home and get some rest?"

"Well…" he started, evidently taking her question to be an invitation to sit down and chat – whether she had meant it so or not – because he fully entered her office and settled himself into a chair in front of her desk before continuing. "General Hammond isn't as young as he used to be and I just thought that…."

"Colonel, I don't mean to be rude, but could you come to the point?" Or just go away because I'm too tired to care about anything other than figuring out how to fix your team's resident archaeologist.

"Yeah… sorry," he said, head hung low while picking uneasily at the leg of his pants.

Great, now I've offended him. What kind of doctor are you anyway, Fraiser? Not a very congenial one, apparently. "No, I'm the one who should be sorry. That was rude and I apologize," she proffered.

"Not to worry, Doc. No offense taken. Honestly? I just couldn't leave the base not knowing whether or not Daniel was going to make it through this. If I had known how sick he was, I would've packed up and come back right away. We wasted valuable time breaking camp…." His voice just trailed away, seemingly choked off by his obvious sense of guilt and remorse.

Putting aside the book she was studying, the physician devoted her full attention to her visitor. "Colonel, I know you take the welfare of your team very seriously and I really do appreciate that because you've saved their lives – to your own detriment – I'm sure more than once. However, you couldn't have known how serious Daniel's illness was while out in the field. I wasn't able to properly examine him until he was heavily sedated."

"But maybe if I had gotten him back here sooner…."

"No buts, sir. You can't second guess yourself like that. You did the best you could under the circumstances. You got him back safely and we're dealing with his illness the best way we know how."

"So, have you made any progress? Learned anything new?" he inquired, nodding toward the stack of books and medical journals piled high on the desk.

"Actually, no. I still believe we are looking at a case of Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, for which there is no specific test. It's diagnosed only by the cluster of symptoms it presents." By the characteristic tilt of his head and the simultaneous raising of his eyebrows, she assumed that he understood. "I'm sorry, sir. I wish I had better news to offer."

"What are his chances? Can you treat this?"

The dreaded question.. "Well… with each new symptom, his chances of making a complete recovery diminish. That is not to say that he won't survive, but I'm worried about complications. I've asked for an ophthalmological consult in the morning because if he develops lesions in his eyes, he could end up with permanent damage to his vision."

"Like he doesn't have that already…" the colonel said with a downcast tone.

"I really wish I could be more optimistic, but for now, I pretty much have to take an observational approach because the only treatments available can sometimes do more harm than good."

"Oh," he responded slowly, appearing to a few moments to smooth non-existent wrinkles from his pants. "So, Doc, you're looking pretty frayed around the edges yourself. Shouldn't you go home and get some sleep?"

"Colonel, I don't think you understand the seriousness of the problem," she replied curtly. "Daniel's immune system is turning against him and I need to figure out why. The only way I can do that is to be sure I haven't overlooked something."

"I understand, but staying up all night isn't likely to help you solve the problem," he said calmly, seeming to overlook her overtly insubordinate tone.

Realizing her mistake, Janet took a deep breath and followed it with an apology. "I'm sorry, sir… it's just that I want so badly to find some way to help him. I keep hoping to discover something new in the literature. Stevens-Johnson is rare and some doctors can go through an entire career never seeing a case. I need to be sure that I'm doing the right thing."

"I have all the faith in the world in you and no apology needed. Listen, Doc, I smuggled a really comfy couch into my office. I could have Walter and Siler bring it in here for you to catnap on. I won't even tell Hammond that you went to sleep on the job."

Finally cracking a smile over his endearing concern for her welfare, Janet replied, "You have no idea how tempting that offer is, but honestly, I'm fine. I really need to finish some charting and do some more studying. I promise, if I get too tired to comprehend what I'm reading, I'll go to my quarters."

Standing to leave, he admonished, "I had better not come in here and find you asleep at your desk. I'd hate to have to order you to take a real nap."

"No, sir. I promise that I'll get some rest once I'm more certain that I've done everything I can for Daniel."

"Mind if I sit in the observation area and keep an eye on him?"

"Of course not. However, the same holds true for you. If I find you falling out of your chair, I'll order you to your quarters."

"It's a deal," the colonel replied, heading for the door. He stopped and turned to face her, adding, "And thanks. I know you're doing your best and we all appreciate it."

"You're more than welcome, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me," she said, once again reaching for her book.

"Sure," he answered, patting his hand on her doorframe as he made his exit.

* * *

When Janet checked on her patient at 0300, she looked up and saw the colonel keeping sentry over his teammate.

He nodded down at her in acknowledgement of her presence.

The physician received a report from the nurse in charge of remaining by Dr. Jackson's bedside. She had been performing twice hourly oral care, very gently swabbing the blood and fluids away from his gums and tongue with a weak hydrogen peroxide solution. As best Janet could tell, there didn't appear to be any lesions on Daniel's corneas, although she was anxious for the ophthalmology consult. However, his rash had continued to spread, which was a very ominous sign. Also, there was little skin left inside his mouth, leaving it a wide open sore. His uvula had swollen so much that it was indistinguishable from the rest of his soft palate. After carefully charting her latest findings, the physician gave additional instructions to the nurse on duty and then exited the iso room, leaving her mask, gown, and gloves in the bin just outside.

Colonel O'Neill met her halfway down the steps to the observation room.

"I was just coming up to talk to you," she said, not trying any longer to disguise the bone-weary exhaustion she felt.

"Why don't I walk you to your quarters while we chat, as I have it on good authority that you're not the only doctor on base tonight? In fact, I've taken the liberty of checking and Dr. Greene is doing a good job of covering her regular shift. You, on the other hand, have been up way past your bedtime and I'm sure Daniel's going to be upset if he finds out that he's the cause of your sleep deprivation."

Smiling faintly, Janet answered, "Okay, colonel. I really could use an hour's sleep. My brain is hardly functioning anymore."

"That's understandable. So, how's he doing?"

