Title: The Knife's Edge of Madness
Author's LJ/DWJ: none known
Categories: au, drama, episode related, awesome women, repercussions, super sam
Warnings: None
Author's Webpage/Fic list: Strix_varia25
Link to story: The Knife's Edge of Madness
Why this should be read:

In Desperate Measures, what if the team hadn't found where Sam was being kept?  That's the premise of this well-written AU.  Instead, Sam escapes on her own ... but with a traumatic brain injury that leaves her disabled and with only fleeting memories of who she is and where she comes from, and what she does for a living.  This is a Sam stripped of everything she takes for granted: her status in the Air Force, her team, her body, even her mind.  This is a Sam struggling with the frustration of trying to relearn the basics of every-day life.  This is a Sam trying to reconcile memories of impossibilities--wormholes, aliens, starships--in a world that doesn't know about the Stargate Program.  Yet through it all, she remains the Sam we know and love.

 

The physical therapists descended like locusts. They called her "Jane" and made her exercise her brain and body. Some of the routines seemed almost familiar. Her motor skills were good, they said, except for her right hand. It was sluggish, uncoordinated. They said it would improve with practice. Her memory might return with time. They worked with her on speaking, but the disconnect remained. An eloquence of thought was thwarted by a tongue and mouth that would not follow orders. She felt trapped inside her damaged mind, and the hollowness of it frightened her.

They taught her to button her shirt with one hand. They taught her to tie her shoes. Writing was more difficult. She had trouble holding the pen, and her hand shook uncontrollably. Her letters looked they'd been made by a child. A child with tremors. She was amazed the therapist could read them.

They taught her how to open cans and cook. They taught her to balance a checkbook. They tried to teach her how to use a calculator, but she didn't need one. She seemed to be good with numbers. Very good. She did not seem to be good at cooking. Simple things were often hard. She could never remember how much shampoo to use.

They were as surprised as she was when she sat down at a computer and knew how to use it. It was easier to type than write with a pen. She could aim her right index finger to hit the keys. They were more impressed when she fixed a program on one of the nurse's computers that had crashed. Eventually, they turned her loose on a broken PC, and the tech watched in bemusement as she fixed it left-handed… without specs. After that, her physical therapy often involved handling tools and typing. Screwdrivers were the hardest, but she managed to repair the microwave in the kitchen under the watchful supervision of the electrician. They speculated that she might have been an electrical engineer. Perhaps that explained why she could remember how to diagnose a circuit board, but not how to mash potatoes.

Her speech progressed slowly. She learned to form words. It was slow and painful and embarrassing. Eventually she was able to form short sentences, but she had to concentrate on each word. Often she forgot what she was trying to say. She dreaded speech therapy, hated having to try to talk. They said she might always have trouble with it, but told her she was lucky. Some people could not read, write, or understand speech at all. She did not feel lucky.

Social services helped her get clothes and a social security card. To the government, she was officially Jane Doe. The CIS department in the hospital hired her on a trial basis. Dr. Whelan helped her find a small apartment near the hospital and took her shopping for necessities. And then he took her to dinner. He didn't mind that the conversation was one-sided. She didn't mind the company.

"Jane, what are you doing?" Tony asked, looking over her shoulder. Tony was the computer tech assigned to train her.

She was finishing up a program that would simplify the hospital's supply inventory record system, but her speech wasn't good enough to explain that. She pushed her chair back so Tony could see for himself.

She fiddled with a pen while he stared at the screen in amazement, going through the demo she'd put together. For weeks she'd heard the nurses and therapists complaining about the system, so she'd done the fix in her spare time, out of sheer boredom. As a means to thank them for their time and help.

"Um…," Tony said. "Is this what I think it is?"

Jane shrugged. She didn't know what he thought it was.

"Wow. When did you do this?"

She shrugged again.

"Wow," Tony repeated. "Dan's gonna freak. They've been asking us to fix the bloody inventory program forever."

Dan was the head of the department.

Jane smiled.

 

The Knife's Edge of Madness