Impact
Impact
by Soles
TITLE: Impact
Author: Soles
Email: soles@gamewood.net
Category: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Spoilers: Entity, tiny one for The Other Side and The Scorched Earth.
Season: 4
Challenge: Word-a-Month - May/ Impact
Rating: PG-13
Content Warnings: language
Status: Completed
Summary: Is Jack beginning to feel his age, or only having a nervous breakdown?
Disclaimer: I own only the basic story idea, Jack and Co. belong to Showtime, MGM, et al. No money was made as a result of this labor of love.
Author's note - I am a confirmed Sam/Jack'shipper, and as there is a small segment of this story which indicates their feelings for one another, if this idea totally bums you out, please read no further, but it is not the focus of the story. Feedback would be appreciated, as I am new at this writing stuff and I need constructive help - Thanks, Soles.
Season - 3/4
Jack watched the other man's fist as it impacted his jaw, feeling the pain roar through his face and head - God... he was getting too old for this shit. The force of the attack caused him to stumble backward, off balance, just barely maintaining a fighting stance, while drawing strength from flagging resources. This had not been a good day, had not been a good mission - by any stretch of the imagination, and he wanted to throw in the towel so bad, his brain ached, just to lay down and surrender, to let someone else make the decisions, let someone else take the credit, or the blame, let someone else take the body blows and pain...he was tired ...tired of it all.
His assailant continued the attack with staccato punches to his chest and abdomen, while Jack sent his own punches to the other man's head and stomach. He'd tried keeping watch for his team members, but the distraction was too dangerous; he could get killed, or get someone else killed...they knew what they were doing.
Sam and Daniel at the DHD, were trying to open the gate, while Jack and Teal'c were still engaged in hand to hand with these rejects from Leavenworth, in Jaffa armor.
It's the same old story - gate to a planet, met by warriors of a Systems' Lord, engage in combat; usually at 10 to 1 odds... Damn... this is getting SO old.
Å Å Å Å Å Å Å Å
Surprise had been his team's only advantage. The Jaffa too, had been surprised at their arrival and were caught sleeping...literally. They hadn't had the time to fully awaken, to armor them and prepare for combat; even the night watch had been caught napping -Thank God for small favors. Teal'c was finishing off the nest of warriors he had invaded; while Jack and this fighter were still neck and neck, the outcome still too close to call. Son, I...have...had...enough...of you, Jack thought; mentally quoting the "immortal, James T. Kirk," as he prepared to bring the contest to its proper conclusion... with a back-hand blow to his opponents face, followed swiftly by a crushing thrust of his foot, into the left knee of his assailant, with the full weight of his 190 lb.'s behind it. The man folded in on himself, screaming with the pain of Jack's maneuver, nursing a knee that would never again be the same, and giving the Colonel time to run for the gate, behind his friend and team-mate. " Colonel ...Teal'c..."
" Jack ... Teal'c..."
The two men ran the distance to the open wormhole, gasping for breath; gasping for oxygen, of which their fight ravaged bodies were depleted. Sam grabbed Teal'c's arm, as he reached the top step to the Gate, and pulled the strong man up and through the gate, while Daniel waited the short time and distance needed, to grab Jack, flinging them both through the anomaly.
SG-1 rolled out of the wormhole to the bleating, raucous noise of the klaxon, and the swirling red emergency lighting. Major Carter and Teal'c blasted out of the wormhole at faster than safe speed, landing in a jumble of limbs, and remained supine on the metal ramp catching their breath, awaiting the arrival of the others. Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson didn't make them wait long as their bodies rolled out of the gate, in another tangle of limbs.
" Close the Iris," someone shouted - sounded like the General. They, too, lay on the cold ramp attempting to catch their breath and gather their shredded composure.
" Medics to the gate-room...Medics to the gate-room..." the overhead system repeated.
General Hammond walked up the ramp to check and greet, his premier team who, by the looks of them, had been on the wrong end of an angry mule. Stooping down to speak to his 2IC, the General asked in a quiet voice, "Colonel, may I infer, from your unorthodox arrival, that PYP-678 did not wish to receive the olive branch of friendship?"
Col. O'Neill looked up at his commander, through eyes even now turning black from massive bruising, "Snakeheads already there, Sir. We just barely got beyond the gate before...um...'Our olive branch' was handed back to us...Sir," O'Neill spoke in a deadly tired voice, soft and hoarse, with unvoiced emotions. Hammond nodded his head in understanding and turned, looking down the ramp, searching for his CMO, who was already there, helping aide the other members of the team.
Dr. Fraiser walked the short distance up the ramp and knelt beside the soldier, she too, speaking softly, "Colonel, as much as I hate to say this, you have two of the most spectacular black eyes I have ever seen...that alone, is going to reserve you a room in the infirmary overnight...while we find out why. Can you walk, or shall we get a stretcher?" She had placed a hand on Jack's neck, to silently check his pulse, while also giving support, because to her trained eye the Colonel was not responding to this incident in his normal fashion. She felt a small shiver of fear for this man squeeze her heart.
" I think I can walk Doc, I'm okay, just a sore jaw, and bruised ribs...the usual...after havin'a squad of Jaffa and me, doing our thing...their thing."
She removed her hand from his neck and placed it under his shoulders for support, helping him to stand, looking around; making sure Teal'c, Sam and Daniel had likewise been assisted and were now on their way to the infirmary.
" Debriefing at 0800hrs. Colonel... go take care of your team."
" Yes Sir...Thank you Sir, 0800 debrief, we'll be there."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
SG-1 sat around the bed assigned to their CO, awaiting his return from X-ray. Those two spectacular black eyes had needed more than Dr. Fraiser's persistent pocket penlight for diagnosis. Daniel sat on the bed, silently thumping his teeth, lost in thought. Major Carter was also deep in thought, when Teal'c posed a quiet question.
" Did not ColonelONeill seem distracted, during his confrontation with the Jaffa warriors? It is only a feeling - I have nothing firm upon which to base this opinion." Daniel jumped from the bed saying, " I had the exact same thought...he really looked sluggish, out there today...for a second I thought he was about to give up...Jack wouldn't..."
Jackson's thoughts were interrupted by their topic of discussions' return. The group moved out of the way, so that Jack could move himself from the stretcher to his bed, as the corpsmen assisted in his transfer and made him comfortable.
"... Jenkins, you be sure to let me know...I had money riding on that game."
The corpsman grinned, "Yes Sir, I will...I did too...now, is there anything else I can get for you...I have the time, Sir."
" You could get me a nice, cold beer, I swear I wouldn't tell...."
" I'm sure you wouldn't, Colonel, but I have a 'no beer' policy for all my surgical patients," Dr Fraiser, having quietly entered the room, answered instead of the corpsman.
" What are you trying to tell me Doc, in your oh...so...subtle way?"
" Well, Sir...let me show you the reason it's getting hard for you to open your mouth, and to even speak-for that matter." Dr. Fraiser held the x-ray film up to the bedside light, and pointed to several dark lines, in an otherwise unbroken expanse, of x-rayed facial bones.
" There...and there...you have a bilateral fracture of the mandible, Sir...and tomorrow morning, after the swelling has stabilized, we - myself and Dr. Greenfeld, will operate to plate the fractures."
" OH geez, Doc...you mean after all these years, I've got a glass jaw...?"
" No Colonel. I mean, that Jaffa hit you in just the right place to break your jaw...and don't try talking too much; you'll hurt yourself and aggravate the fracture site... We'll operate tomorrow morning, after you've had some medication to reduce the swelling... Oh, and by the way, you also have two fractured ribs, but they're not out of alignment, so a binder is all that'll be needed there, and the cast room tech should be on the way with one." The doctor turned to his team members, still in the room, "You guys can stay for a while, but we've really got to get the Colonel cleaned-up and settled for the evening - and he will be receiving pain and sleeping meds, in just a few minutes..."
" DOOCC..."
" No whining Colonel...I can't let a patient of mine stay awake, worrying all night, before his scheduled surgery...and in pain!"
