The Fire Still Burns
Jack shifted in his chair, conscious of every eye in the room being fixed on him.
What was he – an exhibit in a freak show?
It had been like this ever since he'd got back from Hathor's planet. Ever since they'd found out about the snake.
Stares. Concerned looks.
As if he was going to crack open at any moment.
Well, sorry, but he wasn't going to. Hathor was dead – he had killed her himself – and that was something to be celebrated. One less snake to slither around in a poor bastard's body. One less egotistical god-wanna-be treating human beings like puppets.
Pain shot across the back of his head and he winced.
"Colonel O'Neill?"
Hammond seemed to have jumped on the staring bandwagon, a frown creasing his forehead.
"Sorry, sir, what was the question?"
The general's frown deepened. "Are you all right, Colonel?"
The smile Jack summoned up sent the pain bouncing backward and forward, but he held the expression firmly on his lips. "Just a bit of a headache, sir. Nothing a few hours sleep somewhere other than the infirmary won't cure."
"Very well." Hammond turned his attention to encompass the rest of the people seated around the briefing room table. "As I was saying - I shall be accompanying Major Davis to Washington. Until my return Colonel Makepeace will be in command." He looked back at Jack, clearly expecting a protest. "Until you're medically cleared, Colonel, you are confined to the base and are to follow Doctor Fraiser's instructions to restrict yourself to your quarters and rest."
"General…"
"Would you prefer to return to the infirmary, sir?'
O'Neill threw Janet Fraiser a reproachful look, but shook his head. "No. I've spent way too much time there already. Quarters are good."
"I thought so." Hammond nodded in satisfaction. "This has been a costly mission. Two members of SG-6 were killed and there were injuries to five of the other SG team members who participated in the rescue. Doctor Jackson's leg wound will take several weeks to heal, not to mention the possible consequences of Colonel O'Neill's…"
"I'm fine, General." Jack's hand began an involuntary twitch toward the bandage at the back of his neck, but he held it in check. "I've had worse shaving."
"…Colonel O'Neill's infestation by a Goa'uld."
Jack winced again, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands as, once again, every eye in the room turned toward him.
Infestation.
Crap.
The damn thing was dead.
Dead.
He shut his eyes as the pain scurried through his skull like a rat in the nighttime.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Daniel clumped his way toward his teammates, his plate of sandwiches precariously balanced in one unsteady hand.
"Here, let me take that for you."
He relinquished his hold on the plate to a young lieutenant, concentrating on navigating between the tables with most of his weight supported on his good leg and the single crutch.
"Thanks, Karen."
"You're welcome, Doctor Jackson." The woman smiled self-consciously as she placed the sandwiches down on SG-1's table and left to rejoin her friends at the serving line.
"I'm surprised you got out of Janet's clutches so quickly, Jack. She seemed to be gearing up to give you every test known to man." Propping the crutch against the table edge, Daniel eased himself into a chair, waiting for his friend's answer.
"Yeah, well, she's let me out for good behavior, but I'm on probation – have to report back in to my parole officer in a few hours." Jack shrugged, his attention apparently focused on the coffee in front of him. "I'm fine – nothing but a sore neck and the beginnings of a head cold."
"I thought you were supposed to stay in your quarters, sir."
Jack looked up long enough to give Sam a look filled with reproach and Daniel concealed a smile.
"I have to eat. I'm sure the Doc didn't want me to starve."
"It does not appear you are eating," Teal'c pointed out.
"I'm not hungry."
"But you said…"
Jack held up a hand, interrupting the Jaffa. "Leave it, okay? I'll head for my quarters in a minute. I just wanted…" Daniel blinked as an expression he couldn't identify flickered across Jack's face. "Forget it, you're right, I should be in my quarters." He pushed his chair back and stood, resting his weight on the table for a moment before straightening. "I'm too tired to think straight and my bed is calling."
"Do you wish me to accompany you, O'Neill?" Teal made as if to stand, but Jack shook his head.
"Thanks for the offer. I think I can find my quarters without help." His eyes shifted, taking in everyone at the table. "I don't want to be disturbed unless the Earth is in immediate danger of being destroyed by a black hole – no, wait, we've done that one – make it an asteroid."
They all watched silently as the obviously weary figure of the colonel disappeared out the cafeteria door.
"How's your leg?'
"Hurts." Daniel grimaced and then gave Sam a small smile in response to her question. "But Janet says I should be back on duty in a couple of weeks. In the meantime there's plenty of work to catch up on. Did you know we've been missing for three weeks?"
"So Teal'c told me. I can't believe it – we must have been kept in cryogenic sleep for all that time."
"Do you have any idea why Hathor did that, Captain Carter? Why did she wait so long before reviving you, Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson?"
"I've been thinking about that." Sam raised her glass and took a sip of orange juice before speaking again. "Our capture was probably unexpected. She would have needed that time to get the fake SGC in place."
Daniel frowned as he thought about what Sam had just said. "It all seems very elaborate – not your typical Goa'uld plan. Why didn't she just torture us for the information?"
"SG-1 has a certain reputation amongst both the Jaffa and the Goa'uld." A smile of sorts twitched its way across Teal'c's lips. "It is likely Hathor knew you would succumb to death rather than give up the secrets she wished you to divulge. If she did not have ready access to a sarcophagus she would have been unable to revive you."
"It almost worked." Sam spoke in a low voice, her distress clear to Daniel. "If the colonel hadn't…"
"Yeah." Daniel nodded in understanding. "She had me fooled." He changed the subject, unable to think about what had happened at Hathor's base without his stomach tying itself in knots. "Any idea when General Hammond is due back?"
Sam's answer was short. "No."
"You are concerned, Captain Carter? Did not the general's actions result in the rescue of many personnel? Would his superiors not be pleased by this?"
Daniel tried to explain. "He didn't have permission to rescue us, Teal'c, and he didn't get permission to go offworld. I doubt his superiors are pleased at all. He may lose his command."
Teal'c frowned. "That is not good news. General Hammond may be punished for doing what was right?"
"Against orders."
"Was he ordered not to rescue you?"
Sam shook her head. "No, not exactly…"
"Then he did not disobey orders. Your military has a very strange attitude to success. Surely it is results that count?"
Daniel finally took a sip of his long cold coffee. If only it were that simple.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
A jarhead was in charge of his base and here he was, lying down in the middle of the day. It wasn't right.
Jack sniffed, feeling the telltale tickling in his nose that always heralded a cold. Damn ice chest. No wonder he was feeling a little off-color – everyone knew you shouldn't refreeze things once they'd been thawed.
Pulling the grey government issue blanket up higher, he tucked it under his chin and anchored it with his tightly fisted hands.
The prickly fabric was making the back of his neck itch. He closed his fists even tighter, stopping himself from scratching at the bandage covered wound.
At least he hadn't felt the snake when it came out – going in was more than enough. He shivered as he remembered the tearing teeth gouging their path into his body, the feeling of despair as it slashed its way down through skin and muscle, uncaring of the damage it caused, knowing it could repair the injuries. It had barely had time to begin the healing process before it turned tail and ran – literally – leaving the way it came in. The blood had dripped, marring that pristine white jacket he wore to return home, slipping down his collar and between his shoulder blades, running out…
"The Goa'uld within will die."
Yes, he was sure it had, but only after it tried to escape and found itself exchanging one freezer for another. Fraiser said there was no sign of it now and after all the tests she'd done Jack was inclined to believe her.
He yawned, wishing his brain wasn't constantly rehashing the events of the last few weeks – what he could remember of them anyway.
One thing he hadn't expected was General Hammond being with Teal'c in that Jaffa ship. How the hell had he managed that one? So many rumors were flying about the base that even he had heard them, tucked up as he had been in the infirmary. The nurses' and orderlies' whispered conversations had been enough. Hammond was in trouble.
Jack had wanted to talk to him, but getting a private moment had been impossible, then it was too late – the general was going to D.C.
Turning to lie on his other side, he muttered a quiet curse. He should be going to Washington with Hammond to support him – to give his team's side of the story – show those stuffed shirts the human face of Hammond's command. Or he should be looking after the base while the general was absent, keeping it running efficiently until he got back. Makepeace couldn't be trusted to do that. The marine colonel was okay in a combat situation, in fact Jack couldn't think of anyone, other than his own team, that he would trust more to watch his back, but he wasn't the sharpest pencil in the pencil case when it came to administration.
The SCG was probably already falling apart at the seams and Hammond had only been gone a couple of hours.
He was still worrying when he drifted off to sleep, the stress of the past few days finally catching up with him.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Jack only had time to take a quick look at his alarm clock and register that he'd managed a good five hours sleep, when the tickle that had woken him grew. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a couple of beats before sneezing loudly.
Crap! He sat up, grabbing for the box of tissues by the bed. As another sneeze erupted from him, he gasped, pain from his head and neck both surging to join together, creating one giant mass of hurt. The tissues forgotten, he fell back, not caring about the line of moisture running from his nose.
Throbbing – his whole body was throbbing. This didn't feel like any head cold he'd ever had. God knew what germs percolated in that ice cube tray of Hathor's.
Sniff.
For crying out loud! Swallowing his own snot was not something he enjoyed doing.
He pushed himself up on one elbow and made a desperate lunge for a tissue, snagging the top one before sinking back down, his hand already holding it to his nose. In the middle of wiping the debris of the last sneeze from his face, another one rocked his body.
This time he took the whole box of tissues and laid them on his chest, pulling a new one out as each one he used became soggy.
Being sick wasn't fun at all.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
After another hour of fitful dozing broken by sneezing bouts, Jack had had enough. Janet would be able to give him something, even if it just helped the headache. Then he could vegetate in his quarters until the cold ran its course. No point in contaminating the rest of the base.
Anyway, it was way past the time he was supposed to go back to the infirmary for his test results. He was surprised the Doc hadn't sent someone to fetch him.
He sat up, the tissue box clutched in one hand like a security blanket, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Damn thing was so itchy it wasn't funny. Thankful he hadn't undressed, he looked down at his sock clad feet, a wave of dizziness making his eyes blur.
It wasn't like he was going outside and he was off duty. Anyone he met would just have to put up with his now somewhat smelly socks, because it sure as hell didn't look like he could bend down far enough to get boots on.
The short walk to the door of his quarters had never seemed so far, but by the time he reached for the handle and pushed the door open he felt a little steadier.
That was until another sneeze had him doubling over, his hands on his knees. Thank goodness he'd brought the tissues. He blew his nose and balled the wet tissue into a small mass, throwing it into his trash can before shutting the door. The sneeze had set his headache off again and he shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and headed determinedly toward the elevator.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Riding up four levels was like taking an F-15 out for a joy ride - at least that was how Jack felt when the car finally stopped and the doors split open on Level 21. Except it had been a joy ride without any joy – just that feeling of disorientation that he'd gotten over after his second training flight.
And his ears had popped.
With one hand lightly skimming the corridor wall, he headed for the infirmary, his balance getting worse with every step. And now his stomach was rebelling. It was probably full of all that nose crap he'd swallowed.
He'd never been so eager to see Janet.
The infirmary door was open wide and he leaned against the door jamb, his free hand holding on to it as his legs grew even wobblier.
"Doc." He swallowed, trying for more than the dry croak he'd managed and blinking his eyes.
The scene inside the room was one of controlled chaos, with people everywhere. Nurses and doctors bent over bloody green uniforms, hands flashing as they wiped, bound and treated. Peering around, Jack recognised members of SG-12 and SG-4, plus a few extras. Sergeant Baker and Captain Kearney lay side by side on beds, while others of their teammates were on gurneys.
It looked like the aftermath of a massacre.
It was as the reaction to what he saw was really hitting home that Jack spotted Janet Fraiser. Major Mansfield, commander of SG-4, was bleeding freely from a large wound in his side and the infirmary staff surrounding him were working desperately to stem the flow. The diminutive doctor was dwarfed by her nurses but her presence was certainly being felt as she snapped rapid orders.
Red dripped on to the floor and for a moment Jack's vision wavered. He swayed, gripping the door jamb harder to stop himself from falling.
"Colonel O'Neill?" Jack's eyes came back into focus as the doctor's voice cut through the quiet background murmurs of her staff and patients. "I'm sorry, sir, I haven't got time to go over your test results now. As you can see, we've got a bit of a crisis here." She continued working as she spoke, snapping one pair of bloody gloves off and replacing them with another, her gaze darting from one part of the infirmary to another.
"What happened?"
