Breakfast Meeting

An easy day, that's what Major General Jack O'Neill—with two 'Ls'—wanted. Nothing stressful – he had enough stress at the moment as it was. He just wanted a day spent relaxing, kicking back a little, or as much as a senior military officer could kick back in Washington DC, and forgetting the job for a few hours.

It felt like weeks since he had a day off. Probably because it was. He'd never had a problem with making the hard decisions – it had been a part of his role for years as he climbed the ladder of the senior ranks. But now he had a completely new staff to train in how he did things and other senior officials to prove himself to. He hadn't been in his new post long enough to feel truly comfortable, but he was getting there. He had a totally different style to George Hammond, but the inevitable teething problems caused by the change in leadership were surmountable and he was actually enjoying the challenge.

Still, the long hours were taking their toll and no one should make the sort of decisions he was now responsible for when at less than one hundred percent. So he had given himself the day off.

It was mid-week and he couldn't remember the last time he had slept in when it wasn't the weekend. Finally driven out of his apartment by the relentless sound of the next-door's cleaning lady and her incessant vacuuming, he decided on a late breakfast at a near-by café.

Brilliant sunshine had him squinting as he left his building, and he quickly grabbed his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on. That was one thing he missed about his promotion to general – the chance to go offworld and get out in the fresh air. First he had been stuck underground at the SGC, and now he was in the world's biggest office building. Sure, he had, as befitted his position as head of Homeworld Security, a large window, but it couldn't be opened, and the poor excuse for fresh air that was piped through the enormous building had been breathed by how many people before him? He shuddered to think.

He took an appreciative gulp and coughed, his throat tickling as exhaust fumes flowed down into his lungs.

Oh well, at least it was warm.

The café was reasonably empty, with the office workers already behind their desks and the fashionably early lunch crowd not yet finished shopping. Choosing one of the tables set up on the pavement, O'Neill sat and looked at the menu, frowning a little at the complicated selection. He just wanted something straightforward. Nothing too heavy, but certainly not as pointless as the eggwhite omelette halfway down the page.

The solitary waitress was occupied with taking the order of some customers inside the café. The general could see her through the window, talking to the two women as she adjusted the highchair the café had provided for the wriggling toddler with them. He smiled as one of the women leaned forward to hold the little girl down and placed a fluffy toy elephant on the tray, successfully distracting her, then he turned back to the menu, finally deciding on the easiest option.

The young red-haired waitress smiled pleasantly as she hurried out to him, her pad and pen in hand.

"Are you ready to order, sir?"

Jack nodded, automatically glancing back down at the menu. "I'll have the breakfast special, with an extra egg, and coffee."

Order given, he sat back to watch the passing traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. The café was on the edge of a small park and the tables were shaded by several large trees, making the umbrellas unnecessary at this time of day, but they would probably be welcome in the afternoon. He toyed with the blue china salt shaker, spinning it as he thought of the numerous meetings on his schedule, running through the agendas for each in his head.

Damn it – this was meant to be his day off. He was supposed to be relaxing.

He gave himself a quick mental talking to – a rather firm one, as he knew he wasn't good at taking orders even when they came from himself – and looked around. Several magazines were scattered on the tables around him, clearly put there for the convenience of the customers, so he stood to look them over. He was pleased to find the most recent edition of Time and settled back down in his chair, already flicking through the articles.

He barely noticed the ice water and glass placed at his right hand, muttering a distracted thanks as he sat, engrossed in an article on the Middle East. By the time his food had arrived he was reading about wind farms in the UK.

His order arrived and he hooked the edge of the magazine under his plate so that the slight breeze couldn't turn the pages while his hands were occupied with the mechanics of eating.

Several articles later, he had finished the food and only had a few sips of coffee left in his cup. The time had passed rather pleasantly and he felt much more relaxed than he had when he woke. Now he just had to decide what to do with the rest of the day. He needed a new pair of shoes, but shopping certainly didn't fit into his definition of relaxing. Perhaps a tour of the White House – that could be interesting. He hadn't seen a lot of the building – just the Oval Office and a few meeting rooms. Or maybe he should take in one of the museums.

Sipping his coffee, O'Neill looked up, his gaze idly taking in the people walking by.

For a second his mind froze, completely unable to process the information it was receiving from his eyes.

Not here.

He blinked.

He was seeing things.

Then the tall figure across the street turned, and their gazes met.

O'Neill saw the shock in the other's face, probably mirrored on his own, and knew he hadn't been mistaken. Still not able to properly comprehend, his body took over from his brain, and he stood, the chair sent tumbling backwards in his haste.

All he could see now was the grey suited back of the man, one hand holding a cell phone to his ear as he hurried away.

Jack took the first step of what was to be a sprint through the traffic in pursuit.

"Omph!"

His body hit something hard, sending it to the ground and resulting in a loud shattering of glass and china.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir!" The waitress offered the automatic apology, even though it was plainly obvious to everyone who had turned to look who was at fault. Pieces of lettuce, swimming limply in a sea of dressing, lay mixed with coffee, tomatoes, orange juice and very soggy bread around Jack's feet.

The general muttered an equally automatic apology, craning his neck to peer over her head.

He had gone.

Maybe he hadn't been there at all.

It was impossible.

"Could I get you another coffee?"

The adrenaline rush was still racing through him and he had to take a deep, calming breath before he answered. "Thanks, yes." He moved his feet, nearly slipping on the now slimy pavers. "Sorry, that was my fault. I'll pay …" He waved his hand vaguely at the mess as he bent to right the chair before sitting down again.

"No, no, it's all right, sir. Happens all the time." The girl's smile seemed genuine, perhaps in response to his obvious willingness to take the blame. "I'll get this cleaned up first though. I wouldn't want anyone to fall."

Jack couldn't bring himself to smile back, but he nodded in agreement. "No. Take your time."

He picked up the discarded magazine, turning the pages, but was unable to concentrate as the face of the man he had seen kept flashing through his mind. He was aware of a band of tension tightening its grip around his head and raised his right hand, pressing the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stop it from getting any worse.

Damn it again – he needed to get a grip.

His water sat unfinished on the table, so he reached for it with a hand that was surprising steady considering the shakiness he felt. Within two gulps it had gone, but it had barely taken the edge off the dryness in his throat and he looked around for more. The waitress was just coming back from inside the café, a broom in one hand, while the other held a bright orange plastic bucket with several large cloths hanging over the top. He stood as she neared him, intending to let her pass before going into the café for a refill. There was no point in bothering the girl – she was right that the priority was to clean up the now large puddle of congealed coffee and juice.

She gave him a quick smile and an enquiring look. He pointed to the empty glass.

"I'll get it for you, sir."

"No, that's okay." He was already almost at the open door, level with the women inside in the seats at the window. "I'll get …"

The thump to his shoulder spun him where he stood, sending him careering face forward into the window, and a second blow on his back momentarily pinned him there like a bug on a windscreen. Pain blossomed through his chest, so strong it stopped him from crying out. He could see the women at the table, only a few inches from him but separated by a thin layer of glass. One had her mouth open in a scream he couldn't hear, her eyes wide and staring straight into his, while behind her the other was bending over the toddler.