" I don't whine...I'm a Colonel in the USAF, I NEVER whine!"
" No Sir, I stand corrected...you just get extremely emotional about selected subjects..."she stated, with a grin on her face.
Sam, Daniel and Teal'c stood silent, as the doctor spoke with the soldier, each aware that, at times, the Colonel had to be handled with "kid gloves", and Dr. Fraiser always knew just when to use them. They each had taken note that Jack had not denied being in pain; which he usually, very vocally did, so he must be pretty uncomfortable.
Teal'c was the first to speak, "ColonelONeill, I will take my leave of you...I will return later." Leaving no room for argument or misunderstanding, he bowed his head to the Colonel and left the room.
Daniel spoke up next, "Jack, you ah...you... ah, go ahead and get some rest, you had a pretty hard time of it out there, like Teal'c...but Teal'c didn't end up in the infirmary, did he? Anyway, I'll be back to check on you...even if you are asleep,"- letting Jack and the doctor know, to expect a visit from him - not to worry!
Sam waited until Daniel had left the room, before speaking; not moving from her place in the darkened corner, " Colonel, Sir...I'm uh...I'm gonna go get cleaned up, and I'll be back as soon as I stop smelling like the men's locker room...."
" Major...you never smell like the Men's locker room...."
She moved over to the bed, a smile on her face, maintaining eye contact with the Colonel...trying to deny the doctor's presence. She placed her hand on the bed, almost but not quite, touching the man lying there, she could feel the heat of his body, but with Janet still standing at his bedside, his warmth would have to be enough...for now.
" I'll see you in a few...I'll take your stuff to the locker room."
Jack smiled into her eyes. Janet knew she was watching a very private moment and that she was in the way.
" Colonel, I need to go check on that binder...I don't know what could be keeping Sgt. Thacker...I'll be back...Sam, I'll be back." The doctor rolled her expressive eyes, turned and left the room, just heading off the technician, as he was entering.
" Well, Colonel, I really need to be going..." her hand moved closer to his, the opportunity he/they needed to close the gap and hold hands. He brought her hand up to his swollen lips and gently kissed the palm, then held it tightly for a second before returning it to her.
" You did good out there, both you and Daniel, getting that gate opened up so fast...for a minute there, I felt like a goner...."
" Sshh...remember what the doctor said, don't try to talk too much...listen, you let Janet and her staff get you settled in and some meds on-board, and I'll be back with something for you to eat...well, maybe not eat so much, as swallow...a nice soup from the Mess?"
" Major, you should know by now, you can not use the word nice and the Mess Hall together in the same sentence around here! Sort of an oxymoron, there...."
" Yes Sir...later," Sam smiled, picked up the equipment and left the room. Jack's eyes remained on her the entire distance. As she turned out of the room, his smile faded, the pain in his jaw making him sick to his stomach, and because of his ribs, breathing was a chore. He lay in the quiet room, attempting to focus outside the pain in his face and chest...finally counting the minutes until the nursing staff would come and coerce him into taking a pain shot. They wouldn't have to coerce too hard tonight, cause his jaw was claiming all of his attention. He could feel the tightness caused by the swollen tissues and he was to the point where speaking, if he was stupid enough to TRY, could only be achieved through clinched teeth. And don't clinch too tightly, 'cause fragmented, broken shards of bone, grinding together, tend to make you cranky, Jack.
Jack thought back over today's mission - a failure from the git-go, at least his was the only injury that had to be explained to the General.
Lately, he felt as if the Goa'uld were taking over the universe, and the puny SGC efforts, were a waste of time, manpower, and resources, which could be put to better use blowing the planet to kingdom come, "...no snakehead, in his right mind, would want a dead planet...radiation sickness was bad for the ego." Jack pondered his thoughts - they weren't totally in line with his usual, generally optimistic take on life.
Since when did you become such a pessimist, O'Neill...you've never been the " glass is half-empty" type...what's going on? Could having the 'crap' beat out of ya have anything to do with it?
Jack was unable to answer his own questions...and was at the point of calling for the doctor, when one of the nurses came into his room, carrying a robe and slippers and his kit of toilet articles.
" I brought your stuff, Colonel...I thought you might like a shower before you get your pain medication...get yourself freshened up for sleep. You know the drill - No getting out of bed after your injection." " Well, if it isn't Nurse Ratchett..."
" Oh, har...har, Colonel..."
" I haven't made up my mind whether or not I want a shot...matter of fact, I really don't think I need one..."
" Colonel...who are you trying to bullshit? You might be able to fool your team..., which I really doubt! But you can't fool me...I am a highly trained professional...and MY ...highly trained eye says YOU, are in a lot of discomfort. So up you go...take a shower, brush you teeth...don't forget to clean behind your ears and I'll straighten up your bed, get some fresh water and more straws...and then, when you're finished, we'll see about a back rub...Oh! And we still have that rib binder to put on, you'll be much more comfortable... now go!"
Jack reluctantly pulled himself out of the bed - he didn't want Capt. Ryzycki to think he was giving in, too quickly...but he was bone tired, and it was getting late, and Carter was supposed to be back, soon. Taking the kit from the table, and putting on the robe and slippers, Jack slowly walked to the infirmary shower area.
<><><><><>O<><><><><>
The warm cascade of water magically revived his tired body, helping to ease some of the discomfort in his jaw and ribcage. He stood under the spray of water, as though unable to move from that one spot, soaking in the delicious warmth, letting it wash away the tension, along with the accumulated dirt and blood.
His introspection took him far away from the ritual of bathing, as he thought back over the last few weeks ...busy weeks for all of the SGC. Every one of the SG teams had been stretched to the limit; it seemed as if Apophsis, and his wantabe's, were everywhere, into everything, gaining every advantage- while the earth forces had sustained heavy casualties. O'Neill silently thanked any Deity within hearing distance, that no deaths had occurred - seemingly a miracle.
" Are you wasting water, Colonel...don't make me come in there!" The voice of his nurse echoed through the steam-laden air of the shower room.
" Oh Geez...don't scare me like that...I'm wounded here."
" I know you're wounded, Sir, but I have your pain med and there's someone here who wants to sit with you...and feed you ambrosia...and wipe your fevered brow...I wouldn't doubt. Do you need any help, Sir...close your eyes and I'll come in."
" No thanks, Captain...I'm okay... but I will have to speak to Dr. Fraiser...about the cheeky, insubordinate junior officers on her staff." O'Neills eyebrows quirked, in an attempted smile.
" I know, Sir...I'm working on that...I think it comes from having a Sergeant Major for a father...I could be wrong." Capt. Ryzycki was one, of a small segment of SGC staff nurses who actually enjoyed working with Colonel O'Neill, knowing, with absolute certainty, that he was going to be a royal pain in the 'hind-parts' as a patient. Most, if not all, of the military nurses had met, worked with and treated with TLC, men just like the Colonel. Men who defended their country with honor, professionalism and slightly tattered idealism, men who had protected their emotions and feelings behind a façade; O'Neill's was a bitingly sarcastic sense of humor and a "Dumber than Dirt" act.
O'Neill smiled to himself at her reply, turned off the water and toweled dry, very carefully. The gown provided, was one of those backless jobs, where your butt did more shining than the sun and never took into consideration his height...but the robe covered all fashion errors, and he stuck his feet into the military's idea of bedroom slippers...he grunted, What was he belly-aching about...his at-home attire usually consisted of old sweats and tee's, or nothing....
Jack dried his wet hair, cleaned his teeth; as best he could - not being able to open his mouth made it more of a challenge, then did a quick shave - though his face and neck were swollen to balloon-sized proportions...or so it seemed, while detouring around abrasion's accumulated from the scuffle with the Jaffa.
Significantly refreshed from the shower, Jack slowly returned to his room, finding Major Carter there already, looking clean and refreshed, but tired. She had brought, for his dinner, a large cup of the "soup of the day ", which turned out to be his favorite- cream of broccoli...and it had been creamed even more, due to his tender mouth.