"Well, his fever has broken, so I don't think we're dealing with an infection. He was most likely dehydrated from not drinking and due to the walk back to the gate. The IV fluids are taking care of that. I'm relieved that antibiotics aren't warranted yet, as they have been known to cause Stevens-Johnson. His mouth looks a lot worse, but I'm trying a topical steroid paste to see if we can control the damage. The only symptom that truly worries me is the continuing spread of the rash. The ophthalmologist is due to examine him in about 4 hours. If he finds evidence of eye damage, I'll be forced to pursue more aggressive treatment options that are not without their own risks. For now, we're doing the best we can and he's holding his own."

"Then that's good, right?"

"I guess you could say so. At least he isn't deteriorating more rapidly."

Stopping outside the door to her quarters, the colonel said, "Then, as commander on duty, I order you to catch at least twenty winks. If there's any change at all, we'll call you. Otherwise, try to get a few hours of sleep."

"I'm not sure about a couple of hours, but I wouldn't argue about a power nap"

"Now, now, captain, I outrank you. Besides, Teal'c will be emerging soon and you know how he is when I sic him on people. He goes crazy!"

Laughing opening Janet responded, "I hardly view Teal'c as your personal attack dog. Besides, you don't scare me, either. However, I'm whipped, so I'll grab a nap while everything is quiet."

"Good idea. Have nice snooze, doc."

"Thank you, sir. I will leave word with the nurse that I want to know if there's any change in Daniel's condition."

"Not to downplay the importance of your role in his care, but allow me repeat myself. You do realize that you're not the only doc on duty tonight, right?"

"Point taken. It's just that…"

"Tut!" Jack replied with a seemingly dismissive and cautionary wave of his index finger. "I'll watch him like a hawk, too. Now, get to sleep. That's an order!"

"Yes, sir," Janet said, making a sloppy salute as she slipped through the door into her quarters.

* * *

Janet felt like she had just dozed off when she awoke with a start. She couldn't ignore the terrible feeling of dread that had awakened her. Just as she reached to turn on the small bedside lamp, her phone rang, causing her heart to lurch within her chest.

"Fraiser," she answered, still breathing fast.

The nurse on the other end of the phone seemed just as startled as Janet felt. Evidently there was some sort of emergency in the infirmary that Dr. Greene didn't feel like she could handle alone. Janet didn't wait for the rest of the nurse's report before saying, "I'll be right there," followed by her hanging up the phone as her feet hit the floor. She had lain down in her uniform, carefully smoothing it out before closing her eyes. Now, she snatched one of the three pristine, crisply starched lab coats that always hung from the closet door in case of an emergency.

The clipped clacking of her heals echoed through the nearly deserted hallways of the SGC as she ran toward the infirmary and the patient in trouble that she sensed was Dr. Jackson.

Upon arriving at his bedside, she had to push several nurses out of the way to get a look at her patient. What she saw almost fit the description of gore. Dr. Greene was frantically performing CPR – each compression causing a gush of blood to pour from Daniel's nose and mouth – while the nurse again charged the paddles.

"Clear!"

Daniel's body rose up off the bed with the electrical jolt of the defibrillator.

"I've still got nothing, Dr. Greene."

"Resuming compressions."

Although Janet had been summoned to Daniel's bedside, all she could do was gawp like some sort of ghoulish spectator. She uttered, "How long has he been down?" but it sounded like someone else's voice to her.

"He coded at… 0322… we've been… doing CPR… for 15… minutes," Dr. Greene gasped out in rhythm as she continued to press down forcefully on her patient's breastbone.

"Clear!"

Again the lifeless body rose up from the bed as more of the life-sustaining fluids drained from his body with the strong muscle contractions caused by the jolt of electricity.

"Resuming CPR!"

"How many times have you shocked him?" Janet asked in the loud, terse tone that all medical personnel seem to use during a code.

"That was the eleventh time, I think," the nurse responded as she once again charged the paddles.

Dr. Greene stopped her compressions, brushing damp hair from her sweaty brow with the back of her gloved hand.

"Okay, I'm calling it. Time of death is 0340."

Janet then went into full doctor mode, snapping herself out of the surreal haze she had been in while watching her coworkers frantically trying to resurrect their dying patient. Pushing the nurses aside as she scrutinized the flat line on the heart monitor above the bed, she grabbed the paddles and demanded, "Again!"

The defibrillator made its characteristic whine as the electricity charged the unit.

As the hum of the machinery reached its vortex, Dr. Fraiser yelled, "Clear!"

The single droning sound of asystole continued to emanate from the heart monitor, signifying the lack of a heartbeat.

"Again! And why are all of you just standing around? He needs CPR!"

Janet was barely aware of the nurses backing away from the bed as Dr. Greene came around and gently tried to remove the paddles from her colleague's hands.

"No!" Dr. Fraiser yelled, grasping the paddles more tightly and pulling them away like a selfish five-year-old clinging to their favorite toy.

"Dr. Fraiser, it's over."

"No! I won't accept that! It can't be!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we did everything we could."

"There has to be something more," Janet said, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in. This time, she let the other doctor ease the paddles from her clenched hands as she stared at the lifeless form lying on the blood-soaked pillow.

* * *

"Janet, wake up."

"What?

She was vaguely aware of someone gently rubbing her shoulder while speaking to her in hushed tones.

You're having a nightmare. It's okay.

Janet suddenly took a deep, gasping draw of air as if she were rising up from the depths just before drowning.

"Huh? Just a dream?" she panted out, desperately trying to get her eyes to focus in the still dark room.

"I'm going to turn on the light, so cover your eyes."

It was definitely Sam's voice she heard as she turned her head away from the bedside table and shielded her eyes with her forearm.

"What time is it?"

"It's just before 0630."

"What?" Janet asked incredulously, rising quickly to a sitting position on the bed. She then felt a hand touching lightly on her shoulder.

"Everything is okay, Janet. I was coming to get you because I knew you would want to be there when the ophthalmologist checked Daniel's eyes. You were crying out, so I had one of the SF's let me in. I hope you don't mind."

"No… no… that's fine," Janet replied, scrubbing her face with her hands, trying to fully wake herself. "The dream seemed so real… I wasn't aware that I was making any sounds."

"It happens," Sam said simply. "We've all got demons chasing us in our nightmares. It comes with the territory. The colonel told me he had to order you to get some sleep… you were just overtired and too focused."