He tried to stay up, tried his damnedest to stand, but couldn't help sliding slowly down, leaving a red streak on the glass – red horrifyingly echoed by the spreading stain on the little girl.

He ended up kneeling on the hard grey pavers, one hand still raised, the other hanging uselessly at his side. He knew there should be sounds, but there was nothing but silence as his vision greyed and tunnelled down and he slipped sideways and fell into nothingness.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Running around the corner, the scene that greeted Sergeant Kelly and his partner was one of chaos. There seemed to be at least one victim outside, a middle-aged man, lying in a heap near the café door, a pool of blood widening beneath him. Screams were coming from inside the establishment, loud shrill screams from several throats.

"Shots – from up there!" The man that grabbed his shirt was babbling hysterically from his hiding place under an upturned table. Kelly followed his pointing finger, seeing nothing but high buildings and featureless office windows.

"Stay down." He issued the order sharply, knowing the man had no intention of moving. The only other person nearby, a young woman, was kneeling behind another table, her face pale. Kelly spoke rapidly into his radio, calling it in and requesting backup. John was already heading for the open door, hunched low, with his weapon at the ready. Witnesses had been wrong before – this could be a robbery gone wrong, or even a drive-by shooting with the chance of the perpetrators still being in the vicinity. John looked back quickly over his shoulder and Kelly nodded to him, silently acknowledging that they needed to assess the situation inside. He edged his way over, glancing briefly at the downed man as he passed him. There wasn't much he could see, but if the amount of blood was anything to go by, it didn't look good.

The source of the screams was evident as soon as they entered the café. One woman was sobbing, while another held a napkin to the arm of a tiny girl. They looked up as the two policemen entered, their expressions reflecting their terror.

"Help, please, Kathy's been shot."

John hurried to the little girl, while Kelly made a visual check of the interior, seeing only other patrons, some still seated, others standing, but all looking stunned by the events that had taken them completely by surprise,

"What happened here?"

An elderly man was the first to speak, his voice firm and steady. "There were two shots, Officer. One came through the glass and hit the little girl." He pointed at the large window at the front of the café, its glass showing cracks all radiating from a central point. Blood splatters were flecked across the area, but the main concentration ran down in an obvious trail to where Kelly knew the other victim lay just out of sight on the ground outside.

"Did you see who did the shooting?"

The witness shook his head. "No, I heard the shots and pulled my wife under the table. It's not a sound you forget once you've heard it, and I heard it a lot during the war. It was a rifle, not a handgun – I can tell you that much."

Kelly nodded his thanks and radioed in a follow up report, requesting an ambulance be on standby. It didn't look like the little girl was badly hurt. The bullet had grazed her arm, leaving a bloody scratch that looked much worse than it was on the tiny limb. Both her mother and the other woman would need to be treated for shock.

He raised a hand and waited until he had the customers' attention. "Okay, I've called for backup and we should wait inside until sure the area is clear, so I'd like you all to move back towards the rear of the room and behind the counter. Stay away from the windows."

People began to comply with his order, the elderly man helping his wife to stand somewhat shakily. Some seemed reluctant to come out from what they saw as places of safety, but seeing the others all moving to the back, soon joined them. John carried the toddler there himself, and was soon back, positioning himself opposite Kelly at the other side of the large window.

Everything seemed deadly quiet, but the sergeant knew it was only the matter of a few minutes before all hell would break loose with the arrival of the reinforcements he'd called for.

"What about the other victim?"

Kelly peered sideways through the window, keeping low. He could only see the man's lower legs, but there was no movement. It had only been five minutes since they had heard the gunshots while across the street and responded. He could still be alive.

The experienced sergeant grunted, the sound conveying a mixture of agreement and resigned annoyance at his younger partner's unspoken suggestion. It was obvious the man outside had been the primary target of the shooter.

Hell.

"Okay, on three. You cover me and I'll grab him."

Mere seconds later, both men were back in the relative safety of the café, the wounded man lying on the floor between them.

They could hear sirens approaching and the whump whump of helicopter blades in the air over head. It wouldn't be long before help was with them, but in the meantime they had to keep this man alive.

Kelly kept watch, looking cautiously out over the window sill, aware that John was doing his best for the stricken man.

"How is he?" The sergeant kept his eyes on the view outside, scanning their surroundings for any sign of the gunman.

"Not good. He's got one wound to the shoulder and another to the back that went right through. That's probably what broke the window and got the kid. Looks like a high-powered rifle. Could be a sniper."

"Shit!" Kelly peered up at the tall buildings across the street. "It could have come from anywhere" He glanced back at the sound of ripping, seeing John bunching a piece of tablecloth and holding it tightly against the chest wound as he rolled the man on to his side.

John raised his voice, making it heard by the people now hiding behind the counter. "I need help here."

Before Kelly could issue the request as an order, the same elderly patron they had spoken to before came crawling out around the corner of the counter. He kept low and despite his age was with John within a few seconds.

"What can I do?"

"I need to keep pressure on both entry and exit point and bandage the shoulder. He's losing too much blood."

"While you're at it, look for some ID." Kelly turned his attention back to the street as he spoke. "See if there's anything to tell us why he was targeted."

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Percy Curtis had seen a lot of injured men in his time serving with the Marines in the Pacific, but none that reacted quite the way this one did when the young police officer reached into his jacket pocket to remove his wallet.

A hand came up and gripped his wrist, bending it backwards and making the policeman yelp in what was clearly a combination of surprise and pain. Percy had no doubt that if the man on the floor hadn't been weakened by his wounds the wrist would have been snapped. As it was the officer was able to pull back and extract himself from the blood covered hand.

"It's all right, sir. I'm a police officer. I'm just trying to help. You've been shot."

Percy had to commend the boy. He managed to get all the pertinent information out fast enough while still keeping pressure on the gapping exit wound.

The response he got was a grunt and a slight nod, but Percy could see the hooded brown eyes watching carefully, taking everything in.

He slipped his own wad of material behind the man's back, doing his best to stem the blood, and heard another grunt, this one with a note of surprise as if the other man hadn't realised he was there.

"What. …?" The words were cut off, ending in a bubbling cough.

The policeman by the window scurried over, holstering his gun as he moved. "Back-up's arrived. They're setting up a perimeter. Shouldn't be long before we're out of here."

"Got …. Warn …" The grey-haired man was moving, as if trying to get up, his face set in a look of determination.

The sergeant put a hand out, stopping him from rising. "Don't move. You're badly injured. Can you tell us who shot you?"

A nod. Then another eruption of coughing, this time leaving a thin trickle of red running from the corner of his mouth.

Percy had seen it before. Punctured lung. He hoped rescue wouldn't be too long coming. He made a suggestion. "Sit him up. It'll help him to breathe."

Together they dragged him back against the wall, and Percy and the younger of the two policemen kept him upright, awkwardly keeping their improvised bandages in place.

