"How long do I have to stay here?"

Richie Ryan's complaint was met with a stern glare from his doctor. Kate MacGregor flipped his chart shut with one deft motion of her hand. "Precisely as long as it would take anyone else to heal." She reminded in a whisper. "You know better than to ask that question. I clear you for active duty and General O'Neill's going to be a might bit curious as to how you managed to heal up from a staff weapon blast so quick."

The younger Immortal groaned and let his head fall back onto the pillow with a thump. "This *sucks*." He muttered. "I hate being stuck in here. I'm fine!"

"But you aren't supposed to be." She pointed out, annoyed. "Even young men in their early twenties don't heal that fast." Unable to resist, the Scotswoman added, "If you were smart enough to avoid getting yourself shot then you wouldn't have to be in here at all now would you?"

"Ah, but you'd miss me, Doc." Richie winked roguishly. "And my charming smile."

Kate snorted and pretended to take his pulse. "I take it back. Next time the Jaffa shoot you, stay still so they can aim for your head."

"Ouch." He clutched at his chest. "You wound me, Doc."

"You do that quite well enough on your own." Leaning down, she added in a murmur, "You are Immortal Richie, as am I, and our service here is quite precarious as you well know. One wrong move and our secret could fall into some very dangerous hands."

"The risk's worth it!" Richie interrupted stubbornly. "You can't argue with that."

"No, I can't." She agreed calmly. "I can, however, point out that taking unnecessary risks could end us both in a laboratory somewhere or *you* in the hands of someone like Nirrti. She might be gone but I'm quite sure there're a few Goa'uld out there who'd just love the idea of a host who didn't age or die and didn't need a sarcophagus to pull off those particular little tricks." Straightening up, Kate gave him another stern look. "You mind your head out there, young man. It's not just yours you're risking."

"Hey DOC!" The voice of the aforementioned General cut through the tense moment sharply, making Kate jump.

She gripped the chart in her hands tightly and closed her eyes. "Bloody mortals. We need to put bells on the lot of them." With that, she pointed at him. "Get shot less." Then whirled about to go greet General O'Neill.

"She acts like I try it." Richie muttered to himself, closing his eyes to fake a drugged sleep. That was almost worse than the saline injections which faked the actual sedatives. Sometimes, the whole pretending to be mortal gig was a little much but, Doctor MacGregor'd been at it longer and she pretty much had it down to a fine art.

But he still hated the damn needles and the fake 'recovery'. He wanted to be out there, hard at it, not trapped in the infirmary suffering through fake injections, bandage changes, and lectures from the good Doctor. Even if she was kinda cute. He opened one eye and promptly recieved a warning glare from said doctor who was in mid conversation with General O'Neill. Heaving a sigh, he slid the eye shut again and resisted the urge to fake a snore.

He snored and the doc really would kill him, five or six times at least, and...besides...she was right. Careful was the name of the game and if he was going to be MVP, he had to learn to play it more her way than his.

After all, she'd told told him to get shot less and, well, doctor's orders...

 

Disclaimer: I own Kate. That's it.

 

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