She grimaced, her face showing her disgust. "Just the usual unexpected run-in with a Jaffa patrol."
"Any casualties?" He wondered briefly at not having heard the alarms, knowing he must have been more out of it than he thought.
She shook her head grimly. "Thankfully no. Did you need anything, sir?"
"No, nothing that won't keep."
She was already turning back to Mansfield. "Good. I'll come down to your quarters as soon as I'm able, Colonel."
Fingertips clenched around the thin edge of the door, head spinning and thumping to the tune of some demented techno dance track, Jack grunted an acknowledgment. There were people seriously injured here and one bad ass cold didn't figure too highly in comparison. He'd go back to his quarters and find that bottle of aspirin he had stashed somewhere.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Although it wasn't unusual for the SGC to have bad days when everything just seemed to stack up until the pile toppled and it all started to tumble down, normally General Hammond was the steadying hand, there to hold back the avalanche and keep some measure of order. Without him, and without the support of O'Neill, Colonel Makepeace could only do so much. Two offworld SG teams had come in hot, with some minor Goa'uld's Jaffa hard on their heels. The firefight had been short, but fierce, and there had been serious injuries, not just to the returning teams, but to two of the SF guards.
When the smoke cleared, the Jaffa were dead and the SGC had been able to tend to its wounded.
The clean up took hours. Equipment damaged in the rain of staff blasts and bullets needed to be replaced, extra personnel had to be called in, and arrangements had to be made to treat the most seriously wounded at the Academy Hospital. Security around the SGC was tightened as the comings and goings of staff and injured grew. Colonel Makepeace called D.C. and spoke to Hammond. It looked like the general wouldn't be able to return for at least another twenty-four hours.
And Robert Makepeace vowed he'd never ever ask for another promotion.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
It wasn't like they'd forgotten about Colonel O'Neill. There had been that nagging feeling in the back of Sam's mind that she should check up on him, but she'd been run off her feet getting equipment functioning again. Daniel had been busy too, filling in wherever he could, despite his injury, but it wasn't until Teal'c went past at the head of a security detail that Sam realized all her teammates had been as occupied as she was. Even so, it was still another couple of hours before she had time to head down to the Colonel's quarters. She picked up Daniel on the way as he headed for a much needed break.
There was no answer when they tapped at the door on Level 25.
"Maybe he's asleep."
Daniel shook his head at Sam's suggestion. "Knock again. Jack is a very light sleeper, he should have answered."
Another knock got no response. Giving Daniel a quick look and getting a nod in return, Sam turned the handle and pushed the door open.
Their gaze went immediately to the rumpled bed, its linen lying in haphazard piles and trailing on the floor.
"Sir?"
Through the partially open door of the bathroom came a mumbled grunt. "What?"
Exchanging another concerned look with Daniel, Sam took the few steps toward the other room. "Are you okay?"
"No."
At the single, flat reply, Sam peered around the door. What she saw had her hurrying forward.
Colonel O'Neill was on his knees, half gripping the toilet, half lying on the floor. He raised a pale, sweat soaked face and gave a low groan.
"Where the hell have you been?" The question was ground out, the accusation plain in its bitter tone.
Sam saw her own confusion reflected on Daniel's face "Things have been a bit chaotic. We had two teams come in hot…"
"I know that. Yeah, I know that." For a second it was as if O'Neill was in another world, his words fading into a bewildered murmur. "We have to get out of…"
"Sir? Get out of where?"
"What the hell are you talking about, Carter?"
Feeling more and more confused by the conversation, Sam bent forward, gripping her CO's right arm tightly in an effort to help him stand. "Come on, sir, let's get you back to bed."
The colonel nodded slowly. He shifted sideways and took more weight on his knees as if he was about to get up, but he barely managed to rise an inch before he slumped forward again, his head over the toilet bowl, and threw up.
"I'll call Janet." Daniel gave O'Neill a worried look as he turned awkwardly and left the room, his crutch thumping on the bathroom tiles.
Several minutes went by before the colonel stopped retching and was quiet, his head hanging, taking in large gulps of air as Sam patted him on the back in a vague attempt at comfort.
"Janet wanted to know if this was the first time he'd vomited," Daniel said as he returned to the doorway. "I told her I didn't know. She said she can't leave the infirmary – to get him into bed and she'll send a nurse down to check if he needs to be admitted." He gave Sam another worried look. "There's no free bed."
"Not the first time." Colonel O'Neill's arm thumped against Sam's leg and she bent again to take it, pulling the man up. "Been here for hours." The colonel stayed slightly hunched over, as if protecting his stomach. "At least it seems like hours."
"Why didn't you call someone, Jack?"
They took one short step and Daniel pushed past to stand at Jack's other side as if to help support him, although what he thought he could achieve while holding himself up on crutches, Sam had no idea.
"Couldn't get up. Keep… God!"
Sam was just in time to turn and aim the colonel at the toilet again.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"He's hot." Daniel called, drawing his hand back from Jack's forehead as the other man gave a small, irritated toss of his head. "I think he's sick."
"Well, duh. And I can hear you, you know." Jack grumbled, his half-closed eyes glaring up at them. "I thought it was just a cold."
Sam's face appeared around the bathroom door. "It's more than a cold, sir." She disappeared again, reappearing to the sound of the toilet flushing. "A cold doesn't make you this sick. How are you feeling?"
"Dizzy." Jack shivered as he spoke, his shoulders twitching. "And cold."
Reaching for a blanket, Daniel added it to the one already covering his friend, wondering how someone could feel cold when obviously running a temperature. He had barely sat back in his chair when there was a tap on the door.
Sam came out of the bathroom, wiping her hands. "I'll get it."
There were a few words exchanged then Captain Duarte, one of Janet's most experienced nurses, entered.
"Doctor Fraiser said the colonel has been vomiting?"
Daniel nodded as he watched her take an electronic thermometer and, lifting Jack's t-shirt, place the sensor under his arm. "Apparently for some time. He says he's dizzy."
The nurse frowned at the readout on the thermometer's screen. "Any other symptoms?"
"Itchy." Jack's eyes flickered open again.
"What's itchy, sir?"
His hands came up as if he was about to indicate something, but fell weakly back. "Neck. And I've got a headache." He paused and swallowed. "Sore throat."
Duarte had already wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and now wrote the results down in a small notebook. She slipped it back into her pocket and leaned forward.
"Could you sit up for me, please, sir? I'd like to check the wound on your neck." Although Jack clearly found it a little hard to sit, she helped him before Daniel could even try, expertly slipping the pillow up to support him.
"If you would bend your head forward, please?"
Daniel exchanged a concerned look with Sam as Jack did as the nurse asked, visibly paling as he swayed slightly. It didn't take long for the bandage and dressing over the gruesome wound to be removed. To Daniel's untutored eyes the thin, raised line, crisscrossed with stitches, looked okay, without the telltale sign of redness he knew heralded infection.
"It looks fine, Colonel," the captain reassured him as she rebandaged the injury. "Just a couple more tests and I'm done." She checked Jack's throat, then took the stethoscope from her neck and listened to his chest. "Deep breaths, please, sir." She nodded and gave Sam and Daniel a quick smile. "Sounds clear and the vomiting seems to have stopped. I don't think it's anything serious, but I'll make sure Doctor Fraiser gets these results straight away. Okay, Colonel?"
Jack gave a tired nod as she helped him to lie back down.
"Is he really all right?" Daniel asked in a low voice as he and Sam accompanied the nurse to the door. "He seemed pretty bad."
Captain Duarte waited until they were in the corridor before answering. "To be honest, I'm not sure. There is some minor irritation in his throat, but apart from that everything looks good."
"He vomited violently and said he'd been feeling sick for about an hour before we arrived," Sam interrupted.
"That's what concerns me. There's no indication of anything seriously wrong with him, but I'll tell Doctor Fraiser what you've told me." She frowned, pulling out her notebook and turning the pages. "His temperature is a little high, but again, it isn't too bad."
"He said he was cold."
"Really?" At Daniel's nod, her frown deepened. "That's odd. Two of our more seriously injured patients are being transferred to the Academy Hospital shortly. That will free up a bed and we can get Colonel O'Neill admitted. In the meantime, could one of you stay with him?"
"Sure," Daniel agreed immediately. "I should rest my leg anyway."
"Thanks, Doctor Jackson. Make sure he has plenty of water and if he begins vomiting again call the infirmary immediately." Duarte gave them both a smile, the elevator opening as she did so. "I'll give Doctor Fraiser my report."
Daniel waited until the elevator had gone before turning to slowly follow Sam back down the corridor to Jack's room. His leg was aching and he would be grateful for the opportunity to sit for a while.
By the time he was back at Jack's bedside, Sam had already replaced the blankets, tucking them around him.
"I use to do that with Charlie. Every night when I was home." Jack sniffed and for an awful second Daniel thought he was crying, but gave a relieved laugh when he sneezed loudly.
"Here, sir." Sam handed Jack a tissue, throwing Daniel a quick glare which cut his laughter short. While Jack noisily blew his nose she hurried back to the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth. "Would you like…" Her words faded into an embarrassed mumble.
"Let me." Daniel took the cloth and gently wiped it across Jack's face. He ignored the hand that tried to swipe it away as the traces of vomit and sweat slowly disappeared.
Sam looked at her watch and frowned. "I better get back to the Control Room. I was only meant to have a thirty minute break. Will you be okay?"
Daniel nodded. "Sure. If anything changes I'll let you know, otherwise we'll probably be in the infirmary by the time you get off duty."
"I'll check there first." She bent over Jack and gave him a searching look, frowning. "Colonel?" The resulting silence prompted her to state the obvious. "He's asleep."
"Best thing for him."
"Yes. I'll let Teal'c know what's happening."
Once Sam left, Daniel made himself comfortable, propping his injured leg up on the end of Jack's bed and settling a little more into the chair cushion. He'd been on his feet for far too long and although he was worried about Jack, he was also pleased at the chance to rest.
It wasn't long before he had joined his friend in sleep.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Jack lay for a moment, trying to work out where he was. It was the sound of soft snoring from beside the bed that gave him his first clue. He looked over to find Daniel sound asleep, chin tucked down onto his chest and glasses askew.
Memories of being sick as a dog flashed up in his head and he grimaced. His mouth tasted like the inside of a septic tank. Easing his legs slowly over the side of the bed, he carefully avoided Daniel's injured one and got them to the floor without waking the other man. Jack found it surprisingly easy to stand, his head giving only a few comparatively gentle thumps before settling into a steady, dull throbbing. With a slight hesitation in his step, he made it to the tiny bathroom and filled the glass on the basin with water, staring into the mirror as he swilled a mouthful around and spat it out before drinking the rest down. The face looking back at him was pale, with dark rings circling tired eyes.
Feeling the beginning of a sneeze, Jack pulled some toilet paper from the roll and blew his nose, then sniffling, tore off more paper and just managed to get it up to his face before three huge sneezes erupted from him in quick succession.
"Jack? What are you doing out of bed?"
"I'm in the bathroom, what do you think?" Just to make his point, he used the toilet and flushed it before filling the glass again and turning to return to the bedroom.
Daniel was sitting, both feet once more on the floor. "I don't think you should be up."
Waving his free hand at Daniel, Jack walked back to the bed, carefully balancing the nearly full glass. "I could say the same about you. Shouldn't you be resting that leg? You should go lie down in your own quarters."
Daniel shook his head emphatically. "No. I promised Ann Duarte I'd keep an eye on you. I'm not going anywhere and you're getting into bed." He moved the sheet and blanket, making it clear he expected Jack to get back under the covers.
Not wanting to aggravate his headache with a shouting match, Jack finished the water and handed Daniel the glass. "All right, but only because I know this cold won't get any better if I don't. It isn't like I'm really sick or anything." He sniffed loudly and pointed at the tissue box now out of reach on the table. "Can you…"
"You were really sick." Daniel handed him the box and Jack positioned it at his side as he slid back down under the blanket. "And you look terrible."
"Yeah, well, you'd be throwing up if you'd swallowed the amount of nose crap I have over the last couple of hours." He finished the sentence with yet another loud sneeze and a shiver. "Could you rustle me up another blanket? I'm freezing." While Daniel went searching through the small closet, he added, "Really, Daniel, maybe you shouldn't be in here. Goodness knows what germs I'm spreading around and you're already injured."
"I'm staying." Daniel spread the blanket he had found over Jack as he answered. "Now be quiet and go back to sleep."
"Yes, mom."
