Title: The Barista- 14- 911
Category: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Season: Season 2
Episode Related to: Tok'ra I
Rating: PG

This is for my beta-reader Kath who has a soft spot for Jacob.

A/N I want to thank everyone for encouraging me to write these stories. I honestly hadn't planned on this turning into such a widespread series but this little writing exercise of mine has taken on a life of its own. Your words of encouragement mean a great deal to me, and I most certainly wouldn't update nearly as often without all the positive feedback I've been receiving. Thank you!

I needed a break.

I had been working steadily since 6 am and here it was a bit after 10 and I was well overdue for a break. As if on cue, Stefan comes running in from the street, already dressed in black pants and shirt. He quickly grabs an apron and taps me on the shoulder.

"Be free oh beautiful butterfly," Stefan says, taking my place behind the espresso machine. I laugh as I shed my own apron and head towards the break room. I grab a can of soda and my sandwich from the fridge and sink warily into a chair.

My feet hurt.

I pull out a textbook on ancient religions and begin reading. It takes less than 10 minutes before I am hopelessly bored. It isn't that I don't find the topic fascinating; it's just that I can't seem to concentrate on the words. So why do I even bother to bring in my schoolbooks? Probably has something to do with the hope that Daniel will explain some of them to me. For some odd reason, I can successfully read snippets from my books while working, but hardly ever concentrate when I'm on break.

It isn't fair really.

I sigh and finish my sandwich. The break room lacks some serious ambiance and I decide to bite the bullet and head back into the throng. With luck no one will pay me much notice and I can contentedly participate in one of my favorite activities: people watching.

Stefan raises an eyebrow as he sees me emerge from the sanctuary of the break room a good 15 minutes early. I give him a wry smile and settle myself onto a small couch in the back of the store. 10 am isn't a popular time for lingerers, so I have most of the backend of the place to myself. I sit down, open a textbook I have no intention of reading and quietly observe.

Take that guy for instance- obvious bike messenger killing time between calls. Or that guy in the suit- most likely one of those corporate guys from the new business center down the street. I watch him with feigned disinterest. I honestly am not alone with what happens next. You talk to anyone in retail, and they'll tell you that it is quite normal to make up scenarios about your customers. We are the original profilers, and you'd be surprised to hear how right we often are!

Yuppie-looking guy? Married, (less than three years) and soon to be new dad. Do I know this for a fact? Nope. But I betcha I got two out of the three right.

Or take that guy. He looks a little out of place in a "fancy" coffee house; one of those guys who usually buys his coffee at 7-11. In other words- a tourist. He steps into line and stares in dismay at the coffee drink choices above his head. He shakes his head in amazement as he steps up to the counter. It's at this moment his cell phone rings. Darn! Now I can't see if my guess of a single tall latte was right!

He looks abjectly embarrassed (obvious new cell phone user) and quickly excuses himself to answer the call. He steps away from the counter and heads towards my direction. He fumbles a bit with the phone but eventually turns it on and places it next to his ear. He listens for a few moments before speaking.

"Sammy," the man begins in a tired voice. "Is everything all right? Why are you calling?" He sighs as he listens to the response on the other end.

"And I believe I told you I'll be fine." I'm not sure who he is trying to convince; the person on the other end of the phone, or himself. The guy sounds bone weary. Actually, come to think of it, he really doesn't look to steady either.

"How are you doing baby?" Girlfriend, wife, or daughter I surmise. The guy looks way too hetero to call a guy 'baby'. Again he listens for a brief moment.

"With the Air Force?" He interjects a little too quickly. Whatever answer he received, it doesn't seem to make him happy. He lets out a heavy sigh.

"So where are you going? Some vitally important radar telemetry conference?" His words are laced with resentment and antagonism. Guess the guy isn't big on conferences... He shakes his head slightly as he listens to the response.

"Sam, I'm fine," The guy remarks, falling rather heavily into a chair on his right. I'm not being even remotely covert in my observations anymore; he really doesn't look fine. I can see the small beads of sweat on his forehead and he appears to be breathing funny.

"I'm here in Colorado Springs actually. Found myself a little apartment on the edge of town and am hoping we can spend some time together when you're off duty." The guy lifts up a distinctively shaky hand and rubs a spot near his temple.

