She wanted more morphine. She didn't need it but she wanted it.

No one seemed to be willing to give her any though, she had asked, for more, for another dose but she'd already had too much, too soon.

She wanted that euphoric feeling back, even if it was only temporary because right now she wanted to cry and crying wasn't really an option.

Not here.

She had heeded the doctors warnings that she already had a very high tolerance for the dug. That she was already taking the maximum recommended dose. That anymore could damage her.

She knew all that but right now she was willing to risk it because she could feel the tears stinging.

She was even sure what had upset her, what was upsetting her.

Just that she was in pain and it wasn't physical.

She knew she should say something, to someone but it was a lot easier to have another dose of morphine or even to work to exhaustion.

At least she would sleep at night.

Arguments that she could take it, that her unique Tok'ra protein meant she was different had fallen flat, were ignored. She knew that didn't work every time, that more often or not, the protein marker did nothing but it had been worth a shot, this wasn't Janet, she didn't know any better.

It hadn't helped though.

Her leg had been forgotten long ago, the first night when she had woken up from a morphine induced stupor, expecting her leg to hurt but only caring about getting more morphine into her system.

She let the tears falls, unsure how much of this she could take. She was doubting herself at every turn, in ever aspect of her life and she felt like things were falling apart around her.

She felt her mind jumping from one thing to another and she couldn't concentrate. Normally she could connect the dots, make A out of B and have time left over but recently she couldn't keep herself out of the infirmary.

She was falling and tripping and dropping things at every opportunity and she could tell the nurses were getting fed up with patching her up again. The general was fed up of seeing her in there all the time.

She wasn't fed up of being in there.

There was something safe about being in the infirmary. Being looked after, so close to all the equipment that could save her life. All the medication, the drugs that could help her sleep, keep her awake, keep her alive. She felt safe in the infirmary and she didn't like to think about that too deeply because it meant that maybe, just maybe she wasn't feeling so safe. Wasn't feeling so good.

She needed something, needed a reason, to, to do something, get up, get out of here, get out of this place she was in. All she had were reasons to stay in the infirmary, stay doped up on morphine or doped up on anything. All she had were reasons to cry.

But she didn't know what, she could never remember it was him, that he was her reason unless he wasn't there, with her. She forgot about him as soon as he left the room. Because if he wasn't there with her, then he wasn't thinking about her and he didn't care about her.

She wasn't sure if she was paranoid or if it was the effects of the drugs. Wouldn't be the first time.

If she could tell him, say something, then, then maybe he could help. He would help but most days she had trouble saying his rank, let alone ask for his help. Ask for him.

She knew that, there was no help coming from him, not anytime soon, not for this, not under the mountain, only out in the field. If she collapsed out in the field he was at her side in an instant. She had fallen mentally but he couldn't know and he couldn't really help, even if she wanted him to. Wanted him.

Eventually, she knew what would happen. She would lift a little and be let loose in the mountain again and pretend she hadn't cried herself to sleep surrounded by curtains, pretend she wasn't hurting in anyway. Bury herself in work and pretend that he wasn't part of the answer, that his support, his love, that he himself could help her. Bury herself in work and out in the field and in a month or two, end up back here, crying herself to sleep addicted to morphine or the painkiller of the day.

Until, until it went further than a broken bone and broken heart.