Jack shut his eyes, knowing sleep was exactly what his body needed right now. As he felt the watchful eyes of his friend gazing at him, he just wished he was at home in his own bed – alone. This certainly seemed a lot of fuss for a simple cold.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"Major Mansfield and Sergeant Baker have been transferred to the Academy Hospital and the other wounded are all doing well. Most have minor staff weapon burns and Lieutenant Baker has a broken arm." Janet Fraiser looked up from her notes and took a good look at the officer in front of her. "Things seem to be under control now, sir. Can I suggest you get a few hours sleep?"
Colonel Makepeace shook his head wearily. "Wish I could, Doc, but there's still a lot of cleaning up to be done. How's Colonel O'Neill? Someone told me he was sick or something."
Janet had to smile at the wistful tone in the man's voice. It was obvious Colonel Makepeace had found the last few days rather 'trying' to put it mildly. She had plenty of sympathy for him – being thrown straight into command of the base after coming back from a stressful mission, then the fire fight in the gate room to add to the mess.
"I took a quick look at the colonel before I came to report and he's certainly under the weather. He's got a very bad cold and I've confined him to his quarters. I don't want him in the infirmary with the injured for obvious reasons." She saw Colonel Makepeace nod in understanding and continued, "I could send him home, but after what happened on Hathor's planet I want him here where I can keep an eye on him."
Makepeace gave her a searching look. "Is he okay, really? I mean, that must have been a shit awful thing, having one of those snakes inside, crawling around like that."
"He seems to have come out of it with nothing but a cold from the two cryogenic freezings." She paused, thinking about what Colonel Makepeace had just said and not liking what her brain was telling her. "But I haven't had a chance to properly go over the test results yet and…"
"And?" the colonel repeated, but she didn't answer immediately, instead she gave herself time to carefully word her reply.
"And there will, of course, be a mandatory psych evaluation."
Makepeace shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, gotta love those psych evaluations. I don't envy Jack that one."
"No." Smiling brightly, Janet began to stand. "Do you have any idea when General Hammond is due back, sir?"
"Not really, Doctor. Hopefully soon though."
Janet gave a commiserating nod. "I better get back to my patients. I'll let you know if there are any changes."
"Thanks. And I better get back to my paperwork." Makepeace was already turning to a report as she left the office.
By the time she'd reached the elevator, Janet had mentally reviewed the symptoms Colonel O'Neill had exhibited. By the time the elevator doors opened, she was seriously wishing General Hammond was on the base so she could talk to him. And by the time she reached her own office, she was genuinely worried.
Shivering and complaints of being cold even when exhibiting an elevated temperature.
Itchy neck, despite the site of the wound showing no sign of infection.
Vomiting.
She closed her door and pulled her office chair out to sit staring blankly down at the papers on her desk.
Did Colonel O'Neill have more than a cold? Because when put together like that all the symptoms added up to something more psychological than physical. Had she been too ready to dismiss his experience with Hathor's Goa'uld because of his own easy dismissal of it? Could it really have been just shrugged off like that?
No way could she admit her suspicions to Colonel Makepeace. He would just pass them further up the line and before O'Neill knew it he would be sitting in a nice cozily padded room under Doctor MacKenzie's care.
All the test results weren't back yet and no one really knew what effects being in a cryogenic sleep for so long were. Plus there was implantation of a Goa'uld to consider as well – the physical effects of which were still unknown. Just because Colonel O'Neill's symptoms didn't seem related, didn't mean they weren't. Damn it, having a snake burrow into your neck surely did more to a person than just produce physical scars.
And she was back to psychological problems.
She rested her head in her hands, wishing she could turn the clock back a month and stop the whole awful mission from ever happening.
Damn but she wanted General Hammond back!
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Sam cautiously opened the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. It had taken far longer than she had expected to complete the repairs needed on the system and run diagnostics, and now it was long after most sensible people would have gone home to bed. Not that anyone ever accused her of being sensible when it came to her work. In fact it was the very person she was now coming to check on that gave her the most complaints about that.
As the door opened, she realized the futility of trying to keep quiet in case her CO was asleep. O'Neill and Daniel were arguing, loudly.
"Leave me alone, damn it, I'm not nuts!" There was a thump and something whacked into the wall by the doorway, narrowly missing her. To her stunned amazement it looked like the colonel had thrown one of his boots and by the force of the impact it had been intended to hurt whoever it had been aimed at. She was almost too astounded by the action to look, but look she did – only to find Daniel standing almost directly in front of her, rubbing his chest.
What was that about not being nuts? Jack O'Neill didn't normally throw things at his teammates and at this moment nuts seemed a pretty good way to describe his behavior.
"Go to hell, Jack!" Daniel shouted back. The two men looked like they were about to come to blows. Sam's eyes widened in shock but she barely had time to register the reaction before Daniel spun, awkwardly pushing past her, his crutch squeaking on the smooth floor, to storm out the door.
"That goes for you too, Carter. Get out of here!" Her CO was shouting, eyes blazing with anger. He grabbed a glass from beside his bed and making as if to throw it. Sam didn't need a second warning - she hurriedly left, slamming the door behind her and running after Daniel.
"What happened?" she asked when she caught up with Daniel further up the corridor.
"He threw a boot at me, what do you think?" Daniel replied angrily, stopping in his tracks to face her. He was still rubbing at his chest, his face flushed.
"Yes, but what did you do? Why's he so upset? It looked like he was going to throw something at me as well and I hadn't even been in the room!" Sam's heart was pounding in her chest, the shock of being verbally and almost physically assaulted by her CO still pumping adrenaline through her body.
Waving his free hand in the air, Daniel snapped back an answer. "Why's it got to be my fault? You know Jack when he's ill, he gets snippy."
"Come on – that was more than just snippy and you know it. What did you do?"
This time the reply wasn't so quick in coming. Daniel's eyes flickered to the right, almost as if he was afraid to face her, and when he spoke it was with far less emotion. "I was thinking about it while Jack was resting and I just suggested some of his symptoms might be psychological, an after effect of being snaked and all the trauma. Christ, talk about overreacting."
It took a moment for Sam to take in exactly what Daniel had said. When she did, she virtually exploded in his face, unable to stop from shouting the incredulous words. "You told the colonel you thought he was crazy?!"
"You don't get snaked and get over it as easily as he would like to believe." Daniel took a step back, making a shushing motion, and Sam realized they had a very interested audience of at least three people. She turned to glare at the watching personnel and they scattered, disappearing back into the rooms lining the corridor. Once they had gone Daniel continued. "You of all people know that, after Jolinar."
"That was completely different, Daniel. Jolinar was in me for a while – long enough for some of her memories to become a part of me. The colonel only had the Goa'uld in him briefly before it was killed. I doubt it had time to do anything except try to survive." Raising a hand to her face, she rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes for a moment. Whether it was the stress of what had just happened or if she was getting the colonel's cold she didn't know, but she felt a tight band of tension taking hold across the front of her head. "And anyway, did you really think it would do any good to just come out with the suggestion? The man's sick – unless, of course, you think the sneezing and runny nose is psychosomatic?" She couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice.
Daniel shook his head, slumping back against the wall. "No, of course not. But the cold doesn't explain the pain he's feeling in his neck."
"The damned big wound from the Goa'uld's exit does, though doesn't it!"
"And what if that's not it? Listen – add it up. Pain from a wound that's healing fine, vomiting for no reason – and don't tell me that's a typical symptom of a cold!"
"I can't believe you! You just accused the colonel of being nuts and then you get upset that he's angry." Sam glared back at her teammate as she began to turn toward Colonel O'Neill's room. No wonder he had been so furious, she thought. She was pulled up short by Daniel, his hand grabbing her arm.
"Don’t!"
She pulled her arm from his grasp. "He shouldn't be left alone. Even you admit that he's sick."
To her surprise, Daniel stopped her again. "Wait. I didn't tell you everything. Jack didn't just throw his boots at me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Here." Pulling his sleeve up, Daniel thrust his left arm out. The clear imprints of fingers were vivid on the tanned skin, the area already beginning to darken with bruises. "He wasn't just angry. I've never seen him so furious. You should let him calm down." She hesitated and Daniel quickly spoke again. "Jack's a very dangerous man, Sam. You know that. And I don't think you should be alone with him right now. He might…"
Sam finished the sentence. "He might what? Attack me? Hurt me? You can't be serious!"
"You didn't see him. He's not himself." The quiet certainty in Daniel's voice was enough to make her pause. He didn't look angry any more, instead his expression was, if she didn't know better, scared. "Let's go see Janet first. We'll tell her what happened and get her to come down and check Jack out, okay?"
Sam found herself nodding, unable to do anything else while her friend was so obviously sincere in his worry. "All right, but if she can't come see the colonel straight away I'm coming back – no matter what you think."
"Fair enough." Daniel nodded. "But we see Janet first."
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Now his tissues were lying on the floor out of reach, where they'd ended up when his anger at everything had gotten the better of him and he'd lashed out at the nearest person – Daniel. But he wasn't going to think about that. Not now.
Jack scowled at the box, willing it to come closer, but a very wet and disgusting sneeze drove him to push up from his sitting position on the edge of the bed.
The room turned sideways.
Whoa! Instead of standing, he sat back down, fighting the urge to faint. Then, to his horror, his stomach turned over and he rapidly swallowed down bile. Great! Faint and vomit at the same time and drown in the process. To add insult to injury another sneeze rocked him, sending his whole brain flying out his head to land all over his lap.
He was dying. Slowly and very yuckily. And he wished he could hurry the process. Tipping sideways, he curled up and did the only thing he could – grabbed a handful of sheet and used it to wipe his nose and face.
And his neck hurt like a living hell. It did. It wasn't his imagination. He wasn't going nuts.
He was miserable.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"Janet? Are you busy?" Daniel knew it was a stupid question as soon as it left his lips. Of course the doctor was busy – she had multiple injuries in her infirmary.
"Come in. We were just discussing Colonel O'Neill. How is he?"
Entering the office, Daniel hesitated, not sure how to answer when he saw Janet wasn't alone. Colonel Makepeace was sitting in her spare chair, turned to face the door, and Daniel really didn't want to have this conversation with him there.
"That's why we're here, Janet." Daniel moved further into the room, allowing Sam to enter behind him. "He's still not well and we wondered when you'd be able to check on him again." Hoping the request had sounded innocent enough, Daniel gave a smile to cover his unease.
"I was planning on doing just that." The doctor stood, gathering up her medical bag from the small table behind her.
"And I'll come too. It's about time O'Neill got off his ass and back to work. This running the base thing isn't everything it's cracked up to be."
Wondering just what it was cracked up to be, other than a lot of hard work, Daniel gave Sam a quick panicked glance – only to spot an equally panicked expression ghost fleetingly across Janet's face as well, before it resolved into her customary professional one.
"It would be better if visitors are kept to a minimum, sir, given Colonel O'Neill's cold. You wouldn't want to catch it as well – then where would the base be, with no senior officer?"
For a second Daniel thought Makepeace was still considering coming with them – almost as if the prospect of a cold was better than being in charge.
Sam jumped into the breech. "Could we take the opportunity to go over the progress of the repairs to the Gate, sir? I wanted to apprise you of the work that still needed to be done."
Makepeace nodded reluctantly. "All right, Captain, but I have some paperwork to complete first. Thirty minutes?" At Sam's nod he continued, turning to Janet. "I want a report as soon as you're done, Doctor."
"Of course, Colonel."
Daniel had another moment of worry when Makepeace followed them out of the infirmary and into the elevator, but offered up a silent 'thank you' when it became obvious his destination was General Hammond's office. The ride was made in silence until they reached Level 25.
"You know where to find me." Colonel Makepeace sighed dramatically as the doors closed again, leaving them standing in the corridor.
Janet's lips twitched upward. "Poor man. I really don't think he's enjoying the responsibility of command."
"He's a marine. Enough said." The brief pronouncement from Sam was met by a giggle from the doctor.
Casting a quick look around to see if they were being observed, Daniel pulled open the door of a VIP suite he knew to be vacant.
"Look Janet, we need to have a word in private before you see Jack." He indicted the empty room.
She moved into it obediently, but as soon as the door was closed her frown made it clear she wasn't happy. "What's going on?"
When Sam folded her arms across her chest and remained silent, Daniel knew it was up to him to explain.
"Ah – Jack's not – he's been…" Getting annoyed with his own reluctance to be honest, Daniel hurried on, his words rushed. "Jack and I had an argument earlier and his reaction was pretty violent."
"Violent? What sort of argument?"