"Sir – can you tell us who shot you?"

It was obvious the sergeant felt he had little time left to obtain helpful information. The question seemed to rouse the man again, and he opened eyes that had shut in pain as they moved him.

A nod again. Then a shallow breath.

The words were almost too soft to make out, made even harder to understand by the wheezing sound of lungs unable to take in enough oxygen.

"Warn … Karl …"

Then the door burst inwards and the room filled with guns.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

He was moving – fast. He knew that much, but not much more. Except –

He hurt.

And he couldn't breathe.

He was suffocating.

There was something he needed to tell them. They had to know . . .

O'Neill opened his eyes, seeing a ceiling moving by above him. He managed to turn his head, finding figures all around him.

Where …? Then it hit him – a hospital. He was in a hospital. He didn't have much time. He had to make them understand.

He reached up and grabbed the nearest sleeve, pulling the white clad arm down.

And looked through eyes blurring with pain into the smiling face of his enemy.

Ba'al leaned down, and whispered. "I couldn't risk you exposing me too soon. I am enjoying your planet far too much."

"No."

He managed the one word, but it went unheard, muffled by the oxygen mask covering his face.

Ba'al laughed down at him and Jack coughed, splatters of blood covering the clear plastic and running back down his throat and drowning him.

Epilogue

"He was here for months." Daniel turned, his worried frown making him look years older than he was. "But he must have already had agents here on Earth for years. He couldn't have set up the organisation he had in such a short space of time." His fists were clenched and Jack could see he was furious. "Farrow-Marshall Aeronautics even had contracts with the Department of Defence. The bastard was probably laughing at us. Coming here to Washington right under our noses. He'd even visited the Pentagon. He must have panicked when he saw you – before his plans were finalized."

Jack winced as he shifted a little in the bed, his broken shoulder protesting the movement. No matter how he lay he was uncomfortable.

He thought back to those terrifying moments straight after he had been shot. He remembered the anger that had coursed through him, thinking that Ba'al had won, and the desperate need to leave a warning. He even remembered his fury that his dying words were the bastard's name. Then to see him bending over him, gloating, as he was pushed into the operating theatre … Even now he wasn't sure if that was real or an hallucination brought on by pain and blood loss. When questioned, none of the staff could recall a tall doctor with a neatly trimmed beard, but …

"Well, he's dead now, right?" Jack moved the oxygen mask to one side to speak. The damned thing was so uncomfortable, but the doctors had promised he'd only need it for a few more days – just long enough for his punctured lung to recover properly. "He isn't going to come and join me for breakfast again anytime soon – right?"

He tried to keep his tone light, but knew he had failed when Daniel left the window and moved over to him, his concern plain.

"Gerak took great delight in gloating about having killed him …"

"But? I can hear a 'but' there."

The heart monitor began to beep a steady warning.

Daniel glanced at it as he put his hand on O'Neill's arm. "There is no 'but', Jack. Gerak definitely killed Ba'al. Relax." He waited a moment, his gaze shifting back to the readout above his friend's head. "Come on now. Calm down."

Jack saw the almost panicked look on his friend's face and nodded, taking as steadying a breath as he could under the circumstances.

Daniel was right. Daniel wouldn't lie to him. The bastard was dead.

At last Jack was free of the presence that had hung over his head for so long.

The monitor's beat increased again.

So why did Ba'al still haunt his dreams?

Light Lunch

"I can't see anything about it at all."

Percy couldn't help raising his eyes a little as Elsie's voice floated out to him from the kitchen. Just for a second he felt like not answering, but he didn't, instead he folded the potion of the newspaper he had taken with him into the living room, tucked it down the side of the chair he was sitting in, and stood. He grimaced as the rheumatism in his legs flared, waiting a moment before he took the first steps that would take him into the room where his wife was sitting.

Elsie looked up as he entered, peering over her reading glasses, her expression one of annoyance.

"I've looked all through here." She gently shook the edge of the newspaper she held in one hand. "And there isn't a word about it. Nothing. I don't understand."

Percy came around the table and slowly made his way to the refrigerator. He opened it, staring into it vacantly, in the hope that something inside would inspire him to eat. Elise was worried about him – that he could tell by the sidelong glances she cast at him when he cleared the dinner plates. He knew she had been discussing his lack of appetite with their son, Paul, and he understood, really he did. But things had changed since the shooting.

That morning at 'Firenz Coffeeshop' was replaying over and over in his head. Every night he went to bed and woke to the sound of gunshots and every morning he pretended he had only been up for just a short while before Elsie came down. He had no idea why he was reacting this way. It wasn't like he hadn't been under fire before - admittedly it was over sixty years ago now, but some things you don't forget. Elsie didn't seem to have a problem with it. She had been terrified at the time, so much so that she had been admitted to the hospital overnight for observation, but, once she was back in the comfort of their own home and was able to fuss around with her flowers and talk to her friends at the seniors' center, it was as if it had never happened.

Except for her desire to find out just what it had all been about.

And that was the odd thing. Their statements had been taken down at the local police station a couple of days later, and they had been driven home in a patrol car – and then nothing. Apart from one small paragraph buried on an inside page, the papers had ignored the affair.

Percy twisted his head down to look once more at the headline on the front page of the newspaper Elsie was still holding. The terrorist attack on the building in Seattle was still the story of the moment. He could see why a simple shooting in Washington wasn't of interest when an entire multi-story office block had gone up in smoke.

Yes, things were a lot simpler sixty years ago. Then you knew who the enemy were – they were the ones in the other uniforms.

He did wonder about the man though – whether he had made it. He hoped he had. Seeing him rushed off into the ambulance, people crowding around him, Percy had almost felt a fatherly concern, as if he was responsible in some way for the victim's wellbeing. Holding a man's life in your hands can do that.

"Close the door – you're letting all the cold air out. You're the one always complaining about the electricity bill."

His wife's only slightly joking comment prompted him to pull a can of cola from the refrigerator and shut the door.

"Don't worry about it, dear. It's over and done with." He took the paper from her hand and folded it, laying it down on the table. "What did you say you had planned for today?"

Elsie smiled – the same smile he remembered loving from the minute he had first met her so many years ago. "I'm going to the shops with Beth. We both need new yarn. We have some knitting to finish. She's only got one small section of her grandson Tyson's blanket to do. I want to get a start on something for Judy's baby before she's born."

"She? I didn't realise they knew the sex. Did Paul tell you when you spoke to him last night?"

Elsie shook her head, already standing. "No, silly. I would have told you if he had. I suppose I'm just hoping for a girl after two boys – I know Judy is."

"There's nothing wrong with boys," Percy commented, as he watched her collect her things together and pick up her handbag. He concealed a smile, knowing the response his words would get.

"Of course there isn't! Did I say there was anything wrong with the boys? Two more beautiful grandchildren you couldn't hope to see ..." She stopped and gave him a long stern look, before waving her index finger at him. "Oh, you! You had me going there for a minute, and look at the time, I'll be late to meet Beth if I don't hurry, and it's all your fault."

"Of course it is, dear."