"I can't believe I slept this long," the physician said apologetically. "I should have stayed in my office. There is still so much I don't know about his illness."

"Janet, don't be so hard on yourself. You're only one person and you can't stay awake indefinitely. Besides, Dr. Greene has practically spent the night at Daniel's bedside and Teal'c has been watching over Daniel since just after you left."

Now more fully awake, Janet slid her legs over the side of her bed and sat there for a moment to let the wave of exhaustion-induced queasiness pass. "It'll just take me a moment to wash up and put on a fresh uniform," she said, finally rising to move toward bathroom.

"If you're okay, then I think I'll head toward infirmary to wait on you."

"Sure… thanks, Sam."

* * *

Like all military personnel, Janet had mastered the art of the boot camp five-minute shower. Within minutes, she was freshly dressed in a crisp, newly laundered uniform and lab coat. However, the dark, sagging circles beneath her eyes were in stark contrast to her attire. In truth, she felt considerably more wilted than the stiffly starched clothing she was wearing.

Upon reaching the isolation area of the infirmary and again donning the protective gown, mask, and gloves, Janet entered the room where her patient lay. As expected, when she glanced up, four sets of eyes peered intently down at her. General Hammond had joined the other three members of SG-1 in the observation room and each person there bore a look of grave concern. Janet gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to the base's commander as she strode toward Daniel's bedside.

After receiving a report from the nurse on duty and then reviewing Dr. Greene's notes in the chart, Janet turned her attention toward her patient. It was immediately apparent that Daniel's skin lesions were still spreading – which was not at all a good sign. Her medical staff had done a good job at maintaining oral care and there weren't any signs of infection in his mouth, although the normally pink, moist tissue was replaced by a single, open, raw wound that looked very much like a third degree burn. As she stood there mentally reviewing all that she had read in the wee hours of the morning, she heard the door to the room slide open and closed. Janet instinctively turned to see who had entered and was relieved to see that it was the eye specialist she had summoned from the academy hospital.

She watched as the ophthalmologist carefully opened one of Daniel's eyelids and then placed a small piece of paper coated with fluorescein dye against the surface of his eyeball. Almost instantly, his eye turned a strange orange color, causing Janet to briefly ponder the unsettling thought that perhaps that was how the eyes of a Goa'uld host looked when the snake within caused them to flash as the monster seized control. Forcing the disturbing thought from her mind, she turned her attention back to the physician as he raised an ophthalmascope to his own eye in preparation to peer into that of his patient. The scope emitted a blue light which, in conjunction with the dye, allowed him to look for green colored areas of the cornea that would signify erosion of the delicate tissue. Janet waited patiently as her colleague carefully examined each eye. Once he had finished, they spoke briefly and then exited the room together.

After changing back into her lab coat, Janet made her way to the observation room to give her report. As expected, she was greeted with anxious looks and a myriad of questions for which she had no immediate answers. After explaining that although the eye exam was negative for any signs of damage, Daniel's condition had continued to deteriorate in every other way.

"Dr. Fraiser," General Hammond inquired, "do you have any way of predicting when or if Dr. Jackson's condition will improve?"

"No, sir, I wish I had better news, but the best that we can hope for at the moment is for no new symptoms to appear."

"What else is there that can go wrong?" the colonel asked with a somber tone that was completely devoid of his usual flippancy.

"Well, other than damage to his eyes, which thankfully we are not seeing at present, it is possible that the reaction can spread to his esophagus, stomach, and intestinal tract." Not waiting for the anticipated question, Janet forged on and added, "If that were to happen, then I'm afraid that it would be very likely that Dr. Jackson would not survive his illness."

"I see," General Hammond responded, taking a few moments to absorb the information before continuing. "Dr. Fraiser, I am sure that you are providing the best of care, so we'll leave you to your work."

"Thank you, sir. If anything changes, I shall let you know. We'll continue to take a conservative approach to treatment and hope that his immune system settles down on its own."

With that, General Hammond and the remaining three members of SG-1 filed somberly from the room. As she passed by, Sam gave Janet a sympathetic look and a comforting squeeze to her arm. Last to leave the small space, the colonel said, "Thanks, doc." And then Janet was once again alone, struggling to make sense of the situation and feeling helpless to make a difference.

* * *
Deciding that the best she could do for her patient would be to try to get telephone consultations with some of the immunologists who had written the articles she had been studying, Janet headed for her office.

Upon arrival, she was surprised to see a rather large sofa covered in a pristine white sheet. A yellow sticky note was pinned to the center of the seatback and she immediately recognized the handwriting of the scrawled message that read:

"It's yours for as long as you need it."

The note was signed simply with a smiley-faced "O", bringing a grin to the weary and frustrated physician's face.

* * *

The ophthalmologist returned at the end of his hospital shift to re-examine Daniel's eyes. Janet was distressed to hear that there was now evidence of corneal erosion in one eye. The nurses were given detailed instructions on the use of eye drops and proper bandaging technique.

After the eye examination, Janet reported to General Hammond. He, in turn, summoned the other members of SG-1 to the briefing room so they could receive an update at the same time.

"I'm sorry to say that Daniel's condition is still deteriorating. He now has damage to one of his eyes. We are taking aggressive measures to manage the problem, but there is still the possibility of permanent vision damage. Furthermore, the skin biopsy we performed didn't tell us anything, which in a way is good. At least no infection has set in… yet."

"Doc, isn't there some way to stop this?" the colonel inquired.

"Well, there are some controversial treatments that we could try, but they might make his condition worse. I've consulted with several immunologists who know the most about this disease and they share my concern about experimenting with unproven drug protocols that might do more harm than good. Besides, since Daniel's condition has not yet stabilized, I'm worried that if other organ systems become involved, it would be more than his body could handle. In that case, the cure quite literally could be worse than the disease."

"Oh," was all that Jack said as he looked down at the absent-minded doodles he had been scribbling on his pad of paper – another of his veiled coping mechanisms.

"General Hammond, I think that we should do an endoscopic exam, as there is a possibility of the disease spreading to his GI tract. I don't think we should wait on this, so, with your permission, I will ask Dr. Warner to perform the procedure right away."