"He accused the colonel of being crazy – that his illness was all in his mind."
Daniel twisted to face Sam. "That's not what I said! I just suggested he might be feeling some effects from the failed implantation. I didn't say he was crazy – Jack's the one that said that. I'd never say that!"
"Okay, okay." Sam held her hand up in a placating gesture. "But if that's what it sounded like to me, imagine what it sounded like to the colonel. It wasn't the most diplomatic thing to say."
Running a hand over his face, Daniel pushed his glasses more firmly on to his nose and nodded. "No, I suppose not. But I really didn't mean it like that. I keep thinking Jack's problem is more than just a simple cold." Not sure if Janet understood what he was trying to explain, he shrugged. "It doesn't seem enough somehow. I'm probably being stupid – looking for trouble where there isn't any."
"Perhaps not." Daniel waited for Janet to expand on her comment, but she didn't, instead her lips thinned a little as her frown deepened. It was several seconds before she spoke again. "Okay, I'll consider what you've said when I examine Colonel O'Neill." It wasn't until they had left the room and were almost at Jack's door before she continued. "I want you both to wait outside."
"But…" Daniel didn't get a chance to finish his complaint – Janet was already shutting the door in their faces.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
When he heard the door of his quarters opening Jack lifted his head a little, to peer blurry-eyed at the figure he fully expected to be Daniel. His behavior toward his friend had been inexcusable and he had an apology already on his lips when he realized it was Doctor Fraiser who had entered.
"Thank god!" He couldn't stop the heart-felt exclamation from escaping. Things had gotten much worse in the short time since he had driven Daniel from the room. The itching sensation in his neck had spread, except now the itching had become a fiery stinging that felt as if he was burning from the inside out.
"Colonel?" Janet was at his side immediately. The touch of her hand on his forehead was icy cold, and even though he still felt chilled, Jack turned his head, trying to spread the comforting feeling to where it was most needed.
"Oh!" An uncharacteristic gasp from the doctor was accompanied by light pressure on his shoulder. "Turn your head a little more to the side please, sir."
Twisting his neck set the fire burning again and he groaned, not even trying to conceal the pain it caused.
"Okay, let's get you sitting up so I can have a closer look."
"At what?" Jack started to pull himself upright, finding to his shock that he needed Janet's assistance to perform the simple task. A resurgence of his sneezing didn't help. He groped for another tissue with one hand, while steadying himself with the other, only to remember they were still on the floor. Wiping his nose on the sheet wasn't an option now Janet was there, so he sucked as much up his nostrils as he could, cringing at the horrible noise the action caused. "Sorry – this is the worst damn cold I've ever had."
"Ummm." A tissue was thrust into his hand and he blew his nose thankfully. There were a few seconds of silence as the doctor held his wrist to take his pulse, then he felt her hands at his neck. "I'm going to check the wound, sir. Tell me if it hurts at all."
"It already does."
"Captain Duarte said you'd complained of it being slightly itchy." The doc was still leaning behind him, but he wasn't sure exactly what she was doing. Once she had the bandages off the wound, she seemed to have stopped moving.
"Yeah, except it's more than just an itch now, Doc."
"Burning?"
"Uh huh." He tried to turn enough to see her expression, but the movement again had him unable to bite back a low groan. It was as if a dagger was being pressed into the nerves between his shoulder blades. "Damn, that hurts. Is it infected?"
"Could be. Would you take off your shirt please, sir." There was another period of silence as Jack struggled with the buttons, his fingers shaking as he attempted to guide them through the holes. When he finally managed to loosen the last button, he looked up, turning as he did so – only to have the room do another spin. He clutched wildly at the edge of the mattress and sat, his panting breath loud in his ears.
Janet put a steadying hand on his arm. "Sir, what's wrong?"
"Dizzy."
"It's okay, I've got you. Can you sit up for just a few more seconds while I examine you?"
"Yeah." He didn't nod, preferring to keep his violently spinning head as still as possible. There was another silence, broken again by Jack. "What are you looking for back there, Doc?"
Janet settled his shirt over his back again and gave a slight push on his shoulders, indicating she had finished and that he could lie back down. "Unfortunately I'm not looking for anything anymore, sir – I've found it. You do have a type of infection from the injury."
As he began to rebutton his shirt, Jack glanced down. A band of red ran across his front, the skin blotchy – like some sort of rash. "What's this?" He pressed accusingly at the area, seeing the redness turn to white and back to red again as he released the pressure. "Have I got measles or something?"
"No, sir, it's a symptom of the infection. I'm afraid you'll have to be admitted to the infirmary again."
"All right."
"What, no argument? That's not like you, Colonel."
"Frankly, Doc, I feel terrible and if you've got something to help in your infirmary, then the quicker we get there the better."
He began to sit again, but the doctor stopped him. "Stay there, Colonel. I'll send for a gurney."
The indignity of being pushed through the SGC corridors was a small price to pay if it meant he didn't have to try and walk, so he just nodded, closing his eyes in the hope the pounding in his head would lessen. He heard Janet make the call and return to his bedside.
"I'll take your temperature while we're waiting, sir."
She didn't wait for his answer as she pushed the thermometer under his arm. After a short time he felt it being removed.
"Well?"
"It's high."
He waited for more detail and when it didn't come, cracked one eye open a little. The doctor was staring down at him, her concerned expression clearing as soon as she realized he was watching her. "How high?"
"Let's not worry about that right now, Colonel." Janet began to fuss with her bag of tricks, stuffing things back into it in the most obvious attempt at avoidance he had seen. "We need to get you ready to move."
"What's to get ready? I'll just lie here and your minions will carry me off. What aren't you telling me?" An uneasy feeling was growing in his stomach. He had to be honest with himself – he knew this was more than just a cold. Maybe Daniel was right. Maybe it was all in his mind despite his protests to the contrary. Sure, he had a cold – that was obvious – but the rest… A sick sensation had him biting back nausea. Was this the beginning of a downward spiral into paranoia? Perhaps the snake had enough time to get into his brain after all.
The nausea grew until it was too hard to keep contained and he lurched up to grab at the nearby bin.
It wasn't until Jack had finished heaving that he heard the doctor's words, her hand rubbing circles calmingly on his back. "It's okay."
But it wasn't. And he still didn't have any answers. He gulped in a mouthful of air and found himself panicking as it failed to reach his lungs.
Small hands held him fast. "Don't try to take a deep breath. Just a little at a time." So he obeyed and found that it worked – or at least that he was able to take small gasping breaths.
"Wha…?"
"Shush." Janet's stethoscope was cold on his back. Staying as quiet as possible, he waited until she spoke again. "Your lungs are congested." She paused when there was a sharp rap on the door, calling out the order to enter.
"We have to get you to the infirmary as soon as possible, Colonel. I'll explain everything when you're settled – okay, sir?"
They were already lifting him, moving him across to the waiting gurney. He had time for one last question.
"So not crazy then?"
"No more than usual, sir."
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"I don't understand how I could have missed it!" Janet ran a hand though her hair as she bent over her desk, her eyes fixed on the damning evidence of her failure.
The small abnormality on the MRI scan seemed to leap out at her once she knew it was there. If only she had seen it before, when Colonel O'Neill's tests had first been returned, she could have dealt with it so easily. Now, too many hours had past and what should have been a minor set-back had become a major problem.
She remembered taking a quick look at the results of the various tests that had been completed and being interrupted by the emergency admissions to the infirmary. With the crisis in full swing she had meant to get back to them once things calmed down.
But by then it was too late.
She looked out through her open door, seeing the colonel in the bed nearest her office.
He was lying stiffly, his face turned toward her. It was clear he was worried – of course he was.
It was time she told him exactly what was wrong with him – and why.
Hesitating, she looked down once more at the MRI scan. Would it do more harm than good to show it to him? She decided to leave it where it was.
It was a short walk from her office to his bed, but guilt ate at her the whole way.
"Sir?" She didn't really need to attract his attention – his eyes had been tracking her every movement – but she didn't know how else to begin. Once she had spoken it became easier and she continued. "They're going to start prepping you for surgery in a moment. There's a foreign body lodged in your neck, just below the exit wound and we have to remove it as soon as possible."
"Foreign – what sort -?" She saw the moment he understood what she meant, saw the revulsion in his face. "The snake? There's a bit of the snake-"
Knowing what the colonel needed to hear, she hurried to interrupt. "We'll get it out. When you wake up again it'll be gone - completely. You have my word."
There were only a few more minutes before they needed to finish getting Colonel O'Neill ready for surgery. Janet could see her staff preparing now, but she had to tell him everything.
"You were right, sir, the wound was infected. You have all the symptoms of toxic shock syndrome. I'll run some tests to confirm the diagnosis once you're out of surgery and then we'll begin treatment."
"Doctor Fraiser?" It was Doctor Warner. They were ready to begin. She bent down to say one last thing. "Don't worry, Colonel. You'll be fine."
She only hoped she was right.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Robert Makepeace gave the small woman sitting across the table from him an incredulous stare. "O'Neill's got that thing women get when they leave…" He found himself unable to complete the sentence and his words ground to an embarrassing halt.
Only O'Neill could get sick with a female disease – typical flyboy. He smirked and continued his thoughts aloud. "Well, at least it isn't anything serious. You'll pump him full of antibiotics and he'll be good to go – right, Doc?
He frowned as the doctor turned a full-blast glare on him – a glare matched by the one he was getting from Captain Carter. The other members of SG-1 didn't look too impressed with him either.
"Toxic shock syndrome is a serious problem, Colonel, and not something to be taken lightly. Nor is it confined to menstruating women." Fraiser's index finger was tapping at the notes in front of her – a stabbing, violent tapping that conveyed her anger.
Whoops, he'd obviously said the wrong thing, although he had no idea what, but he'd better pretend he was sorry.
"Sorry, Doc." There, now that was done they should be able to get this briefing finished and O'Neill back up on his feet and straight into Hammond's chair. And not a moment too soon.
"How did Jack get it, Janet?" Pleased that Jackson had distracted the women's attention, Makepeace waited for the answer.
"First I should explain that this is similar to streptococcal toxic shock rather than the more widely known form. It's caused by bacteria in an infected wound. From the tests we've done it seems the remains of the Goa'uld still inside…"
"Wait a second." Makepeace interrupted the doctor's flow of words. "You're saying there is a bit of that snake still in O'Neill? Why didn't you see it before, when you examined him after the mission?"
Looking up from the papers, Doctor Fraiser nodded. "I missed what appears to be a piece of the spikes from the Goa'uld's neck frill. It was very small and only visible on the MRI. Unfortunately I didn't spot it and consequently the wound became infected. Doctor Warner has since removed the piece during surgery and cleaned the surrounding area, but the damage has been done. As I explained, toxic shock syndrome has developed in response to the bacteria present on the spike."
Maybe it wasn't so funny after all. "But you can cure it – right, Doc?"
Again she nodded at him, but this time a little more slowly. "You were correct about the antibiotics, sir, and Colonel O'Neill is receiving them now. Hopefully the bacteria is similar enough to its Earth cousin that it responses. But unfortunately it has been several days since the infection and any delay in treatment can have serious repercussions on a positive outcome."
He shook his head. "Enough of the doctor-speak. You're saying you didn't catch the problem soon enough and now O'Neill could die?"
There was a long moment of silence.
The doctor's answer was finally spoken – softly, and with obvious regret. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
They stood looking down at their sleeping teammate. Teal'c knew he could only remain absent from his duties for a short while longer, but rather than take nourishment or kel'no'reem, he chose to visit O'Neill. Finding the rest of SG-1 at O'Neill's bedside already, he stood with them, not wanting to disturb their leader, but hoping he would wake long enough – to do what he was not sure – reassure them perhaps? They had come close to losing him to the Goa'uld on P3X-254 and now it was inconceivable that they should still do so here on Earth.
Tired eyes opened and O'Neill seemed a little disoriented, staring at them as if trying to see something that wasn't there. "Who died?" His voice was hoarse, but strong despite the tube feeding oxygen into his nose.
Puzzled at the question, Teal'c glanced at his teammates to see if they understood what O'Neill meant. To his surprise, instead of answering, Daniel Jackson ignored it completely.
"How are you feeling?"
"Rotten, which is understandable, considering. Can you believe I had a bit of dead snake meat rotting in me – it's just so eww!"
"Well, it isn't there now, Colonel." Teal'c had heard Doctor Fraiser approaching, but his companions appeared startled by her sudden appearance. The doctor began adjusting the equipment attached to O'Neill, even though it seemed to Teal'c to be functioning correctly. She paused as she looked at one of the readings. "Your temperature is still elevated."