Capt. Ryzycki followed him to his room, having his pain medication, ready to inject. The nurse, assisted by Maj. Carter, helped O'Neill into bed, smoothed out the covers, fluffed up his pillows, and then told him to turn over, either cheek, didn't matter which one. The injection was delivered with professional finesse, and the nurse started to leave the room.
" Hey...I was promised a back-rub, Captain!"
The nurse turned back, smiled at the patient, and then stated quietly, "Yes Sir...Major Carter can take it from here." Then winking at the Major, she closed the door and left.
" Carter...does she mean what I think she means?"
" Yes Sir...I expect she does...Now how about this soup, it'll be cold soon...and it's your favorite, Sir...plus, Sgt Gibert whipped it up extra fine, so, as he put it 'you'd have smooth sailing' so to speak...he told me he'd had a fractured jaw once, early in his career at Lackland...and he...felt your pain."
" Giberts a good man," the Colonel said, cocking his head to look more closely at his Major.
" How are you doing, Carter...you look sort-of done in," O'Neill asked with a concern-laced voice, his eyes watching her closely.
" I'm okay, Sir...nothing wrong with me, that a good night's sleep won't cure." Then pushing the cup of liquid at her friend, Sam smiled her encouragement, that he should eat the warm concoction.
Jack drank the light meal slowly; even being extra fine, the act of swallowing still caused considerable discomfort, but he could feel the pain medication stealing away his concentration. After consuming only half of the food, Jack admitted defeat and laid his head back on the pillows; exhausted and, not a little bit, 'woozy'.
" Major, I can't eat any more. My eyes are starting to cross, this room is starting a slow spin and I've been promised a back-rub...."
Major Carter removed the cup of soup from O'Neill's hands, before he spilt the contents, and set it out of the way. She instructed her patient to turn onto his abdomen, or as far as was comfortable, knowing that the broken ribs would limit his position. Sam bared O'Neill's back, of his patient gown, in preparation for the massage oil she had brought with her, looking with wonder at the road-map of scars on his back, indicating painful events; most all of them military- related, in this man's life. She felt a surge of pride that she knew him, was privileged to work with him, even though he could be a piece of work sometimes, and always, she smiled to herself, always high maintenance. All in all, just being around Jack O'Neill was an experience.
" Carter, I'm getting cold, here ...just what the heck are you doing back there?"
O'Neill's voice was starting to slur, and soften... the medication was doing a fine job of Colonel control.
" Sorry Sir...just warming the lotion...couldn't have you jumping out of bed, because of cold lotion... now could we?"
Carter smoothed the fine fragrant oil onto his back, using long therapeutic strokes to further relax his back muscles and short massaging circles to relax muscle groups. At several points, O'Neill groaned, either from the sensation of the back-rub itself, or from the relief of muscle tension eased...he said nothing-silently enjoying the euphoria, which Carter's motions were causing...also, trying to place just why that fragrance was so familiar to him....
As the medication took effect, his thoughts were more easily scattered, like wisps of smoke and he couldn't grab onto those thought's- just out of reach, which remained. Carter continued with the back-rub, until a huge, jaw-cracking yawn, not... a good idea, erupted from her patient, causing him to grab his face with both hands.
"Aarrgghh.........Oh God, that hurts..." He moaned involuntarily, and then acknowledged, " Sorry, Carter...Shit that hurt..." continuing to hold his face in his hands, sounding like a petulant child, "...and I was almost asleep...."
Tear's had escaped from his tightly shut eyes, falling un-noticed down his cheeks, Carter quickly wiped the oil from her hands with a towel, then gently wiped the moisture from his face.
" I'm not really crying here, Carter...it just took me by surprise."
" I know, Sir..." she said softly, ready to call the nurse back, " I'm gonna' wipe the rest of this oil off, then we can really get you settled for the night...Janet said your surgery would be first thing in the morning, so you'll need your Beauty sleep, plus, I think Capt. Ryzycki still has a rib binder with your name on it."
" No...Sam...don't call her back, yet. I'm OK, see ...no more tears," he attempted a smile, but it looked more like a lopsided grimace. "Just, ah...just sit with me for a while. I'm feelin' kind of strange tonight...must be the medication stuff."
He was quiet for a short period, eyes closed. Carter thought he had finally succumbed to the morphine, when he spoke again, " I promise I won't talk anymore, but I have to ask about that oil...the stuff you used on my back...also let me say, I've never had a better back-rub...anywhere...and I've had my share. Anyway...the oil..." his voice had, again, taken on a softer, quieter timber, " the ...oil...smelled real...real familiar...."
His words were slurring again; Carter was glad, Jack needed his rest, and he needed to let the pain medication take over and do its work.
She bent down to his ear and whispered, "Yes, Sir...it's my favorite scent...since you're sleeping here tonight, I'll leave you with a little something of myself...Good night, Jack...I'll be right here."
A slight smile touched his lips, but he was too far-gone to respond, and soon the soft snores of his sleep were all that could be heard in the room. Samantha Carter smoothed the gray hair from the sleeping man's forehead, and then gently cupped a swollen cheek in her hand, just a light touch; when no one could see, or take notice of her actions. She walked to the light switch, and turned off the glaring lights, returning to sit in the corner of the darkened room.
Finally, she was at leisure to consider the events of the day; this day when the aborted mission had taken on psychological overtones, because Teal'c and Daniels observation had marched with her own. Jack, Colonel O'Neill, had fought the Jaffa with the skill of the warrior that he was, but skill could only take you so far...then speed, reaction time, determination, knowledge and experience had to assume leadership. Maybe, Jack had just experienced a bad day, we all have them... Jack often suffered through bad days... but any more like today, and he wouldn't have to worry about it, anymore and forever. Sam knew, with a certainty, that she would have to have a heart-to-heart with her CO, but now - while he was in the hospital, was not the right time...and she'd probably have to gang-up on him, or, at the first smell of anything psycho-analytical, Jack would run for the hills!
A soft tap sounded on the door of Jack's room, Sam looked up to see the faces of her team members, peering around the opening door. She smiled at their arrival, and brought her index finger up to her lips, to indicate quiet. Daniel wagged his eyebrows, in understanding, while heading for the second bed in the room and then plopped himself down. Teal'c took up his position at the foot of the bed, standing straight, almost at attention. In unison, they quietly asked,
" How is He/ColonelONeill?"
" He finally gave up about 15 minutes ago," she said, checking her watch. "...And I've just been sitting here, trying to get my head around what we talked about - earlier."
Sam glanced over to the bed, watching the sleeping man, for any sign they were disturbing his sleep.
Another soft tap sounded on the door, which opened to reveal the Colonel's nurse-Capt. Ryzycki. The tall slender Air Force nurse came into the room, acknowledging the other occupants with a nod of her head. The infirmary staff was used to the closeness of the SG-1 team, and had come to expect no less than an all night vigil, for a sick, or injured member. Her whispered inquiry was directed at Major Carter.
" How's it going, Major? Did the Colonel eat anything? I see his meds finally caught up with him, huh?" As the Capt. asked her simple questions, she performed her evening ritual check of vital signs; noting that her patients' temperature was slightly elevated, checking the IV; making sure it was dripping at the prescribed rate and making an over-all assessment of her patient, for the report, and charting it for the next nurse. Carter gave the appropriate responses to her questions, also whispering.
" I'm going off duty in another half hour, is there anything I can get for any of you? There's coffee at the nurses station, for you, Dr. Jackson," she said with a grin.
" If the Colonel wakes up uncomfortable - and that 'shot' is good for at least a couple more hours, just call the desk. Lt. Taylor is the charge nurse coming on, and I know Dr. Fraiser is bunking-in somewhere, with her beeper...He'll be fine, you guys have nothing to worry about...no doubt, he's been through worse."
" We know, Captain," Daniel whispered in response, " But we're...family, we're here to worry."
She nodded her understanding, and giving a slight wave "good night ", left the room.
