Disclaimer: Nothing SG-1 related belongs to me.
Summary: He's whistling the tune to something she can't quite pick up, and it's irritating the hell out of her.
He's whistling the tune to something she can't quite pick up, and it's irritating the hell out of her. Not because he's whistling, but because she can't figure out what he's whistling.
Then something else registers in Sam's mind.
He's whistling. Therefore, he's awake.
Eyes snapping open, she lifts her head from her arms where she's been leaning on his bed. She smiles as his dark eyes drift toward her, gleaming with - happiness? - as he grins back at her.
She sits up, scoots her chair impossibly closer. Her hand brushes the short hairs at his forehead. "Hey," it's all she can say at the moment, too choked up with relief for words.
"Hey," he croaks back at her.
Watching confusion pass over his features as he blinks, eyes traveling down his body from his reclining position on the bed, Sam takes his hand in hers and squeezes gently. He's noticed the brace on his right leg. "It's broken," she confirms his thoughts, unsure if he can even feel it with all the pain medication he was on.
He sighs, groans, and carefully tosses his head back against the pillows. His head feels like someone took a jackhammer to it, but the ache in his leg is mostly a dull throb.
She doesn't need more than that. She knows what he means. Without glancing at the clock she calmly tells him, "About twelve hours,"
Jack blinks, nods slowly. His eyes scan over her studiously. The furrow between his brows deepens. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," Sam nods, smiles tightly, squeezes his hand again. She hasn't let go. "Now I'm okay,"
He smiles back at her, the brightness reaching his eyes. Jack's thumb begins to rub a slow circle against her hand. "Me too,"
It's quiet for a long while. They stay there, hand in hand, grateful of each other's company.
She suddenly tilts her head, raises an eyebrow and questions, "What were you whistling?"
It takes a moment for him to recall, his thoughts shifting backwards realize what she was talking about. Then he grins lopsidedly and says, "The Simpson's theme,"
Sam ducks her head, laughs softly, then looks back into his deep brown eyes. "Figures."