"Do I really need all this –" O'Neill waved the hand not tethered to the IV at the tubes leading under the covers, his face expressing his discomfort.
"Yes, sir, you do. We need to monitor your renal function along with other things."
Moving forward a little, Captain Carter came up beside the doctor. "Other things?"
"Colonel O'Neill's blood pressure is very low, which is why he was experiencing the dizzy spells – it's a classic sign of toxic shock." She placed her hand on O'Neill's forehead. "Now, he needs to rest, so…"
"Can I stay, Janet? I need to talk to Jack – just for a minute."
The doctor shook her head. "No, I'm sorry Daniel, I'll let you know when you can come see the colonel again, okay?" She was already ushering them out the door of the infirmary.
Teal'c halted, allowing his two teammates to exit ahead of him. "I shall await your call, Doctor Fraiser." He did not need to elaborate – it was clear he expected to be told as soon as he could return, and he knew by the doctor's expression that she understood.
"I wish Janet had let me talk to Jack," Daniel Jackson said, as they began the short walk to the elevator. "I wanted to apologize for what I said to him."
Teal'c allowed Captain Carter to precede him into the waiting elevator car before he spoke. "I do not think O'Neill would accept your apology."
"Maybe you're right. I went too far and…"
He interrupted. "You misunderstand me. I think O'Neill will not accept your apology because he will feel you have nothing to apologize for. From the description I have heard of the argument, although you could have worded what you said more carefully, O'Neill reacted badly – probably due to his illness."
Hopefully his teammate would see the wisdom of his words and not continue to pursue the matter. Teal'c did not think O'Neill would thank him for it of he did. If he knew their commander, the man would rather forget the incident occurred.
"Teal'c's right, Daniel." Captain Carter nodded in agreement. "The colonel did over react, but I don't think he was thinking clearly. Janet said he was more than likely feeling dizzy and confused…"
"He didn't sound confused. And his aim wasn't off, I can attest to that." Daniel Jackson rubbed his chest and gave a rueful smile. "But you don't have to convince me – I understand. I'll wait for Jack to make the first move – when he's better."
"Yes, when he's better." Captain Carter nodded. "I'll be with Colonel Makepeace if anything changes."
"And I'll be in my office."
They parted, each going their own way, and as Teal'c reluctantly returned to his duties, a feeling of unease washed over him.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"To be honest I'm surprised the colonel's responding so well to the antibiotics."
Captain Duarte finished tucking the sheet under the end of Colonel O'Neill's mattress before turning to Doctor Fraiser. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Doctor. We could do with a break after the last few days." She looked pointedly around the busy infirmary. "Even with Major Mansfield and Sergeant Baker transferred we still have a full-house. At least Captain Kearney's bed will be empty soon." She threw a quick smile at the handsome officer, hoping he hadn't forgotten his promise to take her out to dinner now he was being released.
"Remember, Ann, he should keep off that leg as much as possible." Doctor Fraiser's tone was quite serious but the joking twinkle in her eyes and twist of her lips had the nurse blushing.
The doctor's hand reached up to brush a stray strand of the colonel's hair back into place. She lingered, her palm resting on his forehead for a few moments. "If it was anyone other than Colonel O'Neill I'd just be thankful he was getting better, but with his track record…" She swallowed and stopped, as if reluctant to say what she was thinking. Then, with a slightly embarrassed smile, she turned away from her patient. "I'm being stupid. We caught it in time and he'll be back to his old self in a few days – heaven help us all. I'll let his team know they can come visit, but make sure they only stay for a short time – say fifteen minutes – and one at a time. He needs his rest. I'll be in my office."
Ann could see the weariness in her steps as the doctor walked away. The woman had barely left the infirmary for days and was obviously bone-tired, but the nurse knew better than suggest she go home. Hopefully she would take the time to get a little sleep on the cot in her office.
Returning to the nurse's desk in the corner of the large room, Ann took a moment to think about what Doctor Fraiser had said. It was true that Colonel O'Neill seemed to somehow attract trouble. Nothing was ever simple with him, but that was because he put himself in the line of fire so much more than anyone else on base. Whenever there was a crisis he was there, making sure everyone knew what job they had to do and taking the worst ones on himself. And the other members of SG-1 were usually right there alongside him.
She had barely finished the thought when one of the people she was just thinking of walked in. Doctor Jackson came straight over to her.
"Hey, Ann. Janet called and said we could visit with Jack. I'm first up."
"He's asleep at the moment. Do you want to come back later? I can call you when he wakes."
It was with no surprise that she saw Doctor Jackson shake his head. "No, I'll sit with him now if that's okay?"
She stood and walked with him to the colonel's bed.
"Janet said he was getting better."
"Yes, his temperature is down a little so it looks like the antibiotics are kicking in." After straightening the top sheet and blanket a little, she checked the tubes weren't tangled. Her last words to the colonel's teammate before returning to her station were a reminder not to stay longer than the permitted fifteen minutes.
Two hours later, at the end of her shift, Teal'c was sitting in the same chair Doctor Jackson had been in. The members of SG-1 had each taken their turn beside their commanding officer's bedside and he had woken for brief periods – long enough for them to have a short conversation before he drifted back to sleep.
"Nurse." Teal'c's voice carried clearly in the quiet ward.
Ann put the files she had just collected from the desk back down again.
"I'll go. You get on home," Pauline Frampton said, nodding toward the exit.
For a second, she hesitated, but then she shook her head. "No, it's fine."
They both approached the colonel's bed. Ann was surprised to see an obvious look of concern on the Jaffa's face.
"O'Neill is complaining that his chest hurts."
As Teal'c spoke the colonel opened his eyes and Ann bent over him. "Sir?" Her eyes flickered to the heart monitor beside the bed. "Pauline, go get Doctor Fraiser."
"It's – hurts – a lot." Colonel O'Neill's face was scrunched up in pain, his eyes tightly closed again. "Crap!" He twisted his torso, his hands balled into fists and his knuckles white. "Oh, crap!"
Then he just flopped down, the tension falling away from his body with a horrifying suddenness.
Alarms screamed.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
"You certainly go to extreme lengths to get out of paperwork, son." General Hammond shook his head as he looked down at the man in the bed. "God, Jack, what am I going to do with you?" Taking the slack hand in his own, he held it tight for a moment, then tucked it back under the covers. He shivered. The colonel’s skin felt icy as he let the hand go – almost as if he had been touching a corpse.
The horror at the thought had him jumping to his feet to take a few steps back. His eyes flew to the machines steadily pumping out readings that, after just a few years at the SGC, he could unhappily interpret far too accurately. The lines on the ECG were steadily pulsing.
“General, is there something wrong?”
Hammond gave the nurse sitting near the door a nod of reassurance as he returned to Jack’s side, his gaze once more on the sick man. “He feels cold. It was a bit unexpected.”
“His blood pressure is still low. We’ve administered dopamine to raise it, but it’s taking longer than it should.”
He nodded again. Doctor Fraiser had briefed him when he returned to the SGC but it was a shock none the less to see the reality – to see the IVs with their bags of fluid, and the tube keeping Jack breathing. Even though Colonel Makepeace had kept him up to date with O’Neill’s condition, the call from Doctor Fraiser a few hours ago had come as a complete surprise. He couldn’t believe Jack had been so close to dying while he was having a strip torn off him by the Joint Chiefs.
Nothing would have been different, but he couldn’t help feeling that he shouldn’t have been so far away from his base. And it was still his base. His superiors at the Pentagon may have been annoyed with him, but after a slap on the wrist he’d ended up with a reprimand in his file – a file that should have been marked ‘retired’ at least three years ago. It had been a small price to pay – a price that had bought the lives of all the SGC personnel on Hathor’s planet. One he would gladly offer again.
The low murmur of voices came from behind him and he turned to find Doctor Fraiser conferring with the duty nurse. Waiting until she had finished, the general took yet another look at the colonel, noting the redness that spread from beneath the flimsy hospital gown to cover his arms and neck. Only the too pale face was spared the itchy looking rash.
Grunting something around the breathing tube, O’Neill shifted, his left arm coming up level with his chest before falling back down to rest at his side again. A frown crinkled the man’s forehead and Hammond could almost hear the frustration.
Nurse Frampton came to stand next to the bed. She squeezed some lotion from the tube she carried into the palm of her hand and started rubbing it over the colonel’s right arm.
“This should help a little. The rash doesn’t seem to be responding properly to medication.”
Hammond raised an eyebrow at the nurse’s comment. “Like his blood pressure?”
“I’m not sure, sir. You’d have to speak to Doctor Fraiser about that.” She glanced up briefly before she busied herself rubbing the cream into the colonel’s hand, carefully smoothing it between each finger as she avoided the site of the IV needle. O’Neill gave another mutter, his left hand again coming up and making a batting motion. His eyelids fluttered and opened slightly, allowing Hammond to catch just a glimpse of brown before they closed once more.
“I think he’s waking up.” The general moved a little closer. “Jack?”
The lids stayed closed.
“It’s best that he sleeps, sir,” the nurse said as she paused to squeeze some more lotion into her palm.
General Hammond knew a dismissal when he heard one, even if it was couched in diplomatic words. He nodded and stood, reluctant to leave but unable to avoid the backlog of work waiting for him any longer.
“Please ask Doctor Fraiser to see me when she returns to duty.”
“Yes, sir.”
After giving the ill man a last lingering look, the general made his way to his office.
Colonel Makepeace had done a surprisingly good job of keeping the base running, given the trying circumstances, and in reality Hammond found he had little to do once he read the reports from the various section heads. After an hour his gaze began to wander to the clock above the door. Coffee and some sandwiches delivered by Sergeant Harriman after another twenty minutes or so passed were another welcome distraction. He sighed, knowing what the problem was. His mind kept drifting to Jack O’Neill.
A sense of relief washed over him when Walter announced the arrival of Doctor Fraiser, but it was soon dispelled by the expression on her face. She began her report in a matter of fact manner, but it was clear within a few short words that the colonel’s condition deeply concerned her.
“He isn’t responding to treatment any longer, General. The antibiotics appeared to be working at first, but the infection is taking hold again. Several of his major organs are in trouble – heart, kidneys, lungs – and there’s every sign of the worst case scenario for toxic shock.” She ran her hand over her face in an uncharacteristic gesture of tiredness. The long hours she had put in over the last few days showed plainly in her eyes. She took a long breath and shook her head slowly as she looked up at Hammond. “I’ve sent specimens of the bacteria for analysis, but so far…and the colonel’s running out of time. If only I’d…”
“There’s no point blaming yourself, Doctor,” the general interrupted. “In hindsight you may have done things differently, but at the time you acted the best you could for your patients. Without your skills Major Mansfield would probably be dead. Your priorities were correct. There was no way you could have known Colonel O’Neill had more than a cold.”
“He still does.” When Hammond threw her a puzzled look, Fraiser continued. “Colonel O’Neill still has the cold – that was what masked most of the symptoms of toxic shock at first. If only it had been that simple.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “He came to see me. That should have given me a clue that it wasn’t just a cold. He never comes to the infirmary when he feels sick – just goes and hides.” A brief smile flittered across her lips. “Oh, if he’s really hurt he has no problem with seeing me, but something like a bad headache or the pain he gets in his knees and he’s worse than a kid at avoidance.”
“Colonel O’Neill is like me in that respect, Doctor. We were brought up to only see a doctor if it was serious enough. And we didn’t expect to be given antibiotics every time we visited. We were lucky if we got a lollipop.” The general nodded as he remembered his youth. “Doctors were important people. You only bothered them if you thought you were actually…” He stopped, realizing what he had been about to say.
“If you thought you were actually dying?”
“Doctor…”
“No, sir, you’re right. Colonel O’Neill was hurting and he came to get help.” Her eyes stared straight into his and he saw determination blazing within them. “And now he’s going to get it. If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have to get back to my patient.”
General Hammond sat back in his chair as his office door closed behind the doctor, finally feeling he could relax a little. His officer and friend’s life was in good hands and no matter the outcome he knew all that could be done would be. Turning back to the papers in front of him he began to work again with renewed vigor.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
There was something so very wrong about what was about to happen that Jack could almost believe he was in a perverse version of Hell. But there were none of the usual trappings of the Hell of his childhood visits to church with his grandparents, no fire or brimstone, no screams of tormented souls – just the awful realization that he was going to sneeze and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
His eyes snapped open, desperately hoping he could see some way out of this, but the view of a grey concrete ceiling did nothing to help.
