DISCLAIMER: Yeah, the SG-1 guys are all property of MGM, World 
Gekko Corp and Double Secret productions. This is all in fun, no 
infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. All other 
characters, ideas, etc., herein are copyrighted to the author.
TITLE:  Shattered
AUTHOR: Rowan Darkstar
EMAIL: rowan_d1@yahoo.com
RATING: (R)
ARCHIVE: All archives fine as long as you let me know.
CATEGORIES: Angst, Sam/Janet
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: "Brilliant blue eyes in the dimness and a million 
brilliant thoughts behind.  Dimples and laughter, and a crack 
shot under pressure, and the kindest smile she had ever known, 
and every inch of her body radiating heat and the scent of Sam 
Carter."
TIMELINE: Between fourth and early seventh season, wherever you 
most want to put it.:)
 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, this is FemSlash.  Yes, I know I don't 
normally write FemSlash.  But some stories just show up and won't 
go away until they're written.:)
 

Betas are golden: Teddy E, AnnaK and Katcorvi


SHATTERED
by
Rowan Darkstar (rowan_d1@yahoo.com)
Copyright (c) 2004



"So, I whisper in the dark..."

                  --"Breathe", Michelle Branch


The virus had flared so fast.  Another wild and crazy week at 
Cheyenne Mountain.  One case after another, every one an airman 
who had gone through to assist the Narulen people’s relocation to 
P2C-496.  Irrational behavior, uninhibited impulses, heightened 
experiences and sensations.  The first twenty-four hours of 
quarantining and straps and containment had been precarious and 
wild at best.  Janet Frasier thanked a guardian angel in whom she 
no longer believed (*how could you when every god around you was 
proven false?*) that they had come through without any heavy 
casualties.  Thirty-six hours from the onset and she had blindly 
stumbled upon the simplest of cures.  A beta-blocker she had in 
good supply in the stock room and an easy order for more.

The virus hadn't spread to any personnel who hadn't visited the 
planet.  Even a few of those had come through unscathed, Sam 
Carter among them.  Another twenty-four hours, and the quarantine 
had been relaxed.  The crisis was abating.

Janet Frasier had hardly slept in two days.  She sat alone in her 
lab, bent over a microscope, lights dimmed, watching the virus in 
its dormant state.  She leaned back and started to note something 
on her record book, but she was so exhausted the thought slipped 
from her mind before she could put her pencil into action.  She 
forced a deep breath, leaned in and rested her forehead in her 
hand.  She could have been asleep in seconds, if only her ears 
would stop ringing and her thoughts would hold still.

She didn't hear Sam Carter come in (*even her soldier's instincts 
were tired*), only knew of her presence when a warm hand stroked 
her back.  "Hey," her friend said softly.  The caring and concern 
felt better than Janet wanted to admit.  She lifted her head and 
met Sam's kind gaze.  There was something to be said for working 
with your best friend.  "Hey, Sam.  How are you doing?"

Sam brushed off the question.  "I'm fine.  When was the last time 
you slept?"

Janet offered a weak smile.  "I honestly don’t remember."

"Been there.  Not a good sign.  Take a couple of hours.  It looks 
like things are pretty well under control in the infirmary."

Janet nodded.  "Yeah.  I think we’re through the worst of the 
crisis.  I hope so."

"Where's Cassandra?"

"LeAnn's house, having a lovely time."

The corners of Sam's eyes crinkled with the deeply affectionate 
smile Janet had only ever seen when Cassandra was the subject.  
"Good," Sam said simply.

"Just when we think we've seen it all, eh?" Janet said with a wry 
smile.

Sam lowered her gaze and released a sympathetic sigh.  "But you 
handled it.  Obviously, we were all in excellent hands."

"I got lucky."

Sam's hand rose to stroke the side of Janet's face.  "More than 
that."

Janet leaned into Sam's gentle touch for a moment before Sam let 
her hand fall away.  "Get some rest," she whispered.  "I need you 
to take care of yourself."  And for  the brief breath before Sam 
modified her words--"*we* all *need you*..."--their gazes locked 
in the shadowy laboratory, and the ghost of a shiver traced down 
Janet's spine.

"Yeah," she breathed.  "I'll get some rest."

Sam nodded.  "Good."  And with a light touch of hands, she moved 
away, out the door, down the hall.

Janet pulled the barrette out of her hair and let the disheveled 
and neglected locks fall to her shoulders.  She pushed her tired 
muscles into action as she rose from the lab stool.  She switched 
off the microscope and reached for the slide.