He laughed as Elsie poked her tongue out at him, looking thirty years younger. He gave her a quick peek on the cheek and followed her to the front door to wave her off. She had barely stepped out on to the pavement when Beth's small red hatch-back pulled up. Percy waited until Elsie had gotten in before turning, having planned a long movie marathon with Clint Eastwood.

He was trying to find the remote under the chair cushions when there was a knock on the door, its firm rap making him jump slightly in surprise.

Maybe Elsie had forgotten her keys and was back to get them. He sighed and hurried back down the hall.

Opening the door, Percy soon realised it wasn't Elsie. Instead of his wife he found an Air Force colonel standing there, with an official sedan parked at the end of his front path.

"Mister Curtis?"

Percy nodded. "Yes, that's me."

The officer ducked his head in a slightly formal fashion. "My name is Colonel Davis. I've been asked to take you to the Walter Reed Hospital, sir. And your wife ..." His eyes shifted to scan the hallway. "Is she ...?"

"She's out. What's all this about? Why do you want me to go to the hospital?"

"General O'Neill has asked to see you, to thank you."

Percy racked his brains to put a face to the name, but came up with nothing. "General O'Neill?" Anyway, he could count the generals he knew on the fingers of – well, no hands. At least not since the war, and even then he hadn't exactly travelled in the same circles as generals.

For a moment the colonel looked startled, then his expression cleared and he nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you didn't know. General O'Neill is the man whose life you helped save last week. He wanted to thank you personally for what you did, but he's still in the hospital."

"Wait ... you're talking about the man at the café? He was a general?"

"Is ..."

Percy didn't let Davis continue, interrupting him hastily. "Is. Of course, sorry. It's just that I assumed he ..."

This time it was Davis who interrupted. "I understand. The general was badly injured." He glanced down at his watch. "We'll have to hurry. We're on a tight schedule."

"Could we make it another time? My wife won't be home for at least two hours." Percy really couldn't grasp what was going on, but if it involved finding out more about the shooting, then he was sure Elsie wouldn't want to miss it.

The colonel took another look at his watch. "I'm sorry."

"All right. Just let me leave her a note and lock up. She refuses to carry a cell phone. Says they fry your brains."

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

It was a long ride to the hospital, and Colonel Davis was happy to chat pleasantly about all manner of things, just not anything Percy wanted to hear. Percy did find out that the Air Force officer had been stationed in Washington for several years and even frequented some of the same places as he and Elsie did. When it came out that his first name was Paul, Percy pulled out his wallet, proudly displaying his own Paul, flanked by his wife Judy and their two young sons.

The colonel didn't give any details of his own family, but he had a wedding ring and from his questions and comments about the grandsons it was clear he had children of his own. The conversation certainly helped the time pass quicker and Percy was quite surprised when the car slowed and he realised they had reached Walter Reed.

He nodded his thanks to the Airman that held the car door open for him, and looked around in surprise.

The only other vehicles at the normally busy front entrance to the hospital were three serious looking highly polished, black vans. They went perfectly with the serious looking men standing at the entrance, all wearing black suits.

"I'm afraid there are some checks."

Percy had no idea what Colonel Davis was talking about, but found out as soon as they stepped into the hospital entrance. A metal detector was run over him and his cell phone was taken by another black suited person – this time a woman – with a promise that it would be returned when he left.

This was some serious security, Percy thought as they continued past the reception area where two women sat staring at him, General O'Neill must be a very important man. He and Davis were flanked by two more men getting into the elevators, with the older of the two muttering something softly into what Percy took to be a tiny radio attached to his ear.

The general's room was the third down the corridor on the fourth floor. It wasn't until they had nearly reached it that the first nurse he'd seen since they arrived at the hospital walked by, giving him a small smile. He smiled back automatically.

"Through here, sir." The colonel ushered him into the room, leaving their escort at the door where they joined two more men guarding the entrance.

Percy half expected to find the room filled with more security and was somewhat relieved that it was occupied by only three men – the patient, yet another black suited man, this one with an air of unmistakable menace, and another man sitting in one of the visitor's chairs beside the bed. It was this third man that stood, turning to stretch out his hand to Percy, smiling in welcome.

"Mister Curtis, I wanted to thank you personally for what you did for General O'Neill." His grip was firm and his expression sincere. Percy automatically returned the gesture, knowing he was gaping, but unable to help it.

The President of the United States was standing in the same room as him and shaking his hand.

"I understand you were in the Marines. That explains your courage under fire. It must have been a rather frightening experience none-the-less, especially as your wife was with you."

President Hayes took his seat again and gestured at the other chair. Percy was only too happy to oblige, falling into the soft cushion rather abruptly.

"I'm sorry your wife couldn't be here. I would have liked to meet her."

"Ah ... she's buying yarn." Even as he said it, Percy cringed in embarrassment. The President wasn't interested in his wife's shopping trip. He stole a glance at the figure in the bed, seeing a pale man with a gaunt face, his eyes half shut. The man lifted a hand in what looked like the beginnings of a wave, before dropping it back down onto the light blue blanket covering him to halfway up his chest.

"Jack O'Neill." The words came out in a low, rather breathy sound.

"Oh, of course, I'm sorry," President Hayes took over, putting a hand on the general's bed. "I forgot. You probably haven't been told much of anything. Am I right?" Percy nodded, and he continued. "Yes, we had to clamp down pretty hard on the story for security reasons. Jack had a punctured lung, as you realised at the scene, so he's not up to much talking just yet." His face broke into a grin. "Which pleases a lot of people here in Washington no end."

"Hey ..." The weak protest ended in a few harsh coughs, and Colonel Davis stepped forward from the corner he had positioned himself in and took the jug of water on the bedside cabinet, pouring a glass.

"Sir …" He held it out, but kept hold of it as the general took it in a shaky grip with his right hand. Percy noticed the other arm was strapped across his heavily bandaged torso.

O'Neill took a few sips then nodded, and Colonel Davis placed the still half full glass back on to the cabinet. The general seemed to relax a little, his hand immediately going to the tube that snaked across his chest to a nasal cannula, pushing it out of the way with an air of irritation.

"Leave that alone, General." Hayes's words were unmistakably an order, but Percy caught the glimmer of humor in his twitching lips as he spoke.

"Yes, sir."

If he hadn't known better Percy would have thought O'Neill's answer held a note of snippiness. But this was an Air Force general talking to the President of the United States ... He must have misheard.

Both Colonel Davis and the President were openly smiling now, which seemed to make the general lying in the bed even more irritable. Percy just caught the muttered 'For cryin' out loud … not some sort of kid here ..." but the rest was drowned out by the President's laugh.

"And on that note, I will take my leave." Hayes stood, Percy following him up instinctively. "Now, Jack, I don't want to hear any complaints from the medical staff – is that clear? I need you back asap, so do what they tell you, all right."

"Yes, sir ..." A pause and a swallow. "Can't wait to get back behind that desk, Mister President. No sirree bob."