"I'm fine Sammy." Another brief pause.

"Positive. Call when you're back." The man hastily pushes the end button on his phone and leans back into the chair. Even from across the room, I can see the discomfort in his face. Something is SO wrong with this guy. I am already standing up and making my way towards him when I hear his whisper, "Not now dammit, I need more time!"

I am nearly at his table when the man simply goes limp, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. His head falls heavily onto the table and I'm by his side not half a second later.

"Call 911," I shout. A rather clichd reaction I know, but honestly, that is the first thing out of your mouth in an emergency, and it doesn't sound nearly as hokey as it appears to on the police shows.

"Sir?" I say quietly touching his shoulder. "Sir, can you hear me?" No response. I put a surprisingly steady hand on his bared neck. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand...I stop by five; the guy has no pulse. I quickly place my cheek next to the guy's nose and mouth and look down at his chest. I feel no air coming from his nose or mouth and his lungs aren't inflating either. Shit!

"Stefan!" I shout oblivious to the crowd gathering around me. "I need your help." A small corner of my mind was hoping that one of the customers would suddenly stand up and announce that he was a doctor and knew exactly what to do in cases like these. Naturally the man chose to collapse mid-morning on a Thursday; college students, office workers on break and tourists- not a professional cardiac surgeon among them. Damn.

"Back it up people!" Stefan yells sounding not at all like the flaming faerie (his words, not mine) he is.

"Ambulance is on its way Kira," Stefan says quietly in my ear. With a nod he and I slide the unconscious, un-breathing and un-beating man down to the ground.

"I don't remember CPR Kira." Stefan looks at me hopefully. "You?" I take a moment to make sure I actually do, and then nod yes.

"Just make sure there's nothing in his mouth, tilt his neck back and breathe when I tell you too, ok?" Stefan nods. I quickly unzip the man's jacket and am thankful that he's only wearing a light-weight shirt underneath. I silently thank my parents profusely for forcing me to go to that wretched YMCA summer camp all those years ago. Not only did I discover a penchant for swimming, but later became a lifeguard and safety instructor. It's been a few years, but I am pretty confident I know what I'm doing.

I find the edge of the man's sternum and automatically move the palm of my hand two finger-widths upwards. I begin compressions. "One, Two, Three, Four, Five" I say distinctively for Stefan before nodding at him to breathe. I feel the man's lungs expand under my hands. I wait an additional count and then begin compressions again.

Stefan and I have a steady rhythm going and I quickly lose all sense of time passing. It feels like several hundred years, but I know it can't be more than a few minutes. Already I feel the growing ache in my arms. I take a moment to feel for a pulse- still nothing.

"Come on!" I implore to the still man by my side as I push a little harder on his chest. "Breathe!"

"Where the hell is that ambulance?!" I grunt as I once again begin another round of chest compressions. That ache in my arms is growing uncomfortably more pronounced. I'm not certain how much longer I can do this. I close my eyes tightly for a brief moment hoping to hold back the threatening tears. I've never even been to a funeral for god's sake, I will not have this stranger die on me.

"Ambulance just pulled up," I hear an anonymous voice say from across the room. There is a God. I am just finishing my seven-thousandth and sixth compression (well, that's what it felt like to me) when I hear them come in.

"We have it now miss," a soothing voice says as she efficiently takes my place and begins whipping out assorted medical instruments.

"How long has he been down?" All eyes turn to me.

"I don't know." Tears fill my eyes as my cool facade rapidly comes apart. "I was the one doing CPR!" I shout as if that should explain everything.

"Eight minutes." A voice from behind the bar says. Bless you Allison.

"Tell me what happened," the EMT asks, as she barks numbers and medical jargon at her partner. I notice he's already by the man's head with an oxygen bag. The woman herself has started compressions again. Damn. I was hoping they'd just give him some miracle shot and he'd wake up.

"He was talking on the phone when he just collapsed in his chair."

"Did he clutch his heart, or give any indication that his chest was bothering him?" I shake my head.

"No. If anything, it was his head that seemed to give him some discomfort." The EMT shot her partner another look and rattled off more medicalese. They quickly move him onto a backboard and within a few seconds have him ready to move.