Before Janet could register what was happening, Sam Carter's long 
body was up against hers, palm cradling the side of her neck, and 
Sam's lips closed over Janet's.

Janet's thoughts blurred into sensation and color.  The moment 
felt surreal, she half-wondered if she'd fallen asleep on the lab 
table.  She started to pull back, a hand pushing against Sam's 
upper arm.  "Sam, what are y--," but Sam whispered, 
"Ssssshhh...Don't talk," and closed her eyes and kissed Janet 
again before she could find the words to speak.

Janet tried to breathe.

"Sam..."

"Ssshhh..."

Sam's warm mouth on hers and she tasted of herbal tea and 
blueberry Jell-O and she was drowning in Sam Carter and she was 
kissing back hard before she ever decided what was happening or 
what she wanted.

Sam's hand slid beneath Janet's lab coat and she spread her 
fingers wide over the doctor's ribcage.  Janet's skin quivered 
beneath the caress, and the taut muscles in her back, aching from 
days of grueling tension, eased and softened as her body sank 
against Sam's.  Breasts pressing her collarbone, strong hips 
against her stomach and she knew every inch of this body, had 
treated her for everything under the sun, nursed her flesh back 
to health, but she had never been anything but a friend.  Never 
let her be anything but a friend.

*Because Sam wouldn't want anything else, and Janet would never 
take what wasn't willingly given, so she let the friendship be 
enough, it was enough, it was okay, really, no matter how low the 
neckline of Sam's sundress or how tight her embrace or how gentle 
her hand in her hair, because the friendship was enough, being 
with Sam was enough, being loved by Sam was enough, and she would 
not would NOT hope for anything more.*

Sam's tongue was in her mouth, and her hands were growing braver, 
moving from Janet's ribs, up over breasts, cradling, caressing, 
gentle at first, exploring by the second.

*Oh, God...*

"Sam, what are we--"

Sam broke away from her kiss, leaving Janet cold and bereft, 
despite how much of their bodies touched.  "Do you want me?" Sam 
asked.  Her voice was deep and throaty, cheeks flushed, eyes 
bright and Janet's heart raced against her ribs.  She wondered if 
Sam could feel it.

"Janet?  Do you want me?"  Brilliant blue eyes in the dimness and 
a million brilliant thoughts behind.  Dimples and laughter, and a 
crack shot under pressure, and the kindest smile she had ever 
known, and every inch of her body radiating heat and the scent of 
Sam Carter.

"Yes," Janet breathed.

Sam didn't wait for more.  Janet's single syllable was all the 
license she required.

A hoarse gasp, and Janet was up against the wall, no choice, 
because for all her grace, Sam really was so much stronger.  
Sam's hands were under Janet's blouse, pulling at her shoulder 
blades as they kissed, moving around to knead her breasts, using 
the pressure to pin her to the wall.  No one had touched her 
breasts like that in so long...

Janet knew this was the virus.

Sam had the virus.

She needed to stop this.

"Sam, honey, I think you're--"

"Janet.  I want you..."  Sam was bending down and biting at 
Janet's throat, and Janet could barely breathe.  She combed her 
fingers through Sam's hair, and they were so close all she could 
smell and taste and feel was Sam and the rest of the world was 
dimming out into nothing and if she had ever let herself quietly 
dream of anything (with every breath) it was nothing so powerful 
as this.  Every muscle that had ached and desired for so long was 
being sated and quenched and--

Sam pushed in harder, and somehow Janet's thigh came up tight 
between Sam's legs, nylon and cloth alone between them.  Sam's 
heat spread onto Janet's thigh, and her body flared into matching 
sensation.  Janet felt her core muscles tense and the blood 
rushing between her legs.  "Oh, God, Sam."  She didn't recognize 
her own voice.  Sam's hands in her hair and a lustful cry and 
they had slid to the floor, Janet's back still against the wall.

"Please, Janet..."  Sam was cradling Janet's face, kissing her 
hard, drinking from her mouth as she lowered her weight; she 
straddled Janet's lap as she sat back on the heels of her boots.  
"I need you so bad.  I need this."

The raw desire in Sam's voice sent ripples of pleasure beneath 
Janet's skin and she gave in to a muted cry.  She knew if they 
kept this up, if they made too much noise, someone would come.  
They would know Sam was sick, try to help.

