AN: Sam-neck: A rare condition, generally found in older men. Although repeated instances do happen, the first injury seems to be the worst. Often accompanied with bruised lips. The source of the trouble has thus far eluded medical research.
This is part of a verse that I am not posting to fanfic dot net called Sam and her boys. But since Siler needs more fic and this works stand-alone... :)
Siler liked the infirmary. It hummed with attention since the staff was always expecting trouble and ready for it, but it was also good at isolating you into a protected cocoon. The chaos beyond the curtain around his bed wasn't his to be concerned about; no one here was going to light up at the sight of him and expect him to know how to keep the problem from blowing up until Sam and her men could fix it. He could lay there and wait for the painkillers to take the edge off the jagged slice in his thigh and just listen distractedly to the other poor sods who came in while he tried to think of what the hell could be wrong with Elevator 3.
"Doc? Ah, can you check something out for me?"
Siler perked up; speaking of Sam's man. He followed the sound of the visiting DC general as his voice moved to the next bed over; O'Neill was always fun. Probably not for the staff when they had to keep him here against his wishes, but for Siler who just had to *listen* to his familiar voice as he tried to escape, it was high entertainment.
"Your neck, I take it, general?" Siler grinned briefly; by the humour in the doctor's voice, the general's posture must be *interestingly* obvious.
"Yeah, ah, was, ah, working under the truck. And.. I guess I must have turned my head a little too sharply." Siler blinked, wondering why the gravely words made a faint bell ring at the back of his mind.
He heard a hiss of pain as the doctor no doubt 'played around' with the sore area to analyze the problem. "These tendons are strained pretty badly, general. Are you sure you haven't done anything else lately?" Siler heard a moan before the doc continued, "This is a lot more like the kind of injury I get from recruits still learning to deal with real soldiers not pulling punches in the training ring..."
The grumpy, obviously lying grumble that followed that leading question faded from the sergeant's mind as that faint bell finally made sense; he remembered now. Years ago.. a very hot night that had taught him that a woman didn't stop being a soldier because she was in bed and didn't suddenly stop being powerful just because she was off the clock. He grinned, the hum that appeared in his body making his pain fade very efficiently.
On the one hand, he sympathized with the general; that little 'injury' hurt like bloody hell and took a surprising amount of time to heal. On the other hand, Siler sighed quietly, the lucky sod was going to get some great TLC. And for him to have gotten the injury meant that he and Colonel Carter had finally gotten themselves sorted out after all those years. Which meant he was also going to get some great sex; lucky bastard. Umph, make that, some *more* great sex; Siler bet last night hadn't ended with his little injury. Not only did the worst pain not start right away, but the other involved party could be trusted to feel very 'apologetic' for the contretemps.. especially with the way *their* body was feeling at that point...
Oh well, he shrugged, his own life wasn't that bad; though he was really overdue to get himself a sex-buddy, he suddenly realized.
He quirked a grin, and both those stubborn people were going to be a lot of fun to be around for a while.
Now, should he still leave the man his old treasure trove of pictures of Sam? In the old days he'd figured it might kick him into action.. but now it just *might* cause trouble. Maybe he'd better change his will to having them destroyed instead.