"Certainly, Dr. Fraiser, go ahead with what you think is best. I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, sir. For now, we are treating his spreading wounds as if he were a burn patient. We'll continue IV fluids and try to keep his electrolytes in balance. We're using both oral and topical steroids to treat his mouth and skin. The immediate goal is to keep him from getting pneumonia, as approximately one third of patients with this disorder have pulmonary involvement. Preventing kidney failure is also a main concern. Beyond that, all we can do is treat each symptom individually. If the endoscopic exam shows internal involvement, then we'll be forced to consider trying systemic steroids or IV immunoglobulins."

"Anything else, Dr. Fraiser?" the general asked with a worried look on his face.

"No, sir. I'll report back after we've finished the endoscopy."

"Okay, people, dismissed." The general rose slowly from the conference table, as if he were reluctant to leave the meeting on such a somber note.

* * *

Once again, Dr. Fraiser had to give bad news to the general and Daniel's fellow SG-1 teammates. There was early evidence of spread of the syndrome to Daniel's esophagus and stomach. Based on that finding, Jane surmised that there would be eventual spread to his intestines, as well. If that were to happen, then his chances of survival would be slim.

"I think the time has come to try systemic treatment," the doctor said to the group. "The literature supports the use of systemic steroids, but with so many internal ulcerations, I am afraid that they might cause a GI bleed. Instead, I think we should try the IV immunoglobulins. They may not help, but they are much less likely to do harm."

"How long will it be before you know whether or not the treatment is working?" the general inquired.

"That's hard to say, sir. The treatment is so controversial that there really isn't any standard for an expected response. We'll just have to try it and use a wait and see approach. I know I keep repeating this, but I really wish I had better news."

"Gee," Sam responded, "the poor guy just can't get a break."

"It certainly appears that way," Janet added wearily.

"Dr. Fraiser, I am sure that you are doing all that you can to save Daniel Jackson's life."

"Thanks, Teal'c. We are… and nobody wants to see him get better than my staff and me."

"All right, SG-1," the general began, "I expect all of you to either go home or go to your quarters on base and get some sleep. You won't be helping Dr. Jackson by exhausting yourselves. If Dr. Fraiser has anything significant to report, we'll keep you updated. Dismissed."

* * *
Over the course of the next four days, the medical staff gave round the clock, constant attention to Daniel's open sores. IV immunoglobulins were administered and everyone was anxious to see if there would be any improvement in his condition. Even Janet was starting to feel that the situation was hopeless when no obvious change occurred. She kept telling herself that experimental treatments sometimes take time to work, as nobody knows the proper dosages to administer. Even so, the strain of managing the situation was taking its toll on her physically and emotionally.

It was on the fifth day of treatment that his condition stabilized. He was no better, but he certainly was no worse. Janet wasn't getting her hopes up, as patients often stabilize or even rally before crashing completely.

The sixth day brought cautious optimism because some of his skin lesions showed signs of healing. The sense of relief and optimism was almost palpable on the base. It appeared that Dr. Jackson's illness had taken a toll on all of his co-workers and that each person had been pulling hard for him.

Ten days after his initial dose of the immunoglobulins, the swelling in his airway had diminished enough that he was breathing on his own and starting to fight the ventilator. Based on that finding, with Jack, Sam, Teal'c, and General Hammond staring down at her from the observation room, Janet decided to remove the breathing tube and see if Daniel could make it on his own. Just in case, she had a team with a crash cart standing by.

Everyone in the room held their breath while Janet extracted the tube and then placed her stethoscope on Daniel's chest. She carefully listened to various areas over his lungs. When she finally removed the instrument from her ears and turned to face those in the observation room, she had a huge smile on her face and gave a "thumbs up" signal.

Although she couldn't hear it, she could see General Hammond and the team clapping, cheering, and slapping each other on the back. At least Jack, Sam, and the general were. Teal'c was looking on with one eyebrow raised and a look that clearly said, "You are indeed crazy."

Because he no longer required the assistance of the ventilator, Janet's new plan was to reduce the sedation so he could begin to interact with his surroundings again, although he continued to receive IV pain medication. Over the next few days, Daniel's mouth started to heal and he began to take liquid nourishment. He was also allowed visitors for brief periods.

Of course, the colonel couldn't resist picking at the still silent archaeologist, taking advantage of the fact that he wouldn't be receiving any sarcastic retorts.

"I dunno, Daniel."

His friend looked up at him with what appeared to be a quizzical expression.

"I'm just not that comfortable having to call you Three Eyes. I think Four Eyes had a much better ring to it."

"Yack!"

"Excuse me; did Dr. Jackson just call me some sort of long-haired wild ox?"

While the others grinned at their exchange, Janet responded, "Why yes, colonel, I believe that he did and I think I think that you've just earned a new nickname. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other patients to tend to."

It felt good to be able to focus her attentions elsewhere… to go home at night and sleep well knowing that her patient had survived the crisis and would soon be on the mend with a little physical therapy to help him regain his strength. The only permanent difference in Daniel's overall health was that he would head through the stargate with a hefty supply of antihistamines in his system and in his backpack. Janet wasn't fooled into thinking that this would be Dr. Jackson's only brush with death while under her care, but she was relieved to know that he would live to continue to search the galaxy for his lost wife… and that she had fought hard for her patient and come through the battle with a win that had more than beaten the odds.

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V is for Varied, but Ultimately for Vivivy
by acarlgeek

Vivify vt 1. to give life to; make come to life; animate 2. to make more lively, active, striking.

Everything associated with Janet Fraiser is connected to life. For starters, she has dedicated her life to saving lives.

She is valiant. When necessary, she will work under fire or face down a self-proclaimed goddess to protect the health of someone in her charge.

Her diminutive stature seems to focus and concentrate her personal vivacity, resulting in a vivid source of energy and hope for her patients. Her vigilance on behalf of those patients is legendary: everyone from the General down the lowliest airman can verify her medical diligence and how vociferously she makes her professional opinion known.

The vehemence with which she argues for the welfare of others is only part of how she brings life to everything and everyone around her. Her medical training, intuition, and experience are a formidable combination when applied to preserving the lives of those in her care. She doesn't surrender until she has vigorously pursued all possible (and some impossible) avenues of response.

