* * *

Monday's child is fair of face,

Tuesday's child is full of grace,

Wednesday's child is full of woe,

Thursday's child has far to go,

Friday's child is loving and giving,

Saturday's child works hard for their living,

And the child that is born on the Sabbath day

Is bonny, blithe, good and gay.

* * *

Today is Tuesday.

I’ve never had much luck with Tuesdays.

But, as usual, the Apocalypse didn’t come; instead, I am perched on the edge of an Infirmary bed, watching Janet rub ointment on my singed fingertips.

“So, how did this happen, again?” she asks.  She tries to sound casual, but isn’t very good at posing questions without an undercurrent of interrogation.

“I burned myself on some fried circuits when I was trying to repair long-range communications,” I repeat.  It’s the truth, with certain details omitted.  I know Janet is waiting for me to slip up, but I have big plans for a bubble bath and deep-dish pizza.  As exhausted as I am, there is no way she’s going to trick me into admitting that I electrocuted myself.

“These look more like energy burns, Sam,” she says neutrally as she reaches for a roll of gauze and begins wrapping up my fingers.

“They are,” I answer, and her head snaps up, eyes now dark with open suspicion.  Time to backpedal.  “Little ones.”

“Little ones,” Janet echoes, not looking at all convinced as she tears a strip of cloth tape to hold the gauze closed.  Sensing that this is only going to go from bad to worse, I draw my hand back as soon as she finishes.

“So, can I go?” I ask, trying not to sound too desperate.  Janet sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and staring down at me hard.

“I don’t know, Sam, I’d really like to run a few more tests…”

“I’m fine, Janet,” I interrupt in a way that I hope sounds sincere.  “I’m not leaving anything out, I promise.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Carter,” a voice drawls.  A voice that sounds a lot like that of Colonel Jack O’Neill.  “In fact, I think you’re leaving out…about, say, a couple minutes?”

My eyes widen in visible panic, but there’s no point in trying to hide it now that my cover’s been blown.   The Colonel is hovering in the doorway, as smug as the cat that got the cream.  I throw him a pleading look and protest, “Sir!  I am not!” at the same time Janet asks, “When?” with an alarming amount of interest.

He waggles his finger at me, clearly enjoying himself, and lounges against the door frame.  “Carter, have you been lying to the good doctor?”

I groan and bury my face in my hands.  Janet rolls her eyes as she asks, “How long, Sam?”

“Just a second or two,” I grumble hopefully.  No such luck.

“More like a minute or two.”

I duck my head to avoid Janet’s wrath as she fumes, “God help me, Sam, because you’re obviously trying to drive me nuts.”  A pair of scrubs lands in my lap.  “You have ten minutes.”  I can hear her heels tap towards her office, and I immediately turn and skewer my CO with a glare.

“Payback’s a bitch, sir.”  I’m trying for menacing, but based on the Colonel’s broad smirk I’m guessing that I’m not quite pulling it off.  Why does he find this so goddamn funny?  “What is it that you’re trying to do, earn brownie points?”

He ambles over, hands nonchalantly stuffed in his pockets.  “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, time spent putting me in the good graces of our favorite little Napoleon is time will spent.”  I notice that he doesn’t bother to keep his voice low, and apparently so does Janet.

“I heard that, Colonel.”  She would’ve heard him even if he’d been whispering; Janet has ears like a bat.  “Nine minutes left, Sam, I’m not kidding!”  I nod reflexively and reluctantly scoot forward until my right foot rests on the floor.

“I want to go home,” I confess, staring at my bootlaces and wondering what my odds of escape are.

“I know, Carter, I know.”  He softens and sits next to me on the bed.  “But you were electrocuted, and how often does that happen, even at the SGC?”

I raise my eyebrows.  “Every day?”

“Zats not included,” he amends, and I allow myself a small smile.  “You know, I wouldn’t be a very good CO if I let you sneak out of here.”

“Even if that’s what you would do, sir?”

He smiles sheepishly.  “Yeah, yeah, do as I say, not as I do.”  We subside into silence, each lost in our own thoughts.  I start picking lint off the thin cotton blanket.

“Do you ever get tired of saving the world?”  The words are out of my mouth before I realize I’ve spoken, and I stare at my hands, trying furiously not to blush.  The colonel glances at me, but chivalrously pretends not to notice.

“Yes.  But probably not for the same reasons you do.”  He rests his chin on his hand philosophically.  “The problem is that we’re too good at it.  Now people *expect* this kind of thing from us.”

He may be laughing, but my chest feels tight with guilt.  Who do we think we are, exactly, to go around playing God?  Biting my lip, I snap, “I nearly killed six billion people today.”

The colonel pauses uncertainly.  I can practically hear the gears turning as he switches to a different tact.  “The rest of us would’ve been just as guilty, Carter.”

I shake my head vehemently.  “No, sir.  It came down to my decision.”  Frustrated, I wiggle my newly bandaged fingers experimentally, but the discomfort isn’t as distracting as I’d hoped.  “God, I was responsible for the entire planet.”  My mouth is suddenly dry, and I swallow uneasily.  “What if I was wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong,” he replies quickly, certainly.  Ah, the benefits of denial.

“But what if I was?”

“Then you wouldn’t have lived long enough for regrets,” he answers, shrugging, and I realize this conversation is going nowhere.

Running a hand through my hair, I sigh in exasperation.  “It’s just…a lot of pressure, sir.”

“It is.  But we have faith in you, Carter.”  After a moment’s hesitation, he rests his hand on my shoulder.  “I have faith in you.”   He squeezes gently before withdrawing to safer territory.  His absolute trust is touching, if a bit disturbing.

“Are you speaking for Earth, sir?”  God, I sound like him, resorting to sarcasm when it all gets to be too much.

“No.  Only for the people that matter.”  My head snaps up, and I stare at him uncertainly.  He gets to his feet, smiling down at me proudly.  For once, he is serious, his eyes warm.  “You did good today, Carter.”

I watch him leave.  His timing is, of course, impeccable; he escapes into the hallway just before an irate Janet rounds the corner, announcing, “Sam, if you haven’t changed by now, so help me…”

I glance down at the folded scrubs still sitting on the bed.  She’s going to kill me.  I smile anyway.

Maybe Tuesdays aren’t so bad after all.

*fin*