Which she should have been hoping for WAS hoping for, of course 
(*please, Sam, don't be too loud.*)

Sam sank her weight onto Janet's thighs and crotch met crotch and 
Janet gulped in a breath that was more like a desperate sob.  
This was too good, too desperately desired to bear.  There were 
tears in her eyes as she buried her face in Sam's neck and 
wrapped her arms behind Sam's hips, pulling her in ever closer.  
Muscles and strength and long lines and soft feminine curves and 
thin wrists and long fingers and hollow cheeks, words like 'open 
wormhole' that rolled off the tongue with an almost British 
flare, and leather jackets and adrenaline rushes and hot tea by 
the fire and all of this was her Sam Carter and she was 
everything, everything---

Sam's hips were moving against Janet's and the rough seam of her 
BDUs was edging back the hem of Janet's skirt and dragging 
against the nylon and cotton beneath.  This was all too much too 
fast and she couldn't believe how wet she was and how close, how 
easy it would be and how sweet Sam tasted.

She could feel the insistent quivers and ripples beneath Sam's 
skin, across her back; the ever-quickening pace of her breath.

*The virus...*

"Please, Janet...please."  The quiet desperation nearly pulled 
Janet over the edge.  Sam worked the buttons of Janet's blouse, 
curled down and licked at the dampness between her friend's 
breasts.  Janet shivered.

Too much.  She was afraid.  Afraid to touch.  As though reading 
Janet's thoughts, Sam tugged roughly at her own t-shirt, 
untucking it from her pants, and caught Janet's tentative hand, 
guiding it up under her shirt, onto the paper thin satin of her 
bra.

*Oh, God...*

Sam.  This was Sam, her Sam, running hungry fingers through 
Janet's hair (*and she was so tired*), cradling her cheek, 
creeping her hand down, under Janet's skirt, pressing hard 
against—

"Dr. Frasier?"

The door swung open, and cold light spilled in from the hallway.  
The silhouette of Sergeant Manning, Janet's chief Physician's 
Assistant, appeared in the doorway.  "Dr. Frasier?  Are you--"

Sam had turned at the voice and sat now, squinting against the 
glare, a deer caught in headlights.  *So, so beautiful.*

"Please help me with Major Carter," Janet said, struggling to 
summon her last remnants of command.  "She's showing symptoms of 
the virus."

Sam whirled her head toward Janet.  Hurt, confused, resentful.  
Janet looked away.

Sam was still across her lap.  And she ached in the cold.

"Janet?" Sam whispered.

Caught off guard, Sam fell into line as SGT Manning and SGT 
Draco, who had come in behind, took Sam's arms and lead her 
toward the door.  "You all right, Dr. Frasier?" SGT Manning 
called, markedly concerned.

"I'm fine.  I'll be in in a minute," she managed, hardly hearing 
her own reply.  Manning hesitated a moment, looking down at her, 
and she could only imagine the picture she presented.

He gave a final nod and walked away.

She remained alone in the semi-darkness with Sam's scent on her 
skin and her taste on her lips and the blood rushing beneath her 
skin, and cold drafts chilling her sweat-dampened flesh.  She 
heard Sam come to life and start fighting the men in the hallway.  
Janet should have run to help, fetched the tranqs if nothing 
else.  But she pulled her blouse tight closed across her chest, 
tucked her knees in close and waited for the tremors to quiet.


&&&&&&&


The soft beep of the infirmary monitors was comforting, sounds of 
a second home.  Janet glanced down at the clipboard, a couple of 
hours of forced sleep behind her and a long day of work ahead.  
The next chart in front of her was MAJ Samantha Carter's.  Sam 
was awake, stable, awaiting Dr. Frasier's formal discharge.

Janet hesitated a moment before pulling back the curtain.  Sam 
looked up at the swish.  She was sitting on the edge of her cot, 
BDUs on, hair a little tousled, but complexion bright and strong 
as always.  She gave a tentative, close-lipped smile when their 
gazes met.

"Hey, you're awake," Janet said warmly.

Sam nodded.  "Yeah.  Was I really out for six hours?"

She stepped forward and set Sam's chart on the tray beside her 
bed.  Pulling a penlight from her pocket, she answered, "Yes, you 
were.  They sedated you pretty heavily, you didn't want to stay 
down."

"Apparently."

"Look up for me.  Good.  Now follow the light."

"Janet, they said...they said I attacked you."

Janet lowered her penlight, and the intensity and concern in 
Sam's eyes held her prisoner for a moment.  She drew a slow 
breath.  "You don't remember anything?"

Sam shook her head, shrugged.  "No, not really.  A few 
flashes...a big blur, I--did I hurt you?"  The genuine concern 
pulled at Janet's stomach.