Whether it's keeping someone else alive, or her own vibrant vitality; it's life. Janet Fraiser is a vital force working to preserve vital forces.

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W is for Wound
by crazedturkey

Wound: Trauma to any of the tissues of the body especially that caused by physical means and with the interruption of continuity.

i) Open wound: In which the tissues are exposed to air.

"Ow, ow, ow," Colonel O'Neill winced.

Repeatedly.

Janet rolled her eyes. It didn't matter how many times she sutured O'Neill. He carried on every single time.

The man had just spent a day in the field with a six centimetre open wound from a Jaffa's blade across his right forearm. Carrying weapons. Carrying other soldiers.

And for some reason it was always the sight of the needle that made him complain.

Baby.

Janet kept her voice very even. "I think you'd prefer it if I used the anaesthetic, Colonel." She kept her eyes on the sterile field in front of her, continuing to inject the local steadily even as the litany of complaint continued above her head.

"That's anaesthetic?" O'Neill whined. "Feels more like battery acid."

"I have some of that out back."

O'Neill blinked. "Funny, doc," he said sarcastically. "I bet it's right next door to the rack."

"Oh that only comes out on very special occasions, Colonel. I really have to like you."

There was a pause. "Seriously?" O'Neill finally spluttered.

Janet had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "Worst parts done, Colonel."

O'Neill opened his mouth before tilting his head with surprise. "What, really?"

"Yep. We'll just get these stitches in now. You shouldn't feel a thing."

Janet was well into the fifth suture before O'Neill started speaking again. "I see what you did there, Doc."

She kept right on working. "Uh-huh?"

"Distraction." The Colonel tapped his nose with his free hand. "Very clever."

The last suture went in cleanly and Janet tied it off with a flourish. She stood off and started stripping off her gloves. "No, Colonel," she said briskly. "I was quite serious. But I have to really, really like you." She winked.

O'Neill didn't seem to know whether to look surprised or confused. Janet left him there to work it out, adding a little extra bounce in her step as she went, just for his benefit.

ii) Incised wound: A clean cut as by a sharp instrument.

Under a surgical cap every face looked smaller. The oxygen mask, even a clear one, reduced a face to nothing but a pair of eyes. On top of that Daniel Jackson's face was pale and drawn.

Janet was busy at the head of the bed setting up her medications for an anaesthetic. The nurses were busy applying his vital sign monitors, buzzing around the room. Dr. Hardwick, the surgeon on call that evening, was on the other side of the operating theatre glass scrubbing his hands.

"We were supposed to go off world today," Daniel muttered.

Janet was concentrating on her drugs and missed his statement.

"Sorry, Daniel?" She said from the anaesthetic trolley.

He swivelled blue eyes, made even more blue from the colour of the surgical cap, up towards her. "We were supposed to go off world today," he said. "They'll be going without me."

Janet shook her head. "Actually they've been stood down."

Daniel closed his eyes. "Jack's going to kill me."

"I think he's going fishing." Janet laughed. "He'll probably kiss you."

Daniel smiled wryly but it didn't touch his eyes. Janet wrinkled her nose. "Pain?" she asked.

"A little," Daniel said. For Daniel that was a big admission.

Janet went to his side and lifted the IV connector. "I'll give you a little something. It'll make you drowsy, ok?"

"Isn't that the idea?"

"Now you're getting it," Janet smiled.

Janet injected the drug and watched Daniel's face relax as she did. As soon as she was sure he was dozing, she turned back to her set up.

A few minutes later, Daniel's eyes opened again. He stared at her, his eyes slightly glazed.

"It's ok, Daniel. I'm about to send you off to sleep now," Janet gently patted his shoulder. She lifted the IV connector to begin injecting the anaesthetic. "It's going to sting a bit, ok?"

As the white liquid began to flow into the tubing Daniel opened his eyes again. "Janet?" He whispered. "Am I going to be ok?"

Janet reached out a hand to rub his shoulder soothingly. "It's just an appendix, Daniel. Hardwick's done a thousand. And I'll be right here the whole time."

"Right here?"

"Right here."

iii) Gunshot wound: Made with a bullet or other missile projected by a firearm.

There was a common belief on the base that Teal'c didn't feel pain.

Janet didn't feel it was her place to correct that misconception. It was her place to ignore it.

The problem was that Teal'c didn't cry out. He didn't pull faces. Janet had never seen him cry from pain.

The tell with Teal'c was a noise. So fine that you couldn't even call it a grunt. It was more of a heavy exhalation. When Janet heard that, and heard it repeatedly as she could now, then she knew she was in trouble.

The solution was the symbiote.

The symbiote was also the problem.

For some reason opiates didn't work. Janet had a theory that it was something to do with the naquadah markings left by a symbiote given that Sam too now needed virtually enough to tranquilise a horse just to take the edge off. For whatever reason it meant that in Teal'c the presence of the symbiote meant that she was almost powerless to stop the pain.

Teal'c's team members knew that, probably better than Janet because they were in the field together. They also knew when Teal'c was in pain.

The three of them were standing at the end of Teal'c's bed, providing just enough space for the staff to walk past, but no more. All of them were dust and battle stained, and all of them wore identical expressions of worry and frustration.

As always it was Colonel O'Neill who spoke for them all. "Are you going to do something, doc?" His tone was mild but there was a world of pent up anger in his tone.

Janet's staff were already bringing her exactly what she needed so she was able to answer the colonel truthfully.

"Yes, Colonel," she said briskly. A nurse handed her a kidney dish. Janet removed the syringe and injected the drugs straight into an IV she had sited on Teal'c earlier.

"These are some vitamins, Teal'c, and a whole lot of iron," she said. "Give it a minute and I'm sure it'll work."

At the foot of the bed, Daniel Jackson had put out a hand to stop the Colonel storming forward. "Vitamins, Janet?" He said flatly, clearly voicing the thoughts of both Sam and the Colonel who were staring daggers at Janet.