"Is he going to be all right?" I ask following them outside.

"I hope so," she says, as they efficiently lift him up. "We're taking him to CS General." She gives a small nod to her partner and within moments they're out on the street and loading the still inert man into an ambulance. As they close the door I hear the woman bark at someone to charge the paddles.

Oh God.

Suddenly I find myself kneeling unceremoniously on the cold ground and struggling to breathe myself.

"She's hyperventilating," I hear someone say. Really? That's what this is? Can't say that I like it much. No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get any of that vital oxygen stuff into my lungs. I start to see little black spots.

"Kira, come back inside." Stefan's voice is gentle and soothing as me and my ragged breaths are led back into the shop. I can feel the tears escaping now and my hitched breathing becomes even more pronounced. He's going to die. The man whose heart I was manually beating is going to die. Suddenly I can't breathe at all. I press a hand frantically against my own chest as if to announce to my lungs that they are free at any time to start working again.

"Kira!" I look up wildly and see Stefan trying to get my attention.

"Just calm down and breathe." Yeah right, easy for you to say. I feel myself being urged onto a bench and my head gently pushed downwards between my legs.

"Lunch bag!" Someone shouts triumphantly as a crisp brown bag is placed against my mouth and nose. It smells vaguely of tuna fish and Doritos. I hate tuna fish.

Within a few moments I have calmed down enough to hold the bag myself. It takes a good three to four minutes before I can breathe comfortably again. So that's hyperventilating, eh? Nasty.

I let out a long shaky breath and look up for the first time. The shop is nearly empty now. Stefan hands me a tissue as he takes the bag from my clasped hands. I hastily wipe my eyes.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"We thought, given the circumstances, Victor wouldn't mind if we closed the doors for a half hour or so." I nod. Victor is a good guy. I doubt we would have had that option if we were a big commercial chain.

"You going to be all right Kira?"

"Peachy," I reply bitterly. That man was already dead wasn't he? Stefan seems to know exactly what I'm thinking.

"You don't know that Kira. He might make it you know. You might have saved his life." Maybe. I'm not quite ready to believe that yet. With a hand from Stefan, I stand up and take another deep breath. Out of the corner of my eye I spy the man's cell phone still lying peacefully on the table.

"He was talking with someone right before he collapsed," I say as I reach for the phone. I might not have been able to rouse the man out of his... whatever he was in. But I could let his wife/lover/daughter know where he is.

I switch the phone on and press *69. I had only used the feature once before, but if ever there was a reason to know exactly who called you last; this was it. I frown as I hear an automated voice inform me that the number I have dialed cannot receive outside calls. Huh? What's the deal with that?

"Shit." I stare at the small Nokia phone in my hand and begin accessing the guy's saved numbers. He was talking to someone named 'Sam' and I was hoping that number was saved in his phone book. As I began scrolling few the few numbers (didn't the guy have any friends?) I had to repeatedly tell myself that the odds that he was talking to the one Sam I know was very, very slim.

George, Mark... Bingo! Sam. There were actually two Sam entries and I decide to go with the one marked 'Sam-wk'. It was 11 o'clock in the morning after all. Odds are the lady was at work. Of course, the conversation I overheard indicated she was about to go on a trip, but seeing as less than 30 minutes had passed since... what was this guy's name anyhow?

Before calling the mysterious Sam, I decided to attempt to find out who the mysterious stranger was. (And I mean was as in 'was here' not 'was alive') I press a few more buttons and access his cell phone number. I then walk briskly up to the counter and grab the phone hidden underneath the register. I dial the displayed number and hold my breath.

The cell phone's ringer sounds unusually harsh in the still coffee shop. Thankfully the answering message picked up after three rings.

"You're reached Jacob Carter. Leave a message." Suddenly my legs lose all ability to hold my body upright; I stumble blindly towards a chair and eye the discarded brown bag with nervousness. Already I could feel my breath becoming trapped in my throat once again.

"Kira, what is it?" Stefan asks worriedly. I could only stare at him in numb shock. Jacob Carter. Carter.

Sure it's a common name. But add to Mr. Carter's identity the fact that he knows someone, IN THE AIR FORCE by the name of Sam and I suddenly have no desire what so ever to dial Sam-wk. There's no way I can explain all of this to Stefan. I just shake my head and grip the cell phone even harder.