The sneeze that had woken him built, travelling along his nasal passages until it escaped in a mighty burst causing his head to shoot forward, pain flaring into life in his neck and stitches pulling and snapping. The tube in his throat moved – he felt it scrape against something deep inside him, something that wasn’t meant to be touched by hard plastic.
Alarms, frantic beeps, running footsteps – none of them were important as coughs fought for space in his windpipe and he started choking.
Something firm held his arms. Fraiser’s face came into focus above him, her lips moving, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying over his own gasps. Then hands forced his head back and with a tug, the tube was pulled from his throat leaving him wheezing and coughing.
When he sneezed again Jack felt as close to crying like a baby that a big, nasty, ex-Special Ops officer could.
And – oh, crap – he was itchy!
Given the choice between this toxic waste stuff and a gunshot wound, he’d take the bullet any day. A bullet hole could be plugged.
The doctor had her stethoscope planted firmly on his chest, its cold metal a very brief relief for his discomfort, but she soon removed it and turned to bark orders at her staff – something about films and fluid – and the heat returned even worse than it had been.
Itchy, itchy.
His twitching fingers finally managed to reach his chest, only to have them slapped away. Oh, sure it was gentle, but it was definitely a slap and he took time out from trying to breathe to shoot a glare at that damn Fraiser woman. Sure enough, she was staring straight at him. Then her hand blurred across his vision and brushed against his hair, pushing it back.
“I know you’re itchy, sir, but that’ll have to wait until I’ve checked your neck.” She paused, still looking at him. “Colonel, do you understand. Are you with me?”
Nodding would hurt way too much, so he rasped a ‘yes’ and let them turn him onto his side. The bandages around his neck were removed and he gave a small sigh of pleasure at the feeling of cool air on his burning skin. Janet made that tutting noise she gave when something wasn’t the way she wanted it.
A flush of warmth ran up his arm and he fell asleep again.
When he woke the doctor was sitting next to the bed, her hand on his wrist. Jack waited, seeing her look of concentration – but even he could tell his pulse was too fast. He felt – just – off.
His attention wandered and when refocused, Jack found Janet had dropped his wrist and was quietly watching him.
“You’re very sick, Colonel –“
It was as if she was half way through telling him something so he gave a slight nod, whilst idly noting the pain had gone. He’d reserve judgment on whether or not that was a good thing until his mind was clearer.
“I’ve stopped the antibiotics. The lab results are in and we’re going to have to try something different.”
She stopped talking and Jack had a definite feeling that it wasn’t because she didn’t want to confuse him. It seemed more like she really didn’t have anything else to say. Which meant…crap…she didn’t know what to do next.
His heart did a funny little flip.
Then it flipped again. Shockwaves of fear ran through him. He watched as Janet grabbed at stuff on the tray near her, but another flip had him closing his eyes as he swallowed down a groan. Pounding echoed in his head – his blood pulsing as if it were in a race, one it had to win at all costs, then another rush of warmth soothed the ache and slowed the frantic beating.
Feeling as rung out as an old dish cloth Jack lifted lids that seemed like they had ten ton weights attached to them. He opened his mouth to ask what had just happened – and coughed.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Frustration and tiredness combined to make Janet so irritable that she could hardly say anything without snapping. After she knocked her hip against a table and swore loudly and very colorfully she realized she was doing no one any favor by remaining in the infirmary, least of all her patients, and retreated to her office. Turning off the light, she lay on the narrow cot put there for the times she needed a rest but couldn’t afford to go home, and threw an arm across her eyes.
Tears began to form, but she forced them back, knowing that to indulge in them now would just open floodgates she wouldn’t be able to close. No – better to wait until the present crisis was over and she was in the privacy of her home, with Cassie there to hold her hand and pass her tissues. Here and now Jack O’Neill needed her clear headed and capable. And for that she needed sleep.
Except she couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept circling in her mind like vultures over a carcass.
The colonel was getting worse – every hour, inch by inch. The lab results kept coming in negative – nothing was working – and Janet was at her wit’s end.
She was still worrying when she finally fell asleep.
A bout of coughing broke into her uneasy dreams, cutting through the quiet murmuring of voices in the ward. Rubbing her eyes, Janet sat up with a sigh. The poor man couldn’t get any proper sleep, even with sedation, and the constant sneezing and coughing put unnecessary strain on his already beleaguered system.
From the doorway she could see Sam Carter bending over Colonel O’Neill, his hand held tightly in hers as he rode out the latest in a long line of painful coughing fits. Janet was glad she had been able to life the restriction on visitors, allowing the colonel’s team to spend as much time as they wanted at his bedside. It wasn’t doing any harm to have them there and it might provide some small relief to the man.
She approached the bed, noting as she did so that the patches of red skin had begun flaking and had grown larger, leaving the colonel’s arms covered in raw blotches. That was another thing that wasn’t responding to treatment and she gave the alien bacteria a vicious mental kicking, wishing she could do the same to the real thing. Or to the Goa’uld who started it all.
It was pointless asking how he was feeling, so she just gave the chart at the foot of Colonel O’Neill’s bed a glance, not expecting any change in the short time since she had been in her office. And it had been far too short a time. Her eyes felt gritty and her head was filled with fuzz. She really had to get out of here and get some proper sleep - she made an effort to stop the negative thoughts and smiled at the other woman.
“How are the repairs going?”
“All done. Everything’s back in working order.” Sam looked up as she answered, without loosening her grip on the colonel’s hand. That was unusual enough for Janet to take a closer look and she frowned as she saw that it wasn’t Sam who wasn’t letting go. The colonel was gripping her hand so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain, his expression tense.
The reason became obvious when another explosion of coughing left him shaking and as he opened his eyes Janet saw abject misery.
“Haven’t you cured the common cold yet, Doc?” The words came out dry and raspy and Janet heard the desperation beneath the seemingly joking question. She shook her head ruefully.
“If I’d done that, do you think I’d still be here? I’d be sunning myself on a beach somewhere in the South Pacific.”
“Palm trees and cocktails, eh, Doc? And that little green number you wore to the pool last summer?”
This time she didn’t need to force the smile. “No – a bikini. I have one with little ties just…” She placed her left hand on her hip. “…here.”
Colonel O’Neill gave a small breathless laugh. “You’re a cruel woman, Doc – cruel.” Then his expression changed as he released Sam’s hand, looking at the finger marks left behind. “Sorry, Captain.”
“That’s okay, sir – no damage done.” Sam raised her hand and turned it to show him, the marks already fading.
“Still…” Whatever he was about to say was submerged in yet another cough and Janet grimaced at the now fluid-filled sound. She pulled her stethoscope out and confirmed that the condition of his lungs was getting worse. Putting the instrument away, she stepped back a little.
“I’m going to have to drain the fluid from your lungs, sir. That means inserting a chest tube…”
“Damn, those things hurt.”
She could only nod in answer to the colonel’s interjection.
“Been there, done that, don’t want to do it again – ever,” he muttered, staring down at his hands.
“Isn’t there something else you can do – some medication?” Sam asked, her gaze fixed on Colonel O’Neill.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She didn’t bother pointing out that if there had been any medication she could use she would be doing so. Sam was grasping at straws – something Janet understood all too well.
“When?” Another cough punctuated Colonel O’Neill’s question.
“Best that we get it done straight away, sir.” She couldn’t help brushing that same stray lock of hair back from his eyes. Her touch may or may not give the colonel some comfort, but it certainly helped her to feel a little better. “Sam…”
The captain understood and started moving away from the bed. “I’ll let Daniel and Teal’c know what’s happening, sir.” She turned to Janet to ask “When can we come visit again?”
“Give it a few hours – tomorrow would be best.” Lowering her voice Janet accompanied her friend to the door. “He’s pretty weak and he’s right, he will be in quite a bit of pain from the procedure and the chest tube. It would be much easier on him if it wasn’t for the coughing. He really should be sedated and intubated, but…”
They both stopped and looked back at the sick man. He was lying back against the pillows. The head of the bed was raised to try and ease his breathing and they could clearly see the pain etched across his features as he coughed and sniffled.
“Couldn’t you give him something for the cold? Like…I don’t know…Nyquil or something?”
“No…“ Janet stopped, thinking. There really was no reason why Colonel O’Neill couldn’t be given some form of cough suppressant. The antibiotics had been stopped, so that wasn’t an issue, and it might give him some minor relief. She would have to check for contraindications, but… She nodded. “Maybe, but after I drain some of the fluid. I’ll send a message when you can visit again – like I said, probably tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
She waited until Sam was out of the infirmary before giving orders to her staff to prepare for the procedure.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
The doc was very good at her job but it still damn-well hurt!
Jack shifted uncomfortably in the narrow infirmary bed. He knew he shouldn’t be moving around, but all the tubes and needles sticking in him now made it almost impossible to find a position he could lie in without some degree of pain.
“Sir…”
“I know. I know.” He couldn’t help growling at the nurse. It wasn’t like he wanted to move – it was just that he had to. Lying still wasn’t an option.
They’d dosed him up on something before the doc cut into him, but he’d still felt it. Not the pain of a scalpel slicing into his body, nothing like that. There had been pressure against his side, a hard pushing that released suddenly. Then the knife moved again, going deeper. He had felt it. And when she had stuck that tube into him…that had hurt even through the drugs. It still hurt. He had known it would, because, as both he and the doc knew, this wasn’t the first time he’d had a chest tube. Hopefully it would be the last.
“Would you like me to read to you, O’Neill?” Teal’c lifted the book from his lap and Jack could see a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. He hated to disappoint the guy, but he wasn’t in the mood for more of the rather strange mystery novel Teal’c had chosen. It seemed the Jaffa had read somewhere that detective stories contained the best descriptions of parts of society not otherwise written about and had immersed himself in them with a fervor that was slightly disturbing.
“No thanks. I’m too tired to concentrate.” Jack’s throat moved as he gave a small cough, the tug on the renewed stitches adding to the overall discomfort. At least the cough was a dry one, so something was working. He didn’t want to think about the gunk being sucked from his lungs and into the containers placed discreetly out of sight below the bed.
Sighing, he thought of all the other tubes leading into equally discrete receptacles. Pretty soon, at this rate, there wouldn’t be anything left inside him. He’d be completely drained.
Another irritating tickle worked its way up his throat and he gave a cough – slightly louder this time.
As if the cough had been an invitation to enter, the infirmary door swung open and Janet Fraiser walked in, looking, Jack was pleased to see, a little less weary than before. The last he had seen of her had been the middle of the night when he had finally woken from an exhausted sleep, his chest throbbing in tune with the sucking of the tube dangling from it.
Jack’s gaze left the doctor’s face and dropped to the familiar looking bottle she was carrying. Not certain he was seeing straight, he waited until she came closer, raising an eyebrow in inquiry. “Doc?”
“It was Captain Carter’s idea, sir.” She raised the bottle. “It may help your cough.” The small measure she poured the dose into reminded him of all the times he and Sara had done the same with Charlie. He didn’t protest, just opened his mouth obediently and swallowed down the pleasantly familiar liquid.
“Okay?” Nodding, Jack closed his eyes. He was so tired lately that all he seemed to do was try to sleep. And fail to hold back sneezes. If only he could just get a few hours…
With a last small and very weary cough he drifted off.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“Shush.” Doctor Fraiser put her finger to her lips in the motion the Tau’ri used for silence. Teal’c nodded and picked up his book to resume reading – to himself this time. It was strange how the Tau’ri often felt compelled to…the expression was, he thought, ‘state the obvious’. He had no intention of speaking or making any other noise which would disturb his sleeping teammate. It was with pleasure that he watched the slow, even rise and fall of his chest. O’Neill’s rest up until now had been short, disturbed, and clearly unsatisfying.
Dropping his eyes to the page, he once more attempted to immerse himself in the sordid affairs of the Tokyo underworld, but within a few minutes his gaze was pulled back to the man in the bed. After a while he closed the book without looking at it and quietly fixed his stare on the almost hypnotic movements of the shifting bed sheets.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“Shush.”
Daniel stopped just inside the infirmary entrance and blinked in surprise when he saw Teal’c raise a large finger to his lips and frown dramatically at him. The gesture seemed strange coming from the Jaffa, but he obediently tip-toed forward to stare down at Jack. It was only after staring at him for almost a minute that Daniel realized why Teal’c had been so emphatic about keeping quiet. Jack was sleeping peacefully.