"It seems to help the symbiote work faster," Janet explained. She gestured to the nurse. "I need forceps and a scalpel please." Janet put one hand on the pillow next to Teal'c's head and looked down into his distracted eyes. "Teal'c, your symbiote is going to be able to heal you faster if it's not having to work around a foreign body. So I'm going to take the bullet out, ok?" She started prepping the skin with betadine. "I can give you some anaesthetic but it probably won't work. Do you want it anyway?"

Teal'c gritted his teeth and shook his head minimally.

"Janet!" Sam exclaimed.

Colonel O'Neill showed even less restraint. "No anaesthetic, Janet? For God's sake!"

Janet started laying out her sterile drapes. "It's his decision, Colonel. Now I'm going to have to ask you all to leave, please."

"No way."

"No chance."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Janet didn't even bother looking up from her field. "That's an order."

There was another round of angry denials. The noise only stopped as Teal'c slowly lifted his head from the bed.

"Doctor Fraiser has my complete trust," he said slowly and softly. "Please do as she asks."

His team members swapped glances. "You're right, T," O'Neill finally said. "We'll see you soon. Take care of him, Doc."

Janet lifted her scalpel. "That goes without saying, Colonel."

iv) Abraded wound: An excoriation or circumscribed removal of the superficial layers of skin or mucous membranes.

Sam had the tight, scrunched up face of someone fighting tears. She was sitting on the side of an infirmary bed, her head downcast. Her face was still marred by grazes tracking across and down the both sides of her face. After several days the wounds were healing slightly, dried skin flaking around sections of new pink skin.

Two days on the run from one of the most lethal enemies every faced by the stargate program and those grazes and a twisted ankle were about the most significant injury that Sam had sustained.

The most significant visible injury that Sam had sustained.

"They shouldn't have called you in, Janet," she said. She looked unutterably miserable.

Janet put her purse on the table and rubbed her eyes free of sleep. "Sam it's ok."

Sam bit her lip and turned her head to one side. "I just wanted something to help me sleep,"

The bed creaked as Janet climbed up next to Sam. The depression of the mattress jostled Sam's body but she didn't raise her head.

Janet laid a careful hand on her friend's arm.

"Janet, I'm fine," Sam said. The quaver in her voice gave her away.

"Yeah, you don't look it."

Sam stared at the ground.

"Why did you come in, Sam?"

Sam started wringing her hands, washing them together in a slow, tense motion. "I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares?" Janet guessed. Sam nodded.

"Tell me about them?"

Sam squeezed her eyes shut. "Every time I close my eyes I see him, chasing me."

"The super soldier?"

Sam nodded.

"How long has that been happening?"

"Every night since I got out of here," Sam took a shuddering breath. "It's so stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"Yes, it is," Sam said. Tears filled her eyes and she dashed them away angrily. "You don't see Colonel O'Neill in here at 3am in the morning crying do you?"

It was moments like this when Janet wished she could break doctor patient confidentiality. It might have really helped her friend.

Instead she reached out and took Sam's hand in her own. "What do you want me to do, Sam?"

Sam's face was very still and her eyes were shut. Tears were coursing silently down her cheeks. "Help me," she said, finally.

Janet smiled and squeezed her friend's hand. "That I can do."

v) Penetrating wound: a wound with disruption of the body surface that extends into underlying tissue or into a body cavity.

Janet could see nothing at the corners of her vision.

She could feel nothing, see nothing. She had a vague idea that she should be in more pain than she could possible imagine. Even on her back, fighting to breathe, she took the time to wonder if it was perhaps due to her pain synapses being overwhelmed.

She found it odd that she was having so much trouble focusing on the problem.

Floating above her she could see the outlines of Daniel. His voice came from far away echoing down the tunnel that was her vision.

"It's ok, Janet, help's coming," he was saying.

Or she thought he was saying.

She felt fingers twine with hers a warm hand squeezing hers, grounding her even as she felt herself slipping away.

"Where are you, Daniel?" She cried out, fearful of the darkness creeping steadily across her eyes.

"I'm right here," Janet heard a voice say soothingly. "Everything's going to be ok."

All definitions from Stedman's Medical Dictionary 27th ed. (2000) Lippincott, Williams and Wilkins, USA.

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X is for Xenopathology

by grav_ity

When she was in med school, they played a game.

It wasn't actually a game. It was an "exercise" run by everyone's least favourite professor that involved identifying the species-of-the-week based on a collection of body parts in trays at the front of the classroom. It smelled terrible and Janet was never sure that it was entirely humane, but this was not the sort of professor one approached with ethical questions, so she let it pass.

She likes to think that the doctor she is now would hand him to the regulatory board and march off for coffee without a second thought.

She's probably right.

+++

When they tell her about the job they are recruiting her for, she thinks it's a game.

It wasn't actually a game, of course: it was deadly serious. But it SOUNDS so ridiculous that she is grateful she's never allowed to tell anyone about it, because she's pretty sure they'd laugh in her face. And now there she is, up to her elbows in Neanderthals who were totally rational people when she had breakfast with them this morning, and she's wondering if it isn't a game after all.

She likes to think that after she learned a bit more about Neanderthals and their culture, she would have treated them differently.

She's probably right.

+++

As the years roll by and things stay crazy, she realizes it's actually a game.

It's insane, she knows this, but she prefers the crazy to the serious, because the serious is usually something she doesn't know how to fix. Alien bugs and electric entities and radiation and memory implantation devices threaten her friends on a semi-regular basis, and she almost looks forward to the times when her biggest problem is that Daniel Jackson sneezed during a religious ceremony and SG-1 was chased back to the 'Gate under fire for breaking the sanctity of the rite. Scrapes and cuts and bones and blood are all things she was trained in, all things she feel comfortable with, all things she knows how to fix.

She likes to think that even if she could go back and tell that girl she was to stop guessing what was in the trays, stop being so gosh darn GOOD at everything that she came to the attention of the recruiters and maybe think twice before agreeing to the job, she wouldn't listen.

She's probably right.