› › › › › › › › › ›
Jack watched the sun, rising over the mountain range, enjoying the colors streaking from the darkest blue, to pale pink-mottled with low clouds, and now the bright, sunshine breakfast orange colors...the morning air was calm and quiet, nothing and no-one was stirring, yet; except maybe a few scavengers, who were rushing home after a nights hunt with their bounty - to feed hungry mouths. The air had a nip to it; Jack could see his own breath, clouding up in frosty billows, as he expelled a coffee-warmed sigh. He'd been sitting out here for quite a while, couldn't seem to sleep, hadn't had a good nights sleep...since coming home on convalescent leave - must have gotten himself 'turned around' while in the Hospital.
He leaned over the table to retrieve another section of the newspaper, the metal scissors hanging around his neck, clanging slightly with the movement... Son of a bitch... would he be glad when he could stop wearing this damned annoyance...he'd almost stabbed himself three times, so far. As it had been explained to Jack, he'd have to have the scissors, close at hand, until the hardware was removed from his mouth, as a precaution in case something he ate disagreed with him, or went down the wrong pipe. Choking on his own vomit had never seemed like an attractive way to die. And wearing the scissors around his neck assured him they were available at a seconds' notice.
Dr Fraiser had promised, the arch-bars and the rubber bands would come off, after four weeks, and now Jack was on a count down - his appointment tomorrow should see the last of this discomfort.
Dr Fraiser had promised he could eat, something...ANYTHING... anything was better, than mush and baby-food....
Dr. Fraiser had promised to cut down, or cut-off altogether, some of the medications he'd been taking... Come to think of it, Dr. Fraiser had made a lot of promises...and tomorrow was Showtime!
Jack didn't really feel like eating...but Sam was getting concerned; just cause he'd lost a couple of pounds...Okay...20 lbs., but that was normal ...wasn't it?
He was beginning to feel like a 6ft. 2 in. scarecrow, and he knew he looked like one...but that was normal...wasn't it?
As soon as he could eat solid food, get back to full-duty, take up his life again, things would look up...wouldn't it?
Jack studied the newspaper, not really comprehending the words in front of his eyes, letting his thoughts swirl 'round and around in his head. The mental image of the Jaffa's fist impacting with his jaw still unsettled his waking thoughts and disrupted his night-time peace...he still felt the physical force of the blow, each time his brain relaxed enough to allow rest. What was going on? What was happening to him? This was not a severe injury... My God, Jack, you've had worse than this and never looked back...get a grip!
Jack heard the sound of a car coming to a stop in his driveway, then the sound of the car door opening and closing. With all the force he could muster, through a closed mouth and wired jaws, Jack called out toward the front of his house that he was
" Here."
He looked at the sky, estimating the time of day. Who would be coming around this early, except possibly Sam, or Daniel? Apparently, the newcomer hadn't heard Jack's invitation, to join him around here, because the front doorbell sounded inside the house. He got up from his comfortable position; joints creaking from sitting too long in the outdoor chill, and then went inside his house to answer the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~
" Daniel..."
" Jack..."
He had suspected who it might be, but that didn't mean he welcomed this visit. It had been an entire week, since he'd stopped answering his phone...it seemed useless, just trying to get out of bed, trying to make conversation, trying to make his friend's think everything was fine. Everything wasn't fine, hadn't been fine for a while...but he didn't know what to do to make it better.
Jack stood back from the open door, to allow Daniel entrance into the house. Daniel looked around, taking in Jack's haggard, unkempt appearance and the dust coated, disarray of Jack's house. Jack usually took such good care of his home; his refuge from a world gone crazy - so he claimed. O'Neill closed the door behind his friend, returning to the back of the house, to the deck, and his newspaper, coffee and contemplation. Daniel trailed behind him, knowing it was useless to be offended by his lack of social graces; snagging a coffee mug as he passed through the kitchen. Out on the deck, Jack returned to his newspaper, having yet to say another word to his visitor. Daniel poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, making a face as he drank the tepid beverage down.
" Um...Jack, ah...did you know your phone's out of order?"
O'Neill looked at him over the top of the newsprint, with that " Duh " look on his face.
" I've tried several times to call, but either I got a busy signal, or no one answered. You probably should get it checked-out.
" You knew Sam was," he looked around, as if trying to evade spies. " You know Sam left for a recon with SG-3...right?
A pained expression flitted across Jack's face, but he nodded, still saying nothing. He remembered the conversation; he'd had with Carter. He'd wanted her to stay here - at the SGC, on Earth; Terra Firma, but the General had wanted to use her skills elsewhere. And Jack was lonely, Jack was selfish...but lonely in his selfishness, and after that " mainframe nest " thingy, he liked to keep Carter close and safe. And, if she ever found out, she'd kick his butt.
" Yeah, I know...we. ah, talked about it. I really didn't want her to go, but since the team's kinda' fragmented...um, 'til I return, Hammond needed her. And Teal'c's helping train the new SG-5...another reason not to make an issue of Carter leaving."
Jackson watched the older man, nodding his head as if in agreement. He noted the dark circles under Jack's eyes, the sunken cheeks, and the slight tremor of his hands - made apparent only, by the gentle movement of the newspaper, in those hands. Jack looked terrible! Jack looked like he'd lost a fight with his worst nightmare. Jack looked like he needed some sort of intervention, or the Colonel that returned to SG1, would not be the one who'd left.
" Um, Jack...you okay?" Daniel wrinkled his brow, in concern, " Cause...you don't look okay. I love you like a brother, but br...other... Janet is going to give you ten kinds of hell, when she see's you. Have you been eating, and getting enough sleep? I'll bet you haven't and I'll even bet, you haven't been taking your pain medication, or that sleeping stuff, you complained about."
Daniel was on a roll; here was a man, a friend, damaged in battle, needing help, needing to be in top form - to return to his high stress job-one, which he loved, but was too pig-headed to use the help, he had been given. Sometimes Jack O'Neill strained even Daniel's brotherly love.
" Jack...what are we going to do with you?"
" We, Daniel?" Jack took a deep breath, his eyes pinning Daniel to his chair.
" We... are going to do nothing. We...are going to return to duty next week, albeit a restricted duty, but none the less - a return, and we...will deal with whatever comes along...just as usual." O'Neill spoke in a deadly calm voice, a voice so calm that it screamed, with unvoiced emotion. His usual humor, nowhere to be found. The rock and staff of the Jack O'Neill coping mechanism: the ever-present terrible jokes, the whimsical and biting sarcasm...not present. And present in its place was a dead calm; covering decades of hurt - mental and physical.
Daniel, again watching his friend, concluded, That Jaffa's fist could have been the end of Jack O'Neill's rope...OhmyGod...we're in trouble...with a capital T.
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"...Swear to god, Janet. It was scary! I've not seen Jack like that, not in a long time...not since we made that first mission. I know...I know...but, what...what about...okay. I just wanted to warn you...yeah, me too... Okay, Take care, see you tomorrow." Daniel pressed the power button on his cell phone, concluding his call to Dr. Janet Fraiser. He took a deep breath, leaning his head against the steering wheel of his car. He'd left Jack's house about fifteen minutes ago, and taking the first opportunity, he'd called Dr. Fraiser. Daniel felt it was his duty, as Jack's friend, to let the doctor know of his observations. Jack was always a master of hiding his problems, sweeping pressures and difficulties under the proverbial rug...until he was living on a rug-covered mountain, trying to function, while constantly climbing up-hill. Sometimes, he felt overwhelmed by his friendship with the older man; especially now, when Sam was temporarily with another unit, and Teal'c was busy training a new team, but then Jack was always there for Daniel and Sam and Teal'c ...Always. Daniel put his car in gear and continued on his journey, taking comfort in the knowledge that He was here for his friend.
<><><>O<><><>
The sight of Colonel Jack O'Neill, strolling through the halls of the SGC, was a welcome sight for many of his co-workers. The Colonel could be a hard task-master, but everyone he worked with knew, he could do your job just as well as you could...in some instances, maybe better. O'Neill was greeted by many smiles and hail's of 'Welcome Back'...'Good to see you, Sir'; some from personnel, he could only remember from their orientation and mission briefing classes. His first stop of the morning was the infirmary, for official medical clearance to return to work.
