Janet Alphabet Soup
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.
Shorter ficlets are posted here in full, with links to the author's LJ for feedback; longer fics are excerpted, with links to the author's LJ for the entire story. Readers are strongly encouraged to respond to authors at their own LJs. For the entire anthology in full on a single page, Janet Alphabet Soup has been archived on Dreamwidth.
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."
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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."
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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?"
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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."
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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.
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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."
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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.
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