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Y is for Y Chromosome
by pepper_field

Janet had spent the majority of her career as a military doctor treating members of the opposite sex, and their Y chromosomes had long since become a matter of complete disinterest, despite their occasional displays of embarrassment or bluster. She'd treated everyone at the SGC, from the rawest new E-1 to the rather endearing three-star who'd had 'a bit of a funny turn' on a visit to the SGC; from her colleague Doctor Warner to the chronically treatment-phobic Marine sergeant on SG-3. She'd treated her (then not ex-) husband, because he needed that broken arm set and she could curl up and shake once they'd gotten to the hospital and some other doctor was handling his care. She'd treated Major Samuels when she wanted nothing more than to throttle him. She'd treated Siler about once a fortnight, even though they were usually only minor wounds that could just as easily be handled by one of her nurses, purely because she liked to chat with him.

"Doc!"

She rolled her eyes. Of course, some men were easier to treat than others.

"Doc!"

"When your core temperature reaches 37 degrees, Colonel, and not before!" she snapped. There was grumbling, but it petered out noticeably quickly, a sure sign that, however much Colonel O'Neill might protest, he was still feeling the effects of his sustained dip in cold water.

But he'd succeeded in distracting her from her notes. Well, what was the point of being CMO if you couldn't do rounds when you wanted?

Of the three usual suspects currently residing in her infirmary, only one was in the process of trying to make a break for it when she stepped out of her office. "Daniel!"

"Buuuusted," muttered Jack, smugly. For all his griping, he wasn't going anywhere tonight – not after having half a river pumped out of him.

Daniel glanced around in surprise, wobbling alarmingly, but quickly recovered and plastered a smile on his face. "Janet, I'm really feeling much..."

"Back in bed, Daniel."

"...and I have some translations that are really very urgent, General Hammond asked me..."

"Bed, Doctor Jackson. It's the soft, squashy thing with the faint smell of disinfectant, just behind you."

"...and after all, I don't need to use my ankle to read or write, and I'm sure I'd recover much better in a familiar sett—"

"Now!"

It was a tone she used with Cassie more than her patients, but it worked. He sat, swiftly. When she followed it up with a significant glare, he lay back down and pulled the sheet reluctantly over himself. "But I'm booooooored."

Janet pulled out the Yahtzee from his bedside cabinet and smacked it down on his chest. Then, because she was a professional, and would in no way be provoked to ignore her duties by recalcitrant patients, she glanced over his chart and had a quick poke at his ankle. Daniel yelped. "You'll be fine in a few days. Just stay off the ankle." She ignored the muttered yahvol, too.

It looked like the Colonel was already halfway towards sleep, so she tweaked his curtains so the main lights wouldn't bother him, and moved on to Teal'c. Sam had looked torn between smugness and worry at being the only uninjured quarter of her team, as she'd helped Teal'c to the infirmary.

Teal'c was sitting up against the pillows. Janet checked the monitors, and noted with approval that Junior seemed to be doing good work. "And how're you feeling, Teal'c?"

"Much improved. I believe that my symbiote has been successful in countering the poison."

Janet hmmed in agreement. "It certainly looks that way. Your b.p. is back up, the fever is gone – how're the headache, the nausea?"

"Gone."

"And your tongue?" Teal'c obligingly stuck out his tongue. "Not blue and yellow – always a good sign," she smiled. Teal'c twinkled back at her. "Well, Teal'c, I'm happy to release you to quarters if you'll come back for a checkup tomorrow morning," she said, and ignored an indignant archaeological squeak.

"That would be most acceptable," said Teal'c, wasting no time in getting out of bed. He stood, and bowed slightly towards her. "Again I must thank you for your care, Doctor Frasier," he said, before turning on his heel and departing. Janet watched him go, feeling appreciated.

Now there went a Y chromosome carrier who knew how to properly treat his physician.

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Z is for Zombie
by dm_lunsford

"Is this absolutely necessary?"

Janet huffed in annoyance that was only partly for show. She didn't fault Daniel for being impatient with medical procedures, especially since he'd been through a full round of them before returning to the states. But what did he expect after getting himself kidnapped by guerrilla troops, subjected to torture, and then shot in the back of the leg?

"Shall I pretend you didn't ask that," she paused to prod expertly with her fingertips around the still tender flesh of his injury, "or do you really believe I'm prone to wasting time on superfluous examinations?"

"Neither, in fact," his voice tightened slightly as she pressed what must have been a particularly sensitive spot near his wound. "It was my speculating that Jack might have put you up to this."

"I see." She purposefully waited a couple more heartbeats before adding, "Although if he had, what makes you think I'd admit it?"

Daniel craned his neck to peer at her over his shoulder, eyebrows arching above an expression of disapproval. "And all this time I thought you were on my side."

"What?" A voice unexpectedly sounded from the other side of the privacy curtain. "You haven't learned by now that the doc doesn't take sides?"

Janet shrugged innocently at her patient. It didn't surprise her that O'Neill had come to the infirmary. She was merely relieved he'd stayed away long enough for her to complete the examination. She motioned to Daniel that he could dress and stepped around the curtain.

"Colonel." She addressed him with a friendly nod before picking up Daniel's medical chart.

"So, Doc, how is Indiana Jackson doing after his adventure in Central America?"

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to call me that any longer," Daniel, voice laced with irritation, called from behind the curtain.

"Yes, but you were out of your head on pain medication at the time, so it doesn't count," O'Neill teased good-naturedly. "And don't interrupt. I asked Fraiser a question."

After seven years Janet had learned to tune out the majority of Daniel and the colonel's bantering, but she considered it one of her finely honed skills to know when to join in their conversation. This time, however, she chose not to respond, even as O'Neill stared at her expectantly. Instead she took her time marking various items on Daniel's chart, intent on making the colonel wait.

Sometimes, it was the little things she loved most about her job.

When she heard Daniel draw back the privacy curtain she made one final note on his chart, slipped her pen in the pocket of her lab coat, and glanced up to meet their gazes.

"Your wound is healing nicely," she told Daniel. If pushed to admit it, she'd developed a certain level of territorial prerogative during her tenure at the SGC. But she wasn't above giving credit where it was due. "The doctors who attended to your injury did an excellent job, and I'm pleased with your progress."

Daniel nodded and then indicated the crutches secured under his arms. "Any idea how long I'll need these?"