"Good. Glad to hear it. But I'll leave Colonel Davis here in case you get some other ideas." Hayes turned to Percy, ignoring the continued muttering from the bed. "I'm sorry I can't stay any longer, but I have another engagement," he looked at the wall clock and gave a rueful smile, "ten minutes ago." He stretched out his hand once more and shook Percy's. "Thank you again, Mister Curtis. Washington wouldn't be the same without General O'Neill."

And he was gone, the body guard preceding him – out of the door before Percy could do more than stammer incoherently.

Hours later, when he was describing his meeting with the President of the United States to his wife, he had to admit that he barely remembered anything. He just had a vague and somewhat embarrassing memory of talking about knitting. Elsie was not only distraught that she had missed the opportunity to meet Hayes, but furious that her husband couldn't provide her with any details – not even what color shirt the President was wearing. Men!

But here and now, Percy was left staring at General O'Neill, with the general staring back at him.

"Sit."

He took the single word as a command and did so, finding himself a little short of breath. He realised his hurried pants were being echoed by O'Neill and he caught the other's eyes and laughed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Must have been a shock." The general waved a hand in the direction of the door.

"You could say that."

"Davis didn't tell you?"

"No."

Both men turned baleful glares to the silent officer still hiding in the corner.

"I thought I'd surprise Mr Curtis, sir."

The general raised an eyebrow and gave Davis a rather pointed stare. "Shocks aren't always good, Colonel. I should know."

Davis ducked his head at the reprimand. "Sorry."

Percy decided it was time to intervene. "It's okay, son. No harm done. Although I would like a proper introduction." He nodded his head towards the bed and raised an eyebrow of his own.

"Of course, sir." Davis straightened and his tone became formal. "This is Major General Jack O'Neill, Head of Homeworld Security."

Homeworld Security? That was one Percy hadn't heard of, but there were far too many government departments to keep track. It sounded important though. Must be, or the President wouldn't have been visiting.

"Pleased to meet you, sir." He didn't try to shake the general's hand, figuring it wouldn't be a good move given he had been shot. And speaking of that ... "Could you tell me what it was all about? There was nothing in the papers about the shooting at all. That's if you ... " He didn't want to say 'that's if you're up to it' but he also didn't want to out stay his welcome. It was clear O'Neill was far from recovered.

"I'm fine." The exasperated words were immediately followed by a badly concealed grimace of discomfort.

"Perhaps I could ..."

O'Neill frowned, but nodded at Davis's interruption, his fingers flexing in the sheets.

"The shooting was an assassination attempt ordered by an old enemy of the general's. The details are, of course, a matter of national security. We told the press it was a random shooting, and as the general's identity wasn't made common knowledge, the interest in the story was minimal. I would ask you to not speak about your visit, except of course with your wife."

"Did they catch the person who was responsible?"

Davis shook his head. "Not the shooter, no. But the person who ordered the attack has been dealt with."

Percy didn't ask for more details. He really didn't need to know what had happened to someone who attacked a man who was obviously a personal favourite of the President - he could guess.

He was about to ask how long General O'Neill would have to stay in the hospital, when he saw the other man's eyes slowly closing, the lines of stress on his face smoothing somewhat as he slipped into sleep.

Colonel Davis came up beside his chair, pausing to quietly look down at his superior.

"I think it's time you took me home, Paul," said Percy softly.

"The general wanted to thank ..."

Percy smiled and held up a hand, stopping him. "I know, and I appreciate it, but I've had enough excitement for one day. Anyway, Elsie will be getting worried if I'm not home for lunch."

Percy glanced back one last time as he left the hospital room. O'Neill was still asleep, but it was plainly a restless one, as he shifted in the bed, pain flashing across his face. A nurse was standing at the nurses' station a short distance down the corridor, and Percy waited as Davis exchanged a few quiet words with her. She was already hurrying into the room as they made their way to the elevator.

Percy felt much more at peace with himself than he had since the shooting, comforted to know the man he'd helped had survived. He was already thinking about Elsie's reaction to his news, grinning to himself at the thought, when the elevator doors closed.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Jack woke, his first instinct being to sit up and see where he was, but that was soon dispelled as even the smallest movement had him groaning.

"Here, sir."

Paul Davis was standing alongside him, leaning down, looking worried, and at the sight of the concerned expression on the officer's face everything slid back into place. He accepted the outstretched arm, needing all Davis's strength to sit up enough to be comfortable. A nurse he recognised as being in almost constant attendance on him slipped an extra pillow behind his back and helped to ease him gently down again.

"Your lunch is here, general." The nurse turned and picked up a tray, positioning it across his lap.

He frowned at it. The serving wouldn't feed a sparrow – that's if the sparrow was stupid enough to eat the crap the hospital kitchens substituted for real food. Some sort of watery soup and a bowl of runny milk product that looked like what Sara used to feed Charlie when he was a baby.

"I can chew you know. It was my shoulder that was shot, not my teeth."

He had the feeling the nurse had heard the same complaint too many times to react. She just nodded, gave a mechanical smile, and pushed the spoon into his hand.

"Would you like some help, sir?"

"No thank you, Davis. I've been feeding myself for years now." He gave the colonel a pointed look and began to dip the utensil into the pale brown liquid, trying hard to conceal how such a simple task was almost beyond him. Damn, but he felt as weak as a kitten. He felt as old and shaky as ...

"Aw, crap. I fell asleep on him, didn't I?"

Davis nodded. "Yes, sir. Mister Curtis said to tell you he understood and that he appreciated you asking to see him."

"How long have I been asleep?"

The colonel took a look at his watch. "About three hours, sir."

"That long?" Jack shook his head, wondering why, if he had slept most of the day, he still felt so tired. He didn't seem to be bouncing back from this injury the way he normally did. Even taking a deep breath had become an adventure in itself.

"Yes, sir." Davis placed a bundle of newspapers at his feet. "I've brought the latest papers. There are some interesting articles on the terrorist attack in Seattle."

Jack nodded, knowing they'd have to wait until the nurse was out of the room to properly discuss the issue. In some ways he was glad he didn't have to handle the fall out from that incident. It would be interesting to hear how the explanations for a building's disappearance were being received.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Paul Davis waited until the general pushed the tray a little off his lap, indicating he was done despite the fact he had barely eaten half the soup and hadn't touched the other dish. He lifted it and placed it on the trolley near the door and returned to hand O'Neill the first of the papers. This had become something of a ritual with them in the days since the general had been able to sit up a little. They would discuss the articles in the newspapers then he would brief O'Neill on what was actually happening.

Of course some aspects of the Ba'al incident he was under orders not to reveal. It seemed that he wasn't the only one to be concerned at the general's probable reaction. A conspiracy of silence had settled around the gravely injured man – a conspiracy that went right up to the top.

The door to the room opened, and another nurse popped her head around. "Ah, you've finished." She came in, carrying a large floral arrangement of white lilies and assorted greenery. "I'll clear the tray as soon as I find a space to put this. It was just delivered." She pushed the water jug and glass to one side and carefully put the flowers on the cabinet, turning them so that the front of the arrangement faced the man in the bed. "They're gorgeous, but a bit of an odd choice. We don't get many lilies used in arrangements here at the hospital."