Jack had taken extra care with his appearance, he figured Daniel, had already spilled his gut's to Janet Fraiser, about that little episode at his home last week. And he figured it never hurt to use sincere camouflage. He just wanted to get back to work, forget the bad dreams, forget the lack of appetite, forget the ton of weight he'd lost, forget the days of sitting in his chair, in his house, for hours, too despondent to move. Once he was cleared for duty and back to work, he'd be too tired to have bad dreams, he'd work up a good appetite, and he'd gain back all the weight he'd lost...sounded like a good plan...a real do'er...if he could only just work up the energy.
The walk to infirmary seemed to stretch on forever. Jack had made this exact same trip, for the exact same reason, hundreds of times, but today felt different. Today, he felt as if a sword was hanging over his head, ready to cut him off from the job, the place and the people he loved. A sword that would take his head off at the neck, if he let Dr. Fraiser know of the difficulties he'd been experiencing.
As he turned the corner, just up from Daniel's lab, who should walk out of his office, but the archeologist himself. Jack felt a glimmer of happiness, at seeing his friend.
"Jack, so you made it...how's it feel to be back among the liv...uh, working?" He asked as the duo hugged and pounded one other on the back, as if they had not seen each other just recently. "Have you seen Dr. Fraiser, yet?"
" No, I haven't, Daniel...I've been wading through well-wisher's and I'm a little behind. But not to worry, I'm on my way...wanna' come?"
" Sure Jack...I was on my way to the cafeteria for a coffee, but it can wait..." Jackson lowered his voice to a level, only he and O'Neill could hear, " You feeling good today, Jack...Did you sleep better last night?"
Jack stopped in the middle of the busy hallway, turned and looked Daniel straight in the eye.
" Do you want the truth, or do you want to hear what I'm telling Dr. Fraiser?"
Daniel winced, " That bad, hunh?"
" It'll be okay, Daniel, I just had a little slump...like a baseball player. And now that I'm back in the ballpark, if you will, I'll be batting a thousand..." he said with frightening sincerity.
Daniel was not buying this act, but as long as Jack didn't know that, Daniel wouldn't be shutout, to continue Jack's baseball analogy.
" Ookay...well, you call me, when you're ready for lunch, and I'll save us a spot..." Daniel checked his watch, " gotta go...I'm teaching a little planetary etiquette to SG-5, but first, I need caffeine reinforcement."
O'Neill stood in the hallway, watching his friend stride away with purpose, in search of coffee; Yeah, he'd better go too, or Doc would have the dogs out, trying to find him. He looked up, and down, the passageway; a tiny bit uncertain as to which way to the infirmary...as if he hadn't been there hundreds of times in the past four years. This uncertainty; for the lack of a better word, was a little alarming...as if his confidence was not as whole and indestructible as it had been, before his enforced leave. Fer cryin out loud, whoever heard of the 2iC getting lost in his own backyard? O'Neill covered his moment of unease, by asking a passing SF, if he'd seen Dr. Fraiser. The answer was more of a direction, than an affirmative, as the young man pointed toward the correct bearing, and grunted, " Infirmary, Sir!"
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" Well, sir, I can't find a single reason why you shouldn't return to work. The mandible fracture sites are healing very well, your ribs as well...can you think of any...reason not to return to work?" Janet Fraiser asked brightly.
Fraiser knew something was up with the Colonel, even if Daniel hadn't called her last week. But, she wanted O'Neill to tell her, or confide in her...she was the closest thing to a family practitioner the SGC had, and as such was privy to everyone's pain and suffering; whether real or imagined. Her radar was up on this one; the Colonel wasn't joking and running a-mile-a-minute-at-the-mouth, as he usually did - when glad to be back at work, after she'd made him rest, relax and recuperate.
He'd lost weight, but not being able to eat real food, would sometimes make a patient loose his appetite, and not being able to work and interact with others, could make a patient withdrawn...yes, she'd have to watch him and she'd have to alert his team - heads up. The Colonel's past medical history was a good enough reason to be wary, and worry about a delayed post-stress situation.
" You know me, Doc..." he responded.
" Yes, Colonel, I'm afraid I do," she returned. "...And I'd like for you to re-gain those lost pounds...I can give you a proper diet, so you won't have to resort to fatty foods, and beer," she said with a smile, knowing the Colonel's great appreciation of good pizza, with a strong beer.
" Doc, you wouldn't take away a man's one comfort in life...would you?" Visions of bland milk shakes and protein powder danced in his head.
" No Sir, just try to temper comfort with nutritious, and I'll see you back here, in two weeks..."
" Two weeks!? Why?"
" I'm letting you return to duty with no restrictions, Sir, but this loss of weight, I'm duty bound to keep a close eye on. You're not even up to regs. right now. And...I'm also, concerned...." She let her sentence trail off, as if to warn him that she knew...something. Giving him an opening - which he ignored. Damn, sometimes he could be so stubborn, and hardheaded.
O'Neill remained silent, If he kept his mouth shut, he'd get through this...he was going back to work...Right! Things had to be better...right?
" Okay Colonel, get outta here, don't come back anytime soon...with anything more serious than a hang-nail," Fraiser concluded the exam, angry with herself, that she couldn't get this man to open up, to explain his difficulty to her, to seek her help or guidance; angry at him, for the same reason.
O'Neill, stretching his long limbs, hopped down from the exam table with exaggerated movements. It would never do to have Fraiser see any difference in his actions...or he'd be back on sick leave before he stopped moving. And, with his own personal psych-eval. Yes sir, Daniel had laid a good foundation for Dr. Fraiser's suspicions, and anything he did out of the ordinary would have her pouncing like a duck on a June-bug.
Colonel O'Neill left the medical area hurriedly, as if they would keep him there - if he tarried to long, but he left behind a quandary...a determined Janet Fraiser - determined to get to the bottom of this puzzle, which Daniel had presented her; in the shape of Jack O'Neill. She hated seeing good people flounder, when all it took was someone to steer them in the right direction. As far as the SGC was concerned, she was that person - but as far as Jack O'Neill was concerned...she wasn't so sure.
As soon as she gathered together her thoughts and data, she knew General Hammond would expect a report on the return to duty of his 2IC...would she tell him her suspicions, what Daniel had reported, or would she give the man the benefit of the doubt, until she could see something for herself? Why did Colonel O'Neill have to be so secretive and reclusive about himself...didn't he realize she was only here to help him...surely he did...Sonofabitch....
è è è è è è è
Eagerly, Daniel Jackson left the empty classroom, after having given a comprehensive lecture on the " Fundamental and Primary Attitudes Supporting Basic Existence and Determination of the Intergalactic Population," or more succinctly " Being A Good Neighbor To The Aliens." General Hammond had dreamed up the idea, after several incidents, off world, involving SGC teams; which the General thought should be nipped in the bud. His subject had been well received, even more so when a threat of expulsion from the SGC, was the hold over which the General maintained, if the situation ever repeated.
Daniel hadn't heard from Jack; assuming that the soldier was behind in his massive amount of work, being held at bay during his absence. He'd mosey on around to the mess hall, save a couple of seats, and wait. Jack would have to come up for air sooner or later; besides, Daniel was dying for a cup of coffee. He turned a corner, bumping into Major Samantha Carter; the one person he'd never expected to see, especially today, or so soon, after having shipped out with SG-3, on a recon. Mission.
" Sam, is it good to see you..." he gave her a huge hug, out of proportion to the amount of time they hadn't seen each other, but she reciprocated in kind.
" Daniel? What's up? We just left two days ago..."
" I know, I know, Sam...but Jack," he looked around the hallway for eavesdroppers, he saw none, but lowered his voice anyway, " Jack is scaring the...oh, I don't know...he's just scaring me. Have you talked to him yet?"
" Not since before I left...two days ago," she reiterated.