"No, not at all, honey, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Perfectly sure, Sam, don't give it another thought."

Sam flinched, looked away.  "God.  Janet, I'm so sorry."

Janet offered a light smile.  "Would you stop?  Did you blame SGT 
Norton or MAJ Daniels for their actions?  You were sick.  It 
happens.  Even to Samantha Carter."

Sam glanced down at her hands, the faintest blush on her cheeks.  
"Apparently."

They were quiet as Janet busied herself with the details of Sam's 
chart.

"What did I do to you?" Sam asked simply.  "I mean...did I hit 
you?  Did I...God..."

Janet shook her head, began removing the IV needle from the back 
of Sam's hand.

"No.  Actually...," she slipped the needle free of Sam's flesh, 
and Sam barely flinched, "you kissed me."

"What?" Sam's voice was hoarse.

Janet nodded and carefully placed a bandage over the back of 
Sam's hand, smoothed it flat.  "Yeah.  You came on to me.  Rather 
strongly."

"You're kidding."  Sam's eyes narrowed and her gaze focused 
somewhere beyond the room.  Janet knew that expression so well.  
"Oh, God...I almost...I can almost remember...something...I am so 
embarrassed, I'm so sorry, Janet, you must've--"

But Janet gave a gentle laugh.  "Sam, it's okay.  We're friends.  
Better me than a stranger, right?"  She picked up Sam's chart and 
flipped to the back to fill out her discharge instructions.

Sam was watching her, an unnerving intensity in her blue eyes; 
seeking.  "Yeah, I...I guess," she said at last, still 
discontent.

Janet signed off on the discharge sheet, yanked it free of the 
clipboard and passed it to Sam.  "Now.  Straight home."

Sam blinked.  "*Home* home?"

"Yes.  Once you've had the virus and the drugs, you're no 
contagion threat, we're releasing people.  But, no driving, 
you'll need a ride."

"I know."

"And lots of liquids to lessen the lingering effects of the drug.  
Okay?"

Sam tossed her a mock salute.  "Yes, Ma'am."

The teasing felt good, and Janet sank into an affectionate smile.  
"Get some rest."

"I just slept six hours."

"Then go home and watch TV.  Read a book.  Just...take it easy."

Sam acquiesced and returned the smile.  "Okay."  She pushed off 
the bed and landed on her feet, but she stumbled just slightly 
and closed her eyes, dizzy or nauseous or both.

Janet grasped her friend's arm, pressed a hand to her back.  
"Easy.  You all right?"

Sam nodded, forcing a deep breath and pulling up to her full 
height.  "I'm fine.  Thanks, Janet.  I'm just going to go snag a 
ride.  Home sounds good."

Janet rubbed her friend's back a moment, then let her go.  "Good.  
Call me tonight."

"Okay."  Sam was almost to the door when she turned and said, 
"Janet...I'm really sorry."

Janet's stomach hurt.  She met Sam's gaze, but she didn't reply.

Sam looked away as she spoke; shy, self-conscious.  Something she 
was trying to say...  "I mean...I can...pretty safely assure you 
it will never happen again, but...I just...I mean, I wouldn't 
want this to...since you obviously didn't get the luxury of 
forgetting the whole thing," *because Sam thought that was a good 
thing, forgetting, she would erase it all if she could, take it 
all away and never want it to happen again*, "I mean, you're a 
good friend, and--"

"I know.  Me, too."  And if Sam caught the strain in Janet's 
reply, she never let on.

Sam took a step away.  "Well.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Janet smiled, nodded.

Sam vanished out the door.

Janet turned to MAJ Carter's chart, tucked it into the rack at 
the foot of the bed.  She glanced at the next chart on her 
roster.  Simple hourly check of vitals; she wasn't needed for 
this.  She turned to a nurse as she approached.  "Could you check 
CPT Turner's vitals for me?  Watch his blood pressure in 
particular, let me know if it's over 200.  I'll be back in a few 
minutes to finish my rounds."

The nurse nodded and took the chart.

Janet made her way to her office.  She closed the door behind 
her, turned the blinds.  She switched on the desk lamp, but left 
the overhead dark.

She sat at her desk in the shadowed office, folded her arms 
across her stomach and dropped her head to her knees.

She tried not to be raw and exposed in this place where she 
worked so hard to be everyone else's strength; she tried not to 
know of the tears on her cheeks, she tried to forget Sam on her 
skin, in her hair, sheltering her fractured soul.  She tried not 
to be without armor.

She tried.


*****

rowan_d1@yahoo.com
http://rowan_d.tripod.com/