There was none of the restless movements and painful swallowing of the previous days. Instead he seemed to be deeply asleep.
“How long has he been like this?” he asked, keeping his voice down to a whisper.
“One hundred and fifty seven minutes.”
“You’ve been watching the clock?”
“I have.”
Daniel nodded in understanding. “It’s good to see.”
“Indeed.”
“I’ll take over if you want to get something to eat.”
“Thank you, I shall take the opportunity to do so.” He paused and Daniel found himself fixed by a fierce glare. “Do not disturb O’Neill. You must refrain from loud noises.”
Feeling like he was being admonished by a somewhat scary teacher, Daniel could do nothing but nod emphatically and agree. “Of course. I’ll keep quiet. Look – staying quiet now. Completely.”
“Daniel Jackson.” The rumbling voice was low, but it held a hint of menace. “Silence.”
“Shutting up.” Of course he could be quiet. He had no idea why Teal’c was getting so annoyed.
“Now.”
Daniel nodded again, too worried about the consequences to speak. He even waited until Teal’c had left the infirmary before daring to pull the chair he had vacated a little closer to the bed to sit down.
Its legs squeaked loudly on the hard floor.
Freezing, Daniel held his breath, hopeful that the noise hadn’t disturbed Jack, but his hopes were in vain. Eyes moved beneath lids – lids that opened ever so slightly and stayed mainly closed as if the energy to lift them completely was missing.
Praying Jack would go back to sleep, Daniel threw a quick glance at the door, his heart thumping. It was ridiculous to be this worried about Teal’c returning. Teal’c was his teammate, his friend. He wouldn’t do anything to him – would he…?
“Daniel – that you?”
Finally straightening, Daniel turned back to find Jack staring blearily up at him, blinking. His eyes looked painfully bloodshot, small red lines running into their corners.
“Yes, it’s me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Okay.” The reply was a mere mumble as Jack snuggled his head further into the pillow. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief as the reddened eyes vanished again. It looked like disaster had been averted. He very, very carefully dropped into the chair that had been the cause of the problem and sat, as silent as the proverbial mouse.
It wasn’t until almost forty minutes had passed, after a nurse had quietly checked her patient and had given him a bright smile that he realized Jack hadn’t coughed once in all that time.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“I haven’t any explanation for it at all.”
“Maybe the bacteria have a limited lifespan? Or they can’t survive in a foreign host?” Ann Durante shrugged. “Or we might have just gotten lucky.”
“Perhaps, but we still need answers.” Doctor Fraiser cocked her head slightly to the side, her puzzled expression changing to exasperation as she looked down at Colonel O’Neill. “We need to make sure we keep on doing whatever it is we’re doing – if only we knew what it was we were doing.” She muttered something that sounded like ‘Urgg’ and Ann hid a smile. She could tell the doctor was very close to stamping her foot, probably only prevented from doing so by Ann’s presence.
With a sigh, the doctor turned to the instrument tray next to the colonel’s bed. “Okay – I’ll draw some more samples, run some more tests and look for anything different.”
The two women quietly went about their work. The whole conversation had been carried out in whispers. It was just as important to allow Colonel O’Neill to continue what appeared to be a healing sleep as it was to find out what had caused the improvement in his condition.
“Check the rash on his torso.”
Obeying the doctor’s orders, Ann gently pulled the sheet and gown away from the colonel’s chest and shone her penlight onto the exposed skin.
“It’s definitely improving. The weeping patches have dried.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Doctor Fraiser bent to look herself and gave a satisfied nod. “Now if only his heart was joining the rest of his system.” She gave the ECG a reproachful glare. Ann could only silently agree as she watched the lines stutter erratically before settling once more into normal rhythm.
“Ann-"
She guiltily returned her attention to Doctor Fraiser as she realized she hadn’t heard what the other woman had said. “Sorry, Doctor.”
“That’s okay.” Fraiser gestured to the vials of blood and urine. “Could you get these to the lab and ask them to run the same tests as before. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve reported to General Hammond, and I’ll explain any new tests I want run then.”
Ann didn’t hesitate. She gathered up the samples and hurried down the corridor to the medical lab. Glen Vaztic was just crossing the room near the door and stopped, coming toward her.
“Do you need some tests done? I can take them.”
“Thanks Glen, but I need to speak to Doctor Burton. These are from Colonel O’Neill.”
The medical technician nodded his understanding and pointed to the other side of the large room. “He’s in the isolation lab but he’ll be out in a minute. How is the colonel?”
“He seems to be improving.”
“That’s great.”
“What’s great?” The head of the medical laboratory was a large man, but moved remarkably silently. Ann was convinced he must be distantly related to Teal’c. She was pleased she had, for once, managed to not jump when his voice suddenly boomed from just behind her shoulder.
“That Colonel O’Neill is improving,” she explained. “The trouble is, we're not sure why, so Doctor Fraiser asked if you’d run tests on these samples to see if anything has changed.”
“Anything she wants done differently?” Doctor Burton asked as he took the vials.
“She said she’d discuss that with you herself as soon as she’s spoken to General Hammond.”
“What improvements is the Colonel showing?”
Ann followed the doctor toward the laboratory table as she answered, and watched as he began to divide the various samples carefully. “His liver and kidney functions are improving and the rash is definitely getting better and his temperature is stable.”
He turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow that made his resemblance to Teal’c even more uncanny. “And Doctor Fraiser has no suggestion as to the reason?”
Shaking her head, Ann told the doctor all she knew about the improvements the colonel had made over the last few days – and the ones he hadn’t. When she left the doctor was calling another of his staff off some less urgent tests to complete Colonel O’Neill’s as soon as possible.
Hopefully, Ann thought, they would have some answers soon.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
The strange little flip and plop his heart gave every few hours would have had Jack on the edge of his seat if the Doc would only let him sit up. It was a disconcerting feeling, taking him by surprise every time and leaving him with a terrifying feeling of imminent death. And imminent death, although far too familiar, wasn’t something he enjoyed.
What if the next time the flip didn’t plop back?
Sometimes the flip was followed by a thump and another flip. That wasn’t a sensation he wanted to experience again.
Even though the chest tube had been removed, there wasn’t any lessening in the number of leads and tubes stuck to him – if anything their number had increased with the addition of several more mysterious attachments on his chest that had necessitated the shaving of chest hair. He knew he’d be left with weird round bald patches, making him look like he had a bad case of mange, especially when you combined it with the skin now flaking off all over. He grimaced at the shower of white falling from his arm onto the sheet.
“Colonel O’Neill!”
Oh crap. Jack shoved his hands under the sheet and tried to look innocent, but it didn’t work on the Doc any more than it had worked on those natives on P7whatevertheheckitsnamewas – and that had so not been a fun experience! And judging by the look on Frasier’s face he would be better off in the extremely sticky hands of those same natives right now.
“Mittens. Big, fluffy, bright orange mittens. Need I say more, sir?”
Jack kept his mouth shut, his hands still and shook his head firmly.
“Didn’t think so. How are you feeling?” The doctor picked up his chart and gave a satisfied smile. “I see you’ve had a reasonably quiet night. Did you sleep well?”
“Sort of. At least I didn’t sneeze much. It’s just that I keep expecting those…” He gestured at his chest and the Doc nodded.
“I can understand that, sir. The lab is still running the tests I ordered.”
He gave a small cough and Janet reached for the bottle of Nyquil beside the bed. “It’s time for another dose.”
“Do you really think it’s working, Doc?” Jack asked as he pushed the button to raise the bed head a little more.
“Well, Colonel, your cough is a lot better. So – open wide.” She held the medicine cup out and waited while he drank down the liquid. “Where are your teammates? I thought it was Sam’s turn to entertain you.”
“Hammond needed her in the Control Room.” On the tail end of Jack’s words the infirmary door swung open and Doctor Burton hurried through.
“I’m glad I caught you, Doctor Fraiser. I tried your office but there was no answer and I didn’t think this could wait.”
“What is it, Doctor?”
“I was looking at the latest results of Colonel O’Neill’s tests and – well, it’s hard to explain. It would be easier to show you. Perhaps we can use your computer?”
“Of course.”
Jack sat up even straighter, ignoring the twinges and aches that the action caused. “Why? What have you found?”
“If it’s anything important I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve finished speaking with Doctor Burton, sir. Now…“ The Doc reached down and pressed the button to return the bed to the totally flat position. “…you try and get some more sleep.”
She was gone before Jack could protest and he was left with that helpless feeling he got when he had been in the infirmary for far too long – like he was becoming a part of the furniture – a well-loved but rather uncomfortable and scratchy couch.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“It’s unprecedented. That bacteria should be affected in this way by something so simple.”
“If only we could use this to treat toxic shock normally.”
Janet shook her head ruefully. “Unfortunately your tests have shown that only the alien bacteria respond in this way.” She gave a laugh as she raised a hand to rub her forehead. “Colonel O’Neill is going to love this! I can already hear him crowing.”
Mike Burton joined her, his baritone laughter ringing through the confines of the small space. “Oh yes. After all those times you’ve told him…” He dissolved into uncontrollable mirth.
Janet sniggered.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“You are shitting me! No way!”
“Yes, way.”
Jack stared at the doctor, his grin growing ever wider. “You sounded just like your daughter then, Doc.”
“Did not.” Folding her arms across her chest, Janet scowled back at him.
“You so did.”
“Pot kettle.” She stopped and scowled even harder, clearly exasperated. “You’re just as bad as Cassie, sir.”
“Pot kettle.” He couldn’t hold his laughter in any more as he repeated her words back at her. “Pot kettle. Where does Cassie come up with them? You’re killing me here, Doc.” To prove his point, he echoed the position of Janet’s arms with his own, clutching at his chest. “Oh – that hurts.” But he kept on laughing – he couldn’t help it – it was just so damned funny. Not just Janet, but the whole thing. Totally hilarious.
“Sir – come on, sir, you have to calm down.” Janet’s voice had lost its joking tone and was completely sober and serious.
And he knew why. The answer was already making itself known with a nasty jolt that ran through his chest, taking his breath away.
It was several minutes before Jack was calmly settled with more of the soothing drugs he was becoming far too used to coursing through his system. The warm haze made him want to drift off, to float out with the tide.
His eyes were already closing when the realization hit that he hadn’t finished his conversation with the doc. He wrenched them open again to find her creeping quietly away.
“You’re shitting me.”
Her sigh would have been audible in the farthest corners of the infirmary it was so loud. And heartfelt. She turned back.
“You have to rest, Colonel. Let the medication work. Relax.”
“Oh, come on – you can’t expect to tell me something like that and then just walk off.” He gave her a calculating look, seeing the hint of disappointment in her expression. “This must be killing you. Admit it.” He pushed himself to give another smug grin, fighting down the lethargy dragging at him.
The grin faded a little when Janet tossed her head in the air, spun on her heels and stalked toward the exit. But it returned with a vengeance when she turned, her right forefinger and thumb extended at right-angles across her forehead in a very insubordinate sign for ‘loser’ then scurried out the door.
His shout of ‘Major Fraiser. Consider yourself on report!’ left him breathless, but it was so worth it to catch the glimpse of mortification on the Doc’s face as she ran away.
After the door closed behind the doctor, he gestured that he was okay to the duty nurse as he laughed himself into happy exhaustion. Then he had nothing better to do than give in to the pull of the drugs. There would be plenty more opportunities for teasing the diminutive medico and watching her squirm. He was so going to enjoy every moment – milk it for all it was worth. Revenge was sweet.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“Would you give me your opinion on something?”
Daniel nodded, putting down his book and giving all his attention to Jack. “Sure, what is it?”
“See here.” Jack folded the pages of the magazine he had been reading back and turned it to face him. “Which do you think would be better – something like this or one that’s more straightforward?”
Seeing nothing on the page in front of him but a photo of a tall glass filled with cherries and umbrellas precariously balanced on what appeared to be a naked woman’s breast, Daniel swallowed and looked a little closer. Nothing else leaped out at him. There was a glass and a breast. He swallowed again as he eyed the golden tanned skin with the small beads of moisture rolling down…
“Daniel. Hello! Can I get an answer here?”
“Ah –” He felt a sense of loss as the magazine was abruptly pulled away. “She’s fine.”
“She? What the hell are you talking about – she? Since when do you call a drink she?”
“Drink? What drink?”