Davis eyed the flowers quizzically. The nurse was right – it was an odd choice. Maybe they were all that was in season. He didn't know much about flowers.

"Who are they from, Davis? See if there's a note."

Paul stood, spotting paper sticking out from their edge, and pulling it out. "Here, sir. Would you like me to read it?"

O'Neill shook his head, reaching out a hand to take it. "No, I can handle it, thanks."

Paul waited as the general opened the envelope, drawing a simple light blue card from inside it. Then he hurried forward as O'Neill went impossibly white. For a moment the other man seemed to stop breathing then he took a shuddering gasp, clutching at his chest with his free hand, the note still in it.

Paul pushed the call button, and put his hand out to steady the general, only to have the crumbled piece of cardboard thrust into his hand. He looked down, taking in what was written in it in one quick glance.

"Sorry I missed you. Another time perhaps? Ba'al."

He looked back up to find a pair of piecing brown eyes fixed on him.

"Get me Daniel. Now!"

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Dinner Date

"Okay, I'm here – what was so important that I …" Daniel's exasperated words came to a sudden halt as he took in the scene in front of him. Jack was lying flat in the bed, his face once again covered by an oxygen mask, and with all the machines he had lost over the past week or so, reattached. Daniel barely had time to register the changes when Paul Davis pushed him out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Daniel craned to see around the colonel as medical staff busied themselves about his friend.

“Let’s find somewhere a little more private.” Paul began to pull him down the corridor towards the small visitors’ room, and after a brief hesitation, Daniel let him.

As soon as the door was closed behind them he rounded on the other man. “Well?”

Paul ran a hand through his impeccably groomed hair, leaving it looking uncharacteristically disheveled. “General O’Neill received a message several hours ago. Here.” He thrust a crumpled piece of card into Daniel’s hand. “Read it.”

The simple words were written in an elegant hand, and while one part of Daniel's brain admired their flowing form, another part was horrified. He staggered back, falling into the chair behind him.

“Oh god!" He tore his gaze away from the card to look up at Davis, his tone pleading. “Please tell me Jack didn’t read this.” He already knew the answer. One glimpse into Jack’s room had been enough.

Paul nodded, pulling up another chair so that his knees almost touched Daniel’s. “He didn’t react well. He ordered me to call you and I could see he was …” He paused a second, "… upset, and I wanted to wait to make sure he was okay, but he got even angrier and ordered me out. After I contacted the SGC and left a message for you, I came back to find he’d …” He stopped again, this time long enough to make Daniel prompt him to go on. “He had chest pains. They’re checking him now, but they think he’s …“

“A heart attack?” Daniel shook his head in disbelief. “No, Not Jack. He’s too strong, too healthy.”

There was a brief pause in which Daniel stared at the other man, silently willing him to agree. At last Paul spoke, staring down at his hands as he did so as if afraid to meet Daniel's eyes.

"Is he? Really? Daniel – think about it."

"He …" Daniel thought back to the last time he had seen Jack before the shooting. Jack had made a flying visit to the SGC, barely stopping long enough to say hello before hurrying to a meeting with Landry and some offworld representatives. And Daniel remembered the thought that had passed fleetingly through his mind before he had dismissed it as ridiculous – Jack looked old. For the first time since he had known him, Jack looked all of his fifty-plus years.

Paul came to his feet, the sudden movement making Daniel start in surprise. "I should get back to the general."

"I lied to him." Davis stopped dead as Daniel spoke, his hand frozen in the act of reaching for the door handle. "This is my fault."

"We all lied to him, not just you."

"But I was the one who couldn't be honest with him in the first place. If only I'd had the courage to tell him the truth …"

"And say what exactly?" Paul spun, taking a step back into the center of the room, his hands raised. Every word was spoken with distaste as if he hated himself for saying them. "That there are God alone knows how many Ba'al clones out there? That for every one we catch there may be another to replace it? That the general would never be sure of being free of him?" His hands flopped to his sides and Daniel watched as the anger drained out of him. "You were protecting him. We all were."

Daniel stared back at the other man and slowly nodded. "Yes, but at what cost?"

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

"General O'Neill is insisting on speaking with you, otherwise I would refuse him visitors." The doctor gave both Daniel and Paul a look of warning that could not be misinterpreted. "I impress upon you both that he must stay as calm as possible. His blood pressure is already dangerously high." He held the door open, his voice lowering. "I will stay with you in case of problems and afterwards a nurse will be stationed permanently in this room."

They had already taken their first steps towards the bed when the doctor's words registered, but it was apparent that Jack was way ahead of them. He lifted the mask from his face, pushing it to one side as he glared at the doctor.

"Out. This is private."

"General …"

"I mean it. Out." For a voice so weak, the words were remarkably firm, but they were accompanied by the increasing tempo of the heart monitor.

The doctor took a quick look at the screens before staring back at his patient. Tension was palatable in the room. At last the stalemate was broken by the doctor's exasperated sigh and Daniel thought Jack had won, but, with a movement quick enough to guarantee him a place on an SG team, the man turned, grabbed a syringe off the tray, and injected its contents into the general's IV.

He gave Daniel and Paul a sardonic smile, completely ignoring O'Neill. "I'd make it quick if I were you." With one short comment, he stalked out, shutting the door loudly behind him.

"Aw, crap!" Jack turned his furious glare from the closed door to Daniel. "Get over here."

Daniel cautiously approached the bed, trying to ignore the rapid beeping from the machinery. His own heart seemed to skip a beat as he saw how ill his friend appeared. He looked frail, his whole presence somehow diminished.

"Hey, Jack."

The response was immediate. "You lied to me. You said he was dead."

"I … didn't really … I …" For once his much vaunted linguistic talent failed him and he stuttered to a stop.

Jack's gaze didn't leave him. He was pinned in place by the piercing eyes. "Is he, or isn't he?"

"He's … sort of."

"Sort of? How can you be sort of dead?"

Daniel couldn't help the smile that broke out briefly at Jack's question. Even as he was about to remind his friend of all the times they had both been sort of dead, Jack lifted a hand from the bed in an obvious request for him not to speak.

His voice was even softer than it had been before, and Daniel leaned in to hear him better. "Just tell me the truth."

Daniel flinched at the almost pleading request. This wasn't the head of Homeworld Security ordering him to give an answer; it was his friend begging him to be honest with him.

He nodded, but he doubted Jack caught the gesture as his eyes began to close. "When you're feeling better, okay?"

"Promise?" The single word was drawn out in a long whisper that descended into silence.

Daniel placed his hand on top of the now sleeping man's. "I promise."

He left the room wondering just how much Jack had understood of what he had said, and with the sinking feeling that only the pull of the drugs had delayed the inevitable.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

"General O'Neill? Can you hear me?"

Jack nodded, opening his eyes a little and blinking at the bright light that assaulted them.