" Daniel," she started, while pulling him over to a secluded cul-de-sac, in the hallway, " What gives...what's the matter?"
" Come down to my office, where we can talk." Jackson guided the slender, capable officer to his office, as if she didn't know where it was located. He seated her in the one chair, not loaded with paraphernalia, while he paced around the available space.
" I'm...I'm not telling you anything I've not spoken with Dr. Fraiser about, and it's only My observation, but all the signs are pointing to a depression..."
" What?"
" He's lost a Lot of weight...I'll even bet, he's not up to regulations. And, he's lost a lot of sleep...either he's having nightmares again, or...or...I don't know. He looks like a zombie...and if the General saw him, right now, Jack would still be on sick leave. I visited him at home, last week; the house, by the way, looks like Rip Van Winkle lives there. Dust an inch thick, dirty dishes everywhere, newspapers scattered around...and You know how Jack feels about that house...it's his refuge. Plus, he wouldn't answer the telephone...I suggested to him, that it must be broken."
Carter digested the information...while it was true that she'd spoken with the Colonel before leaving with SG-3, she hadn't been able to visit, because of preparations for the mission. And, it had been a couple...no, scratch that...more than a couple of weeks, since she and the Colonel were able to free up time to be together. He'd seemed okay then, but a lot could have happened between that time and this.
She looked at Jackson, not really seeing the man in front of her, but the man for whom this discussion was being held. Jack O'Neill had led such a life, that any one part would cause nightmares. Each episode a time bomb for just such a malady, as PTSD...waiting to strike, when he was most vulnerable. Dammit, things had been going so well. Everyone was getting back to normal, after the artificial life had invaded her body, AND Jack had shot her; he'd HAD to, to save the SGC, and the planet - again...but was this part of the price?
" Have you seen him today?"
"Yeah, near the infirmary, earlier this morning...we're supposed to have coffee...when he's tired of that avalanche of paper work. But, he's lasted longer than I would've given him credit for, 'cause he hasn't called me."
Carter permitted a slight frown to mar her eyebrow, " Think I'll go check on him...I've got a couple of minutes."
" Yeah, well I'll tag along, just in case...."
Carter and Jackson walked the distance to O'Neill's office in silence, each one thinking about their CO and friend. When once O'Neill's office was reached, the door was found closed and the lights off, to all appearances no one was in. Daniel was sure Jack had finally called while they'd made the trek to his office, and was now safely ensconced in the mess hall, enjoying a cup of coffee, while he - Daniel, was on a wild goose chase.
" Daniel, you're the one who brought this up, so forget about your caffeine cravings, and let's find the Colonel."
The duo was turning away, to search other O'Neill hangouts, when a crash was heard inside the office they had just turned from. Looking at each other in surprise, and not a little bit of worry: that someone was up to mischief, in Colonel O'Neill's office.
Carter pulled her hunting knife, which was always secreted in her boot, from its resting place, and then signaled Daniel to open the door - either, or not, by force. To Daniels surprise, the door opened without problems, and swung wide into the small office. Both Carter and Jackson were stunned, and relieved, to find the Colonel picking himself up, off the floor, where he and his mammoth stack of paperwork had slid. One side of the Colonel's face was imprinted with the outline of file folders, as if he had slept on top of the stack.
His sleep-addled brain took several seconds to register the presence of his team members, standing there in the room with him. A genuine smile of welcome lit his face at the sight of both of his friends, but the look; the one especially for Carter, which wreathed his face, while being heartfelt, was quickly hidden. O'Neill covered the awkward moment, with a standard greeting, " Hey kids, what's up...besides myself. Carter...what're you doing here? Didn't I just pack you off to camp? With SG-3? "
" Yes Sir, you did, but I helped bring Sgt. Bowman back, she fell into a hole and has a broken ankle to show for it...sir." Major Carter was not one to see humor in the afflictions of others, but Sgt. Brenda Bowman was a sore trial to everyone at the SGC, or at least those unlucky enough to work with her. Sgt. Bowman was an excellent technician, in her field, but her people skills were sadly lacking...sadly...lacking.
The Colonel nodded his head in understanding. He'd had to work with her a time, or two himself.
" Jack, did we just catch you sleeping? And on the job? Or is that red outline on your face, a file, or a shaving injury?" Daniel didn't want to talk about Beast Bowman; he wanted Sam to see, for herself, just what a mess Jack was.
Carter had seen the marks and, very inappropriately, had thought them to be very sweet. But she also had time to look closely at her friend, seeing the lack of sleep written on his face, the loss of weight in the lines of his body, and except for the look he had given her just before; which had been quickly hidden, the sparkle was absent from Jack O'Neill's eyes. The dark brown color looking muddy and vacant.
" Sir...are you okay? You look like you're on the loosing side of a fight with your worst nightmare. Are you sure you should be back at work? I'm sure Janet..."
" There's nothing wrong here, Carter," the Colonel exploded, " Did Daniel put you up to this? I'm fine, I sleep fine, and I eat fine...just leave me alone." And so saying, O'Neill stalked out of his darkened office, for who knew what destination.
He left behind two shaken people.
" Well...that went well," Daniel quietly observed.
Major Carter was on the verge of following after O'Neill, when the address system called her name, " Major Carter to the Gate room, Major Carter to the Gate room...."
She quickly glanced at her watch, " Dammit Daniel, My time's up. I've gotta get back to -812...or Colonel Smith'll think I deserted. Listen, go find Jack...see if you can figure out what's going on. It might just be a case of first day back nerves. I'll try to get back here ASAP." Again looking at her watch, Carter hurried from the room, and a few minutes later, Daniel felt the subtle vibration of the Stargate engaging, sending Carter back to camp.
Daniel knew things were not fine with his friend, and so far, Jack was proving himself to be far from fine, as well. Thinking back over events of the last few weeks, Daniel remembered how closed off Jack was, how he refused to discuss the details of the skirmish he'd been involved in, with that last Jaffa. He also remembered how Jack had refused to take part in their celebration; the one the team always had, after escaping a brush with death...said he hadn't felt like being a wet blanket, even though they'd moved it back to a time when Jack could participate. And, how his telephone was always busy, or never answered, when it did happen to ring. And...and...Jacks house, the dust had been heavy and the general atmosphere, one of neglect. Jack loved his home, took great care of it for a bachelor, and was so proud of the landscaping and flowers he'd done himself...and Jack O'Neill never slept on the job.
Daniel stopped his tumbling, swirling thoughts, looking around; trying to remember the direction Jack had taken in his hasty flight. Jack O'Neill, the man who stood his ground before Apophsis and the other System Lords, who tried to right any wrong he found; anywhere in the galaxy, who loved children to a fault and dogs beyond measure was running away...from himself? If not...from what? Or Who?
Å Å Å Å Å Å Å
Daniel walked the long hallways, of the SGC, searching for his friend. Asking everyone he met, if Jack had been this way. All thoughts of his coffee break were long forgotten, when he found an unoccupied, unused office, on the lower level of the complex; the chilled atmosphere told him just how deep underground he was. Daniel didn't remember ever being this deep underground, for any reason since coming to the mountain, and he shuddered to think of the millions of tons of rock, just sitting on top of his head. Reluctantly, he opened the door, not really expecting to find anyone -this far from civilization, but there in the darkened room was his teammate and best friend, Jack O'Neill. Just sitting on a stool, looking at nothing, his arms wrapped around his middle, with a look of pain on his face.
" Jack?"
The older man jumped, as if he'd been shot.
" Jack, are you okay?" Daniel repeated softly.
O'Neill turned his eyes toward Daniel, a tired grimace moving slowly over his features, "Hey, Daniel...is Carter mad at me?" He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.
" Nothing that a few days of dedicated groveling won't cure. Want to talk about it?" Jackson moved further into the darkened room, not wanting to touch Jack, but close enough to make his presence felt.
O'Neill grunted a short humorless, meant-to-be-a-laugh sound, " Yes...and no. My head hurts...I'm not very good company today."