Taking a deep breath I press the call button and bite my lip as the numbers quickly dial automatically. One ring. Two. And then..

"Captain Samantha Carter is unable to come to the phone. Please leave a message or dial 0 for more options." I hear the loud beep and instantly hang up. It's her. Oh God, it's her.

Sam only says her name, the rest was an automated message, but her voice is unmistakable. This is the Captain Sam that I know. Which means Jacob Carter is almost assuredly her father.

Oh God.

"Kira?" I wave Stefan away and close my eyes. Had it really been only 30 minutes since I first started people watching?

I need to leave a message. Should I do it at work or home? Or both? Should I dial '0' and try and contact someone else? I instantly think of Jack and Daniel, but realize that if Sam's away on an Air Force job, odds are Jack and Daniel are too. Still, I try the central Cheyenne number and ask for Colonel Jack O'Neill. I get an answering message that sounds eerily similar to Sam's. I try again and ask for Dr. Daniel Jackson. I still get an answering machine, but this time Daniel actually recorded the full message. His voice washes over me and I wish more than anything he'd just pick up the phone and talk to me. I decide not to try anyone else and redial Sam's number. Perhaps Sam has scores of friends on the base, but I have a funny feeling she wouldn't want Joe Soldier to be telling her about her dad. Best to leave a message.

I press the speed dial button again and re-listen to Sam's message.

"Sam, it's Kira. From Daniel's coffee shop?" My voice sounds pathetically weak even to me. "Um, I need you to call me when you get in. It's really important." I rattle off both my home number and the shop number. "It's super important Sam. Please call me the moment you get this." And I hang up.

Perhaps it was wrong of me not to tell her about her dad, but I figure her curiosity would get the best of her and she'll call me the moment she hears the message. Which means the delay in her knowing about her dad would be very minimal. But what if she couldn't reach me? Was I right to withhold information from her?

I turn the phone on again and dial 'Sam-hm'. "Hi Sam, it's Kira again. I just left you a message at work, but just in case you can't reach me, I should tell you what's going on. Sam, your dad, or someone I'm assuming is your dad, had an attack of some sort in the coffee shop. They took him to Colorado Springs General at around 11 am today. I don't know his condition, but feel free to call me if you need to talk. 681-7732." I'm about to hang up before I feel the need to add a little extra.

"I'm currently holding Jacob Carter's cell phone Sam. That's how I got your number. Hope to hear from you soon." I hang up feeling incredibly tired. I slowly stand back up and set the cell phone gingerly down on the table.

"I'm heading home now," I remark to no one in particular.

"I already called you a cab Kira, they should be here any minute."

"Why?" I ask. I live less than two miles from the shop and usually bike into work.

"You're in no condition to bike," Stefan explains. "Your quick thinking may have saved a man's life today Kree, and that's pretty heavy stuff."

"I may not have saved him Stefan." I feel the waterworks threatening to come back in full force. I close my eyes tightly until the feeling passes.

"You might not have Kira, but you sure tried. You didn't panic and you did what was necessary without going all hysterical- none of the rest of us could have pulled that off." I shrug. Bet someone would have if I hadn't been there. People find the most amazing strength when needed. A loud honk shakes both of us out of our serious discussion.

"Go home Kira. Take a bath. Have a hot fudge sundae." I smile weakly. I was thinking more along the lines of curling up into a small ball and having a good cry.

"Thanks for your help Stefan," I whisper, as I quietly gather my things.

"Anytime." I head towards the door and turn around as I suddenly remember something.

"If Daniel or Jack comes in..."

"The boy-man with the pouty lips or the military hunk with the great ass?" I give a watery laugh and nod.

"I'll tell them what happened Kira," Stefan says gently. And with that I get into the cab and head for home.

Please be ok Jacob Carter.

a/n Sniff. Had a need to be a little angsty. Sorry!

Yes, I know that Jacob winds up in a military hospital, but in my spiel, he first gets taken to a civilian one. And Yep- Kira is indeed called 'Kree' by her friends. Not often or anything but the nickname is indeed there. You can just imagine the fun I'm going to have with that once Jack and Daniel overhear... g