"Good. We've done an electrocardiograph, but we need to do a couple of other tests to confirm the results. You'll be kept under mild sedation while we do them. Do you understand?"

Again Jack nodded. Of course he understood. Did the doctor think he was stupid? Now, if only he could remember why he was in hospital. He lay there, his thoughts drifting from one thing to another, not staying anywhere long enough for him to grab hold and pin them down. He moved slightly, getting a little uncomfortable after staying in the same position for too long, and felt the familiar pull of unhealed injuries in his shoulder and upper torso.

A flash of a face he'd sooner forget – a face turning and looking at him. Then another longer image, of the same face smiling as drops of liquid were released from a small bottle, falling impossibly horizontally towards him.

And the sheer agony as the drops hit.

Ba'al. He was here, on Earth, and Daniel had lied to him.

They had all lied.

For a split second Jack had complete clarity of thought, then … it was gone again, drifting away as the drugs took hold once more.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Sam Carter paced across the small waiting room, unable to relax until she saw the general for herself. Daniel's call had galvanised she and Teal'c into action and they had made their way to Washington as quickly as possible. But now, they waited. The cardiologist refused to allow them in to see O'Neill, and in fact, wouldn't or couldn't give them any news at all except to say they were doing tests. No more details were forthcoming. Apparently being close friends and colleagues didn't make them entitled to a patient's information.

So, she paced, using the time to try and firm her thoughts on the whole Ba'al problem. Not telling the general the whole story wouldn't have been her choice, but Daniel had explained his reasoning and she had heard the note of desperation in his voice as he tried to describe how scared he had been.

She didn't understand that. General O'Neill had always been able to face the reality of a situation and look for solutions – different solutions to hers, of course, but usually just as valid, if not more so. Daniel should have been honest with him, but what was done, was done.

She stopped, overtaken by a sudden desire to get out of the confining space.

"I'm going for a drink. Anyone want anything?"

Teal'c and Daniel both shook their heads and Paul Davis gave her a slightly distracted smile that she took to be a negative, so she headed out of the claustrophobic room and into the corridor.

The sound of angry voices came to her as soon as she opened the door.

"I want to see him now."

There was no way she could mistake that voice, with its clear commanding tones, for anyone else. The general was making his presence felt. She heard her companions move into the corridor to join her, but she didn't turn, instead she began to walk the short distance to O'Neill's room.

Murmurings made it clear, if it hadn't already been so, that the general wasn't alone, but she couldn't make out the words. She stopped in the open doorway, the others crowding around behind her.

General O'Neill was sitting up in bed, wires attached to several spots on his bare chest, and tubes sticking out of several places. He had an oxygen mask swinging from his neck and an expression on his face that would have had junior officers quaking in their boots. He had his arms crossed and a look of furious determination.

She gasped, unable to conceal her dismay once she had penetrated the facade and actually saw the man in the bed. He looked so – tired.

Perhaps Daniel had been right.

Then the familiar deep brown eyes caught hers and narrowed, and she realised he had heard her. Heard her gasp, and probably knew exactly why she had been so surprised.

"Hey, Carter. Guess what. I haven't had a heart attack. Nice to know, isn't it." Then the steady gaze moved on to fix on someone behind her. "Daniel – just the person I wanted to see. Let's talk. In fact, why don't you all come in? These people are just leaving."

"We may have ruled out a heart attack, General, but we haven't determined the cause of the chest pains, plus your blood pressure is still dangerously high. I can't allow visitors to disturb you at this time."

"Not allowing them to see me will disturb me even more, doctor, so how does that work?"

The white-coated man turned and gave them all a firm look. "I can see there is no point arguing, but I want no complaints when you are asked to leave." He turned back to O'Neill. "Not from anyone."

He received a reluctant nod in return. "Okay, but keep the hell away from the IV. I'm quite happy with my state of consciousness, thank you."

Sam and the others moved to one side as the medical staff filed out of the room, one of the nurses throwing her a quick smile. It was only a few moments before they were alone.

"Close the door." There was no humor in O'Neill's voice, as Teal'c immediately turned to comply with his order. As soon as the door shut, it became blatantly clear that the return of consciousness hadn't dulled any of the general's ire. If anything it had increased it, his anger frighteningly apparent in the icy words he spoke. "I've had time to think this through, and one thing is staggeringly obvious. You've lied to me. Of all the people I've known, I thought you were the ones I could trust to tell me the truth, no matter what."

Sam took a step back. This was a side of Jack O'Neill she rarely saw, and never directed at her. She could see the betrayal of trust blazing out at them all with an honesty that was all the worse for knowing how well he usually concealed his true emotions.

"Sir, please!" Paul was the first to react. "You have to stay calm."

O'Neill turned his attention to the colonel. "I'll be calm if someone gives me the god damn truth!"

This had gone on long enough. Already the monitors were pumping out data that Sam could see was not good. The general was getting too agitated.

"Gerak did kill Ba'al at Dakara, sir, but we found a lab in Ba'al's compound here on Earth. The equipment in it is used in genetic replication."

There, it was out. She waited, along with everyone else, for O'Neill's reaction. He frowned, and for a second she thought she would have to spell it out for him, but then the moment of realization hit.

The monitors went wild.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

Jack felt the pain rising up in his chest once more as he fought to breathe.

Ba'al had been cloned, and no way did he think it was so the Goa'uld could attend high school.

How many of them – how many smirking, evil bastards were there out there, waiting for their chance to torture …

He felt hands grasp his, stilling their sudden shaking.

"Be calm, O'Neill."

He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself as Teal'c asked, but it was impossible with the tight band around his chest and he ended up coughing instead – something he seemed to be doing a lot lately.

Was this a heart attack? Didn't the doctor say he hadn't had one?

He gasped in another tiny gulp of air, barely enough to keep going. In desperation he opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd shut, needing someone to help.

"Try not to panic. Take as deep a breath as you can, as slowly as possible."

Jack found himself instinctively following the calmly spoken orders. He nodded, sucking in air as a hand steadied his back. He winced at the contact on his still healing wound, but the pressure was soft, just enough to help him stay upright as his breathing eased.

"That's right. And again."

He concentrated on just breathing, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Out the corner of his eye he saw SG-1 being ushered out of the room, but he didn't care. He just listened to his doctor's voice and tried to stay calm.

It was several minutes before he could think straight again. The nurses eased him back down on to the bed and he lay there, feeling more tired than he could ever remember.

And scared.

Oh crap, he felt so damned scared!

The doctor pulled a chair over and sat down beside him, and Jack looked at him, expecting to see the self satisfied look of a man who knew he had been right. Instead he saw sympathy.

"You didn't have a heart attack. I know it felt like one, but it wasn't. It was a panic attack."

"No. It couldn't be." He could barely summon the energy to shake his head, but he managed it. Panic attacks – it was inconceivable. No friggin' way!

The doctor only nodded. "I'm afraid it is, General. Whatever you were discussing with your colleagues brought on the attack in both cases. Perhaps now you will understand why I was so reluctant to let you have visitors?"