Daniel wouldn't be put off, " I'll agree with that. But Jack, I've been doing a lot of thinking and I'm seeing a lot of strange stuff going on with you." He took a deep breath, Jack seemed to be listening, so far, " Since when do you sleep on the job, or shout at Sam? Since when do you hide from your friends, and ...yourself?"
" Daniel honestly, it's nothing...I'm just really embarrassed about you guys finding me asleep, on the job for cryin' out loud, and now I've got to report myself and you know how much I hate those Failure as a Human Being Reports, and..."
" Jack...Shut up...I'm not stupid, Sam's not blind and if Teal'c were here he'd say that this is beneath you. We, your friends and family for God's sake, are worried about you, and if you don't do something about it, as in real soon, I will...go over your head." Daniel spoke with quiet intensity; the quiet kind that shouted determination, as his eyes held those of the other man.
" I'll be okay, now that I'm back to work, and you know me...I'll bounce right back, like a rubber ball. I'm back in the groove...you'll see, Daniel, you're worrying for nothing," he sounded so sincere, so sure of himself.
Daniel really wished he believed his best friend...but he didn't.
" Ookay...let's go have that cup of coffee. I'm going into withdrawal here, and you know, it's so cold down here, this place could be used to store meat." Daniel watched the haunted look gradually disappear from the face of the older man, and even in the decreased lighting, he saw a look of relief calm that same face.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
O'Neill counted the days. He'd been back at work for a week and a half now, and still no mission to go thru the gate had been assigned his team. He kept telling himself, he'd go to the General and discuss it, but so far he hadn't worked up the energy. And, since receiving that threat from Daniel, he'd made sure to get some sleep; through over-the-counter sleep medicines...either in pill form, or liquid grain. His loss of weight stabilized, and he'd even gained a couple of pounds...but eating was still something he made himself do...the joy was gone.
He maintained a wide berth from Dr. Fraiser and the infirmary, on the assumption that what she couldn't see, she wouldn't know about; i.e. out of sight, out of mind, so to speak, not taking his friends' concern to heart. But, the damage was done and the impact of his withdrawal from his routine, and circle of friends, was a tangible thing.
Previously, O'Neill always found time to swap jokes with his enlisted subordinates, or teaching and answering questions for younger team leaders, and generally make his presence known. Now, he could always be found in his office, away from prying, gaping curiosity seekers.
Since his return to duty, his paper work had backed up even worse than before, and the clarity of the thoughts on paper was muddled and unclear. He couldn't think straight because of the constant headache, or that aggravating pain in his lower back...the pain a constant companion since that thing took over Carter.
L H L H L H L H L
General Hammond hadn't seen his 2iC, except for very brief morning reports, since shortly after his return to duty. It wasn't unusual for them to have duties, which prevented their seeing more of each other, but Colonel O'Neill hadn't had any off-world assignments since his return. Dr. Fraiser's special request, that Col. O'Neill be kept close to home, for a two-week period was granted, only because the doctor felt he needed the extra time, due to some slight physical problem. But as the General went through the paperwork generated from O'Neill's office, he saw a problem, and it was no slight physical one. If there was one thing the General could say about his second in command, it was that his presence was vibrant and alive, and his absence tangible; his thoughts and writing reflected those same attributes.
The General read and re-read the report, regarding the mission to PYP-678, and was on the verge of trying to make heads, or tails of it for a third go, when Dr. Fraiser requested a few minutes of his time. His first thought was to Thank God, to have been saved from his task, but the second thought was that, just maybe, God had sent the very person he'd needed to see.
General Hammond welcomed the petite doctor into his office. He had an open door policy with the CMO; his thoughts were that the health of the SGC program was only as good as the health of its people. The combined concerns were non-exclusive, but intertwined and mutual.
" General, I think we have a problem..."
" Dr. Fraiser, I think we have a problem..."
Both voices spoke in unison - each stopped speaking, hearing their own words echoing back.
" Dr. Fraiser," as he closed his office door, " just what, and who, are you alluding to?"
The General knew that any concern of his CMO, had to have a who - first, and a what - second...and he hoped his who wasn't hers, at least for this discussion.
" Sir, Colonel O'N..." the General sagged; there was only one Colonel O'anything within the confines of Dr. Fraiser's practice here.
" ...Eill, is showing signs of distress, which I feel, are symptoms of a larger and more complex problem than even I first suspected. And...I think from your response, you've begun to notice it also, sir?"
General Hammond picked up the communiqué from his subordinate, and with a tired sigh, handed it to Dr. Fraiser to read. She scanned the report; the only one she'd read from the aborted mission to PYP-678, and then coming to the end, re-read it from the beginning. If she didn't know better, she'd swear someone who had no clue as to what they were talking about, much less writing about, had written this report. It read like a sensational science fiction story, but the ideas were garbled and the lines had been crossed out and then crossed again...and it had come from the desk of their favorite - Colonel Jack O'Neill. O'Neill hated paper work, but when he was lassoed and hog-tied, he usually turned in a very credible report, something this one was not.
" Sir, from this paper, you can clearly see loss of concentration, inability to remember details...my God, Colonel O'Neill would make a fine novelist, but for the terrible typing. Dr. Jackson has kept me informed about some other areas of the Colonel's loss of connection with...with his life, sir."
" Exactly what, Dr. Fraiser, are we supposed to do? And exactly what, are you suggesting, Major?"
" I think what I'm trying to say is, that from the evidence, sir; and I'm not making any definite judgment, based solely on this paper, or someone else's observations. Col. O'Neill is heading for a full blown post-traumatic..."
" As in depression, Major?"
" Yes sir, it's one reason I've kept him on mission stand-down for two weeks; my observations, the Colonels' loss of weight, lack of appetite, and Dr. Jackson's observations; of Jack at home...and I won't let him go through the gate, until we get a handle on this, Sir."
" I concur absolutely, Doctor...ah...we don't have to involve Dr. McKenzie, do we? You know how Jack feels about the man... and don't we want what's best for Jack...and clear this up with as little attention as possible?"
Janet Fraiser smiled, for the first time since entering General Hammond's office, "You're right, sir, if we call in Dr. McKenzie, this mountain would ring with the indignation of Colonel O'Neill...and then he'd clam up like you've never seen."
General Hammond smiled in return; his 2iC could be a tough nut to crack - no pun intended, when it came to his offended sense of right and wrong. Plus, he wanted what was best for Jack.
" So, what's the plan, Doctor? Should I ring for coffee?"
" That would be nice, sir...this is gonna take awhile," she replied, still smiling. It was good to be able to finally do something for a man, for whom she had great respect and concern. Just hope he saw it in that light...someday, he possibly would.
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" I don't care what you're here for, Airman, I said I did not want to be disturbed... Is that clear?" An angry Colonel shouted, never mind that he never shouted at his clerical assistant.
Except here lately, everything Airman Long said and did for Col. O'Neill, seemed to be the wrong thing to do or say...and it was getting to the point where she had entertained serious thoughts about a transfer...surely another officer, somewhere in this Complex, needed a secretary. Oh well...she'd try a little bit harder, stay a little while longer, usually the Colonel was pretty easy to work with, even if she did have to put up with his humor and practical jokes...it could always be a lot worse. But, she missed the other Colonel.
Airman Bettie Long closed the door behind her, leaving an angry superior officer alone in his office, while she returned to her cubicle; hurt and mystified.
The angry superior officer sat staring at his desktop, feeling sadly un-superior and mean; he'd put himself up on charges, if he couldn't control his anger...anger? He didn't have a thing about which to be angry at Long, who always did her job above and beyond, especially here lately... taking his shit.
His shit...there was plenty of it. He couldn't think straight; his reports looked like a three-year-old had done 'em, he wasn't sleeping and was as mean as a snake, and drinking himself into a stupor every night, just to achieve some respite, from that fist continually smacking into his face, only made things worse. Hiding here in his office didn't help, cause this entire mountain complex knew that Jack O'Neill never did any real work in this office. And, his in-basket looked like a miniature of the mountain, while his out-basket was collecting dust bunnies...and if General Hammond didn't come down on him like a ton of bricks, he'd eat those dust bunnies.