Jack held the magazine up again, pointing. “It’s an article about cocktails. Now, if you’d get your mind out of the gutter for just a minute, I want to know which you think would be better – a cocktail like this or something straightforward like scotch on the rocks. These are more fun, but a lot of them have far too much sugar and you can’t be too careful at my age.”
As one part of his mind was wondering why sugar was an issue to a man who seemed to consume his own body weight in fat at every meal and yet not put on an ounce, the rest of Daniel’s brain was attempting to make what Jack was saying into something more logical. It wouldn’t work. No matter how much he tried, nothing about the conversation made sense.
“Jack.” He paused and began again, speaking very precisely. “Jack. To quote your own words – just what the hell are you talking about?”
He could tell his friend was smirking, despite his rather transparent attempt to hide it. Whatever was going on, Jack was enjoying himself – that much was clear.
“Oh, I thought you knew,” Jack answered, his voice oozing nonchalance. “They’ve found something that kills the snake bug.”
Determined not to buy into Jack’s little game, Daniel just smiled benignly, while thinking about very painful ways he could hurt the smug bastard sitting up in the bed. When the silence had stretched far longer than Daniel had expected, Jack finally broke. With an icy glare that would have frozen a flame solid, the other man continued.
“Well, if you’re not interested…“ He unfolded the magazine and turned to another page. “I’ve got research to do.”
“Okay.” Daniel lifted his book from his lap, opening it at the page he’d marked with the thin pewter bookmark Sam had recently given him. He pretended to concentrate on the page, but was really listening with great glee to the sighs of discontent coming from the bed. In the end he couldn’t carry it on any more. Taking pity on his friend, he put the book down once more. It wasn’t like he wasn’t burning to know what cure the doctors had found that had made such an obvious improvement in Jack’s condition. “What kills the bacteria, Jack?”
As soon as he spoke Jack discarded the magazine, his face breaking into a broad smile. “You sure you want to know?”
“Of course I do, you idiot.”
“You’ll never believe it.” Jack’s excitement was infectious and Daniel found himself grinning as well. “It’s alcohol. You know how Janet gave me Nyquil for the cough and I started getting better? Well it turned out the alcohol is killing off the snake bugs. I always knew the Doc was wrong when she told me I couldn’t have beer after I’d been in the infirmary. I’ve tried to tell her before that it’s the best thing when you’re convalescing, especially Guinness. Guinness has its own food group, you know.”
“Yes, sure it has.” The book slid off Daniel’s lap onto the floor, hitting it with a thump, but he ignored it as he stared at Jack. The colonel looked like a kid who’d just opened a present and found exactly what he wanted inside. “Let me get this straight – a few beers and you’re all better?”
“Hardly.” Janet Fraiser’s voice cut through whatever Jack was about to say. The doctor came up to the bed, one of her nurses following behind her carrying a covered instrument tray. “Ignore whatever the colonel’s been saying, Daniel. He is not going to be released from this infirmary to sit at home guzzling down beer. Yes, it seems alcohol is the unexpected cure for the bacteria that’s been causing all the problems, but we in the medical profession are not about to prescribe a vigorous regime of drinking, despite Colonel O’Neill’s wishes. His kidneys are in far too weakened a condition to even consider that. And as for his heart…” She paused and finally turned to her patient, giving him a commiserating smile. “It’s improving, but only gradually. I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to stay in the infirmary a little while longer. Doctor Burton and I are working out the best method of administering the dosage needed to kill the bacteria without doing more damage to your system.”
“But it’s a cure? Jack’s going to get better?”
Daniel was relieved to see Janet’s nod. “Yes, he’s going to be fine. In a few weeks this will all be a distant memory.”
Jack gave a snort of disgust. “Hey, Doc, I may be older than you, but I’m not senile. No way will I be forgetting this in a hurry. Now, can we get back to the whole ‘alcohol is a cure’ thing? I want to get this straight – beer’s out, but…” He turned the magazine’s glossy pages back to the picture of the cocktail. “This is okay, right? I mean, look at it – it’s a meal in itself. Fruit – and – stuff. See. Got to be good for me, right? You agree, don’t you, Daniel?”
Daniel could only smile and nod.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Janet took a step back, pulling off the surgical gloves as she did so. “You can put your shirt on now, sir.” Half turning to throw the gloves in a nearby disposal bin, she continued to give instructions to Colonel O’Neill, all the while keeping an eye on her patient. Oh yes, the rash was almost gone. Her gaze roamed over the muscles rippling as he buttoned his shirt and she smiled to herself, lowering her eyes to the instrument tray in front of her. There was nothing wrong with appreciating the view but it was, she told herself, a purely professional interest. Laughing, she scoffed at her own thoughts.
“What’s so funny, Doc?”
Whoops. Janet realized she had been daydreaming far too much and gave herself a swift mental kick. Smiling brightly and willing herself not to blush, she answered, “Nothing, sir. I’m just pleased with your progress.”
“Uh huh.” Much to her embarrassment Colonel O’Neill raised an eyebrow, gave her a knowing look, nodded slowly and twisted away slightly to finish buttoning his shirt.
“You’ll need to put on some weight before your review, Colonel. That’s only to be expected after a serious illness.” Janet picked up the folder she’d prepared and hurried into an explanation of its contents. “There’s a diet plan here that I’d like you to follow.” She turned the blue plastic cover and tapped the first page with her fingertip. “I’ve included plenty of carbohydrates and protein rich foods…”
“Let me see.” She looked up in surprise as the folder was pulled from her hand and watched as the colonel swiftly turned the pages. It wasn’t long before he was staring back at her. “You’ve missed some stuff here, Doc.”
“Sir?” She schooled her features into an expression of puzzlement, even though she knew exactly what coming.
“Where’s the beer?”
Yes, she had been right.
“I explained, sir. The medication I’ve given you to take home is sufficient to ensure the bacteria are completely eradicated. The important thing now is to build your system back up and that you rest. The cardiovascular tests results were very positive, but you shouldn’t tax yourself too much. I’d suggest a gentle regime of exercise to begin, in conjunction with the physiotherapy…”
“Ah!” A long finger was suddenly waving in her face. “Stop. I know all that. You explained it all when you told me I was going home. Now…” The colonel pointed accusingly down at the folder. “I ask again – where’s the beer? And what about that cocktail – the one with the fruit and the naked woman. I intend to have one of them every day.” He grinned evilly. “The cocktail I mean, of course.”
“Are you sure? After all, you still get pretty tired. Even one a day might be too much for you in your weakened condition.” She returned his evil grin with one of her own. “The cocktail I mean, of course.”
Colonel O’Neill smiled happily back at her, obviously enjoying their banter. He jumped off the bed he’d been sitting on, showing no outward sign of stiffness or pain. Oh, they were there, Janet knew. She had been only half joking when she made the comment about his tiredness. It would be a while until he was back to full strength, but… She looked down, straightening her lab coat and blinked a couple of times to clear her suddenly blurry eyes…considering how close it had been…
“Hey, Doc, how about letting me out of here? I’ll read through this properly, I promise – when I get home.”
“No scratching.”
“Of course not.”
“You’ll be sensible?”
He gave her another of his far too appealing smiles. “Can’t say that for sure, Doc, but I’ll do my best.”
“You’ll do more than your best, Colonel, or I’ll have you back here faster than you can say Long Island Tea.”
To Janet’s surprise, instead of looking contrite and agreeing with her – not that she expected that anyway – Colonel O’Neill pulled a small notebook and pen from his back pocket and started writing.
“Long Island Tea – that’s one I hadn’t thought of. Plenty of alcohol in that. Yep…” He beamed. “It goes to the top of the list. Thanks, Doc. Got any more suggestions?”
“Out!” She pointed dramatically at the infirmary exit, hoping he’d leave before she succumbed to the laughter she could feel bubbling up inside her.
“I’m going, I’m going. Sheesh – anyone would think you didn’t like me!”
Just as Janet thought she had managed to avoid breaking down in front of him, the colonel’s head popped back around the door. “So – beer is out but spirits are okay? Thanks for clarifying that. Bye now.”
And he was gone.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
“Makepeace.”
“O’Neill.”
Colonel Makepeace clasped his hands behind his back as he moved further back in the elevator car. He gave his fellow officer a quick glance. The man looked okay – sort of. There were a few blotchy looking patches on the back of his hands and it looked like he’d lost some weight, but apart from that he seemed fine – probably could have been back at work days ago instead of lazing in the infirmary having the pretty little nurses give him sponge baths. It wasn’t for nothing that flyboys had a certain reputation with the women. Not that marines had anything to complain of in that respect…
“Hammond tells me you did a good job of being in charge.” O’Neill’s voice was a bit off too. It sounded dry. Like he needed a good long drink. Robert smirked, knowing Doctor Fraiser’s standing orders for no alcohol while recuperating.
“Thanks, but I can’t say I’ll be sorry when you’re back. Far too much paperwork and all those meetings with Hammond and the other section heads – those scientists, how do you cope?”
“I tend to tune out for most of it. You know – kept one ear on what’s going on and the other planning my weekend.”
“Won’t be much planning for a while, I bet.” He gestured to the folder in O’Neill’s hand. “I see the Doc’s given you plenty of do’s and don’t’s.”
The other man nodded, his expression glum. “Yeah, and this time it’s harder than usual. No beer at all. Only cocktails and naked women. Oh, my floor.” He was out the door before Robert could respond.
The man must still be delirious. For a moment Makepeace thought of reporting him to Doc Fraiser, but decided against it. The guy was, after all, a fellow colonel, even if he wasn’t a marine.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
The chilly weather meant a barbeque wasn’t an option and Colonel O’Neill wasn’t really supposed to be spending too much time out of doors anyway. The last thing he needed, Janet had informed them, was to get another cold. In fact, she had said – very firmly – if they were intending to have a meal with him, better to make it home cooked and stay inside in front of the fire.
Not wanting to risk the doctor’s ire or their commander’s health, they had agreed. So here they were, a week after his release from the infirmary, sitting listening to him clattering around in the kitchen muttering disgustedly about the lack of Chinese or pizza.
Sam exchanged looks with her teammates and called loudly, “Would you like some help, sir?”
“I’m throwing some casserole dishes in the microwave, Carter. My biggest decision is whether to put the potato in before the stew or the stew before the potato or even, wait for it, them both in at once. I think I can cope.”
There was the sound of the microwave door closing then the clinking of glasses.
“Could I assist you in carrying the beverages, O’Neill?”
Instead of answering, the colonel just appeared at the door, a tray of drinks held carefully in both hands. Sam stayed seated, but it was hard to just watch as the man stepped slowly down the short steps into the living room. She wanted to take the tray from him and tell him to sit and relax, but knew how well that would go over with the fiercely independent colonel.
“Pick your poison.” The tray thumped slightly on the table as the colonel released it a little too soon. Daniel reached out a hand to steady the tall glass of water Teal’c had requested and Colonel O’Neill gave a sigh of obvious frustration as he virtually fell into his favorite armchair.
“Tired?” Daniel asked without looking up from pouring two white wines.
The disgusted grunt he got in answer was clear enough for them all to turn their attention to other topics. Daniel handed one of the glasses of wine to Sam. “Where’s your beer, Jack? Did you leave it in the kitchen?”
“Nope, that’s mine.” The colonel pointed to a second glass of water on the tray.
“Water?”
“Yes, Daniel – water.”
“But I thought…”
“What? That I was really going to spend the next few weeks experimenting with cocktails?” The colonel shook his head. “I’m not that stupid. The medication the Doc prescribed is doing its work and I don’t need to be loading my system with more alcohol for no reason.”
“But then why did you keep arguing with…” Sam stopped and grinned, having answered her own question. Because he could. Because it was fun.
The deep rumble of a car approaching the house could be heard through the noise of the wind outside. Colonel O’Neill straightened and morphed into command mode, rapidly snapping out orders. “Quick – that’s the doc. I forgot to tell you I’d invited her. Carter, go answer the door, but take your time. Daniel, there’s a glass in the refrigerator – you’ll know which I mean as soon as you see it. Bring it in here. T, grab the piece of paper under that book and hand it to me.”
By the time Sam was back in the living room with Janet, the colonel was lounging back in his chair, a tall glass filled with fruit and umbrellas in one hand and a list in the other.
“Oh, hi Doc. I was just discussing the relative alcohol content of various beverages with T and Daniel. It’s amazing how they vary.” He waved the glass. “Want a cocktail?”
The End
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The Fire Still Burns
by FlatkatsiStory Bemerkung:
This is a plot idea given to me by Bandersnatch. I hope I managed to write the story she wanted.Site Navigation
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