Ba'al. Everywhere he looked. Everywhere he turned. He would never be free of him, always looking over his shoulder, trapped in a wilderness of mirrors.

"Sir? Look at me." The firm hand on his good shoulder dragged him back from his thoughts. "I know this is a shock to you. You don't strike me as the sort of person normally prone to panic attacks. Am I right?"

"Hell no!"

The doctor nodded. "I didn't think so. And there is no reason to believe that, once you are completely recovered, you will ever get them again. You're underweight for a man of your age and height, and not by just a few pounds. You were bordering on anemic even before the shooting. I think I can hazard a guess that your position is somewhat stressful." When Jack nodded, he continued. "I also have been told you've only recently been appointed to the position. So, a new stressful job, long hours, and little time for recreation, plus you've clearly been missing meals and generally not taking care of yourself. Then you get yourself shot."

Jack had to smile at the way the doctor phrased it. "I didn't do it on purpose."

The doctor smiled back, his face transforming from its usual stern demeanor into one that looked years younger. "Your injuries were severe and life-threatening. You had a serious chest injury and your breathing is still compromised. All these things have combined to cause you to react abnormally to stress." He fixed Jack with a stare. "Do you understand, sir? This isn't a life sentence – just a pothole in the road. Give yourself time to heal and once you're back to full health you should be able to resume your duties."

"Can you guarantee it won't happen again?"

"No, of course not, but it is highly unlikely."

Jack thought for a moment. "Okay, I can live with that." Yes, he could live with it and if, once he was out of hospital, the attacks continued then retirement would be the best option. He wasn't going to put people in danger because he couldn't think straight.

But he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"I want you to get some rest now, sir."

Jack frowned as the doctor moved towards the IV.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, it is. Your body needs time to heal and, in my considered opinion, the only way to achieve that is by medication." His sardonic smirk had returned in full force. "Have a good sleep, General."

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

"Why did you do that?"

"Do what, Daniel?"

Daniel knew Sam was aware of exactly what he meant, the guilt on her face was enough to tell him that, but he was battling with his own sense of guilt and had no time for compassion.

"Tell Jack about Ba'al like that. That's exactly why we decided to keep the news from him."

"He wouldn't have reacted like that if you had been honest with him in the first place. He had to be told."

"Yes, but not like that."

"How did you want him told, Daniel? Would you have done it? This is as much your fault as mine and don't pretend otherwise."

Daniel glared at his teammate, taking a step towards her across the small room. The one step almost took him right up to her, but before he could close the gap another body slid between them and he found himself with a face full of angry Jaffa.

"That is enough!"

Daniel fell back, as much from guilt as surprise. He watched Sam's face as Teal'c moved aside and saw the worry that he knew was on his own.

"There was no correct time to inform General O'Neill of the clones, nor was there any correct way. It did not matter when or how he was told, he would have reacted just as badly. There is no blame to be apportioned here. This is O'Neill's battle to fight, not yours."

Paul Davis started speaking as soon as their teammate had finished. "Teal'c's right. We couldn't keep things from General O'Neill any longer." He turned to Sam. "There was no way you could know he would react like that. If you hadn't told him, I would have."

"Thanks, Paul." Sam nodded her head wearily and slumped down into a chair. "I just wish I'd had time to tell him the rest . . ." Her words trailed off as she rested her head in her hands, her posture a picture of despondency.

Daniel's anger left him as suddenly as it had appeared and he knelt in front of Sam, and gently pulled her hands away from her face. "What? What were you going to tell Jack?"

She dragged a hand from his grasp and quickly swiped at the tears that glistened in the corner of her eyes. "I think I've found a solution to the clone problem, at least partially."

"Then you'll be able to give Jack some good news when we're allowed in to see him."

She raised her head and gave Daniel a watery smile.

"Yes. I will."

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

"Finally, some decent food." Jack grinned around a mouthful of steak. "And some good company for a change. I was beginning to go stir crazy with only myself to talk to. I'm not the most brilliant conversationalist, you know."

"I don't know about that, sir." Carter stopped speaking as O'Neill put his finger to his lips in a sign for quiet.

"No arguing, Colonel. Sick man here. You don't want to upset me."

Jack cringed as Carter's face went pale. He gave himself a mental kick and a reminder not to mention being upset again. It was obvious he wasn't the only one with unresolved issues over their last conversation.

Now, four days later, he finally felt up to having the discussion he should have had then.

"Tell me about the genetic replication technology you found. I want the full details, plus any conclusions you have come to."

He waited, eyeing them all sternly.

Colonel Carter stiffened, but kept her eyes fixed on his face, plainly prepared to obey his orders.

"Yes, sir."

To Jack's surprise, Daniel didn't utter a single protest as she began to speak, explaining in some detail what they had discovered in the basement at Ba'al's compound.

Jack kept his face impassive as she talked, but when she told him they had no way of knowing how many clones were out there he was glad the monitors had been removed. They didn't even know if it was the original snakehead that had been killed by Gerak. Probably wasn't – just a sacrificial lamb, one of many and easily replaced.

"I doubt Ba'al will make another attempt on your life, O'Neill. He clearly did not want his presence broadcast before he was ready. Now he will be more concerned with escaping detection."

"So I'm not a high priority on Ba'al's shopping list, T? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Indeed."

"That doesn't make me feel any better. Even the thought of one Goa'uld running free on this planet is enough to turn my stomach, but possibly hundreds …"

"I may have a solution to that, sir."

"Do tell, Colonel."

Carter gave a nervous smile. "The lab equipment we found had clear similarities to that Loki used, sir. We know the Goa'uld rarely invent anything of their own, taking from other technologies instead. I think this is one of those times."

"And this helps us, how?"

"The Ba'al clones probably have similar genetic markers to yourself and your duplicate, sir. It should be easy enough to find Ba'al's clones using the same Asgard technology they use to keep a track of you."

"You're saying they all have little locator beacons in them and we can use them to track them down?"

She nodded. "I think so, sir. We'll need to talk to the Asgard about it, but it is logical."

"Sweet!" Jack smiled, already thinking of the possibilities. "We can catch them." Then he thought of something – something rather important. "But not the original, right?"

"Ah, no, sir."

"Pity."

The thought that the original would probably escape made him furious, but he hid the anger, and turned to Daniel instead.

"Now, I have something to say to you." Daniel looked like he wanted to run and hide. "I know why you did what you did, and don't get me wrong, I do understand your reasoning. But," he paused, then continued, emphasizing each word, "Don't you ever lie to me like that again. I need to know I can trust you, that you're honest with me. I have enough people around me here in Washington willing to sugarcoat the truth. I don't need you to do it." He stopped, calmly picked up his fork again and stabbed at the baked potato on his plate. "Now – let's get down to working out what creative things we can do with the Ba'al clones once we catch them. Should be fun, don't ya think?"

O'Neill grinned a feral grin as he swallowed the forkful of food. Yeap, he could certainly think of some interesting ways to extract as much information as possible from the bounteous Ba'als. Far more creative than the methods Ba'al had used on him.

Yes, things were truly looking up at last.

o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o

The End