God...he felt so useless. Maybe he should go ahead and retire, and put everyone out of his misery. His misery...felt like his whole life was spiraling out of his control, and he didn't even care any more. He needed Sam here, but she was un-reachable; on P-something-812. Daniel was here, trying to take Sam's place, pushing Jack to eat, to sleep and take care of himself, but Daniel couldn't be everywhere, and had his own life to deal with. Yeah, that retirement thing might be the way to go....
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Dr. Fraiser left Gen. Hammond's office with a plan; a plan that involved a large amount of tough love, mixed in equal parts with medications, and talking. Jack O'Neill was going to talk as he had never talked before, and she would use blackmail, if she had to. The threat of Dr. McKenzie and the memory of his treatment of Daniel would go a long way in persuading Jack to cooperate, as would the threat of no more trips through the Stargate. But first, she had to find him.
General Hammond was pleased, after meeting with Dr. Fraiser. Jack O'Neill was a handful, even in the best of times, but with a full-blown mental breakdown heading his way... Well, it never hurt to corral all your resources and the good doctor was positive they could head off disaster.
Sitting at his desk after the CMO had left, the SGC/CO sifted through papers that his airman had placed there, when one in particular caught his eye. Hammond pulled the printer copy of a retirement request from the others, not remembering anyone who had reached the vaunted age of retirement, from this installation. Inspecting the sheet, his eye moved to the bottom of the request, looking for a name, Ah-ha...and there it was... Colonel Jonathan O'Neill.
" You just had to do it, didn't you, son," the General spoke with regret. But, maybe he could talk to his subordinate, make him see reason, make him see that this retirement request was just a gut reaction to something he didn't understand. Help him see that he was still needed here with the SGC, and his leaving would not only impact the people he worked with, but also this illness he was running away from. Yes sir, he was going to try. But first, he had to find him
Jack O'Neill had finally made the decision to go home...he'd castigated himself enough for one day. He'd probably made his airman cry, and now, he'd have to make amends, or she'd kick his butt...figuratively speaking, of course. Dragging himself out of the desk chair, O'Neill heard the quiet tap of someone at his door. He had managed to evade almost everyone today, postponed all but the most pressing decisions, and after eight hours of hiding behind that stack of work and a closed door, had his luck run out just as he was leaving?
Opening the door with a decidedly bad temper, O'Neill found the CMO standing there, with her hand raised, preparing to knock again. She smiled her warm smile, mentally anticipating the battle ahead. She loved a good fight...and if Jack O'Neill thought he could just close himself off, ignore the concern of all the people he worked with, and the help available here - just for the asking, pushing his friends away, and slink off into the night, he had another thought coming...he was dealing with the wrong physician.
" Colonel O'Neill, I'm so glad I found you. I need to speak with you..."
" Doctor..." his early warning system went on full alert, " I was just leaving..." since when did Doc Fraiser root out her patients? Since she started working with you, O'Neill.
" I won't hold you up, sir...I'm leaving also, but I wanted to ask, if you would see me early tomorrow morning. Your two weeks are about up, and I'd like to clear-up old business, get you out from behind that paperwork," she glanced around his form; which stood guard in the office door, taking note of the jumble of paper, and file folders still on his desk. " Geez sir, looks like it's multiplying on ya there."
O'Neill's smile didn't reach his eyes and looked more like a grimace of pain than any light-hearted response, " Yeah Doc, I was thinking the same thing. I'll...I'll be there in the morning, first thing...."
Fraiser nodded her head, feeling at a loss when O'Neill's reply lacked the sarcastic bite and fighting edge she had anticipated.
" Ookay then, sir, I'll see you in the morning...have a good evening."
Fraiser slowly walked back the way she had come, thinking over her short conversation with the Colonel. Comparing the present state of O'Neill; with that depressive mood, loss of interest, the changes in weight and loss of appetite, his very apparent feeling of worthlessness and guilt, and then the lack of energy, with decreased activity, to the previous O'Neill and his constant in-your-face biting sarcastic humor, never say die attitude, boundless gung-ho energy, constantly moving, constantly working or busy, making the hard decisions: those which no one else, except the General, felt comfortable making, and always improving his body, and his mind. " I miss you, sir."
Jack O'Neill grabbed his jacket from the hanger, and had slung it over his shoulder, in preparation of going home, when his phone rang. Looking at the caller identification, he sighed a deep heartfelt sigh...the General. O'Neill had two choices. He could either take a chance and leave without answering it, and hope the MP's didn't come after him, or he could leave without answering it, and to-hell-with-it. Jack chose the latter and left his office, turning out the lights and locking the door.
' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '
General Hammond listened to the phone, ringing in his ear, cognizant of the fact that Jack O'Neill, was one person who wouldn't hesitate to ignore a call from his commanding officer, when it suited his purpose...but that same C.O. was also cognizant of the fact that, he wasn't about to let one mangy-assed Colonel, out of this mountain without first speaking to, and at, said Colonel. Punching in a new number, General Hammond waited patiently until someone, at the other end, answered.
" Sergeant Majors, General Hammond here...yes, yes it has been, Sergeant...I need to get in touch with Colonel O'Neill...yes, he has...yes, I 'm sure he's on his way up. Would you have your man detain him, and re-route him back down to my office? I sure would appreciate it, Sergeant...yes...yes, Thank you, Sergeant Majors...and give my best to Gwen."
Hammond smiled to himself.
Jack O'Neill seemed to have forgotten just whose mountain he was extracting from, it never hurt to, every once in a while, assert a little influence. The MP's would send, or bring, the unlucky Colonel to him in a short while...in the mean time it was late; he hadn't had any supper, and so once again, picked up the phone.
The young MP escorted a slightly disgruntled Colonel to General Hammond's office, the older officer maintaining a stoic face for the youngster.
It wouldn't do for the entire mountain to hear scuttlebutt about Colonel O'Neill's being delivered to the Old man, kicking and screaming. Cpl. Emory timidly knocked on General Hammonds door, followed by a muffled command to enter, whereon the young man opened and held the door, permitting O'Neill's passage into the office. Standing at attention, while awaiting dismissal, Cpl. Emory's eyes swiveled to all points of the Generals office; he'd have to be prepared to relate every detail to his barracks buddies, since none of them had ever been here, and never would...if they could help it.
" Dismissed Corporal Emory, and Thank you." General Hammond smiled, having unobtrusively watched the young man commit to memory, every detail of his office.
Waiting for the young MP to close the door behind him, Hammond eyed his 2IC, trying to plan his point of attack. One thing was for sure; retirement for Jack O'Neill was not an option - not now, not today and not next year. The General was damned, if he was going to fight those snakey little bastards-out there, and the human kind-here on planet Earth, without backup from the experts. Jack O'Neill was his expert, and nothing was going to change that...so Jack - live with it.
Colonel O'Neill waited at attention, watching the General watch him, watching his intelligent face as he planned his argument.
" Colonel."
" General."
" Colonel O'Neill," setting the tone for this late meeting, " I have a piece of documentation here, of which I am gravely displeased. Did you think I wouldn't notice when my 2IC resigned? Do you not know, what an impact your leaving would have on the morale of all these people, here at the SGC? Do you really want to take a passive stand, when we're fighting for our very existence? And just...what are you trying to run from this time?"
O'Neill remained at attention, and remained silent - his eyes not quite meeting the General's.
" Jack, a little while ago, I had a very lengthy discussion with Dr. Fraiser, about your problems ..."
" She had no right, sir..." O'Neill finally responded.
" Yes, she did, son. As your doctor, and my CMO, she had every right...And, she's concerned... as are we all. What happened, Jack? What brought all of this...whatever...crashing down on you?"
A grimace stole over the silent officers face, and then, very quietly he spoke.
" I haven't been able...I'm not making good, sound military judgments anymore, sir. This entire year, it's been one wrong step after another. I think it started with the Eurondans and then the Gadmire