"I wouldn't want to make a prognosis on that just yet." Setting the chart aside she crossed her arms and fixed him with a look full of seriousness. "I don't know if the other doctors told you, but you're definitely lucky that you suffered no severe nerve damage or bone fracturing in your leg. Still, there's a significant amount of bruising and other minor damage to the area where you were shot. And we need to watch, to make certain infection doesn't set in. Provided you continue the physical therapy exercise we discussed earlier, and don't over-exert yourself, then healing should progress steadily. I'll work up a schedule for periodic exams to monitor your progress."

"Thanks, Janet."

"See, I told you not to worry," Jack piped in. "You'll be back on the job in no time."

"Actually, I'm already back on the job. Janet's cleared me for office work."

"Provided you don't over-do it," she reminded, waving a finger at him.

"Of course," Daniel quickly amended.

"Don't get caught up in technicalities," O'Neill harrumphed. "You know what I meant."

It took effort for Janet not to roll her eyes. Given Daniel's experience and fortitude, she didn't doubt he'd make an excellent recovery. But neither did she doubt that it wouldn't be soon enough to prevent the colonel from going stir crazy until he could have his full team ready for duty again.

O'Neill went on, "It'll be no time before you're back out there, helping us battle Anubis and his zombie squads."

"Zombie squads?" Janet and Daniel blurted with simultaneous incredulity.

"Yeah," O'Neill confirmed, as if they were discussing something as common as the weather. "Zombie squads."

"Jack, you can't honestly be considering referring to these new super-soldiers as zombies."

"Why not? Zombies are corpses that come back to life and eat people's brains. Granted, Anbuis' goons aren't doing the brain-eating part, but they measure up in every other way." O'Neill took a step forward, holding up his hands as if he were going to count off supportive points on his fingers. "In the first place—"

"Excuse me," Janet interrupted, stepping between them. Both men froze and glanced down at her. "Daniel, I need to get your medications. Don't leave yet. I'll be right back."

She slipped out of the main infirmary, smiling to herself as she went to collect Daniel's prescription. The way those two carried on could be exasperating at times, but it had become a familiar quirk of their longstanding friendship. Perhaps to outsiders it sounded like inane repartee, but she knew that genuine communication was going on.

In this instance Janet suspected it allowed the colonel to express his relief regarding Daniel's survival on the recent mission. Likewise, it provided means for Daniel to say thanks to O'Neill for coming to the rescue in a way that wouldn't put the colonel on edge.

And, she thought somberly, it's giving them both the opportunity to work out some frustration over this latest challenge Anubis has thrown at us. Better to make zombie jokes than give in to the fact that these new soldiers can't be killed by any of the normal means we employ.

They were still engaged in debate when Janet returned, not that she had expected otherwise. She double checked to make certain instructions were clearly labeled on the medications and then held them out to Daniel. He was too engrossed in the discussion to notice.

"But that's merely a popular modern cultural understanding of the term." He was making a valiant effort to wave his hands in emphasis of his argument while still holding on to his crutches. "Zombi - spelled without an 'e' - was originally the name of a snake deity from African mythology."

Of course, he would find a way to bring the topic around to some anthropological case, she considered in silent amusement. Aloud she said, "Daniel, here are your meds."

O'Neill scoffed, "What does that have to do with anything? Or are you going to try and tell me this snake god somehow brought dead people back to life?"

"As a matter of fact, the connection has to do with the serpent god's association with the voodoo - or, I should say, vodun - religion," Janet interrupted nonchalantly. "Zombi-Damballah is considered to be the most important of the spirits of the voodoo religion practiced in Haiti. According to its tenants, a dead person can be revived by a voodoo sorcerer. I believe they call the sorcerers bokors."

The two men turned in unison and stared at her in stunned silence for many long seconds.

"Um… that's, um, absolutely correct." Daniel, blinking repeatedly, managed to find his voice first.

O'Neill, recouping next, replied to his friend, "Yeah, you would know something like that." He looked back to Janet, his expression an odd mixture of perplexity and fascination. "But how the hell do you?"

She didn't answer right away, relishing the moment of having them so bewildered. Then she smiled very slowly.

"When I was in med school I roomed for about four months with a Haitian student. She was an amazing person - brilliant, musically talented - and she practiced vodun, which provided her with some interesting views about medicine. We had some fantastic late night conversations."

She could see comprehension register in their faces, but they continued to stare at her in awed silence.

"Daniel, here are your meds." She took his hand and placed the bottle in his palm. "Directions are on the label. You're free to leave the infirmary now. Or," her smile turned sly as she looked them each square in the eye, "you can hang out and continue your discourse on zombies. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Without another word she pivoted and walked away. But she lingered within earshot long enough to hear their parting comments.

"You know, I figured out a long time ago that she's a great doctor and capable military officer," Daniel said. "But who would have guessed she was capable of stupefying the both of us over something as ridiculous as zombies."

"Yeah," O'Neill agreed. "Good thing she's on our side."

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Comments

[yvi]

Wow, so much to read and all in one post. Wonderful!

(And you kind of forgot me on the list :))

[fignewton]

Argh. ::frondesk::, as they say. I checked and double-checked! Or so I thought. :)

Thanks for catching that for me! And if you spot anything else, do let me know.

[cnidarian]

Whee! I heart fandom. And thanks for organising this, Fig!

[fignewton]

Thanks for your own enthusiastic contributions! And yes, SG-1 fandom is pretty awesome. :)

[cnidarian]

I'm all for spreading the Janet love. And I'm leaving for a nomadic third-world existence soon, so I've got to enjoy it while I can. *g*

[samantilles]

Thanks for doing this!

by the way, you should check on the user name functions above-some work because we have the same usernames on both sites, but you're linking to a couple at least where there is no DW account (eg, Rigel 7)

an easy fix for that is replacing < LJ-USER > tag with < *user name="username"* site="livejournal.com"* >

[fignewton]

Yes, I know that the user names are going to be messed up. And if there's time, I'll go back and edit them. But it's kinda low-priority at the moment. :) At the very least, the feedback links go directly to the author's LJ - it'll have to be good enough for now.

[cesy]

These are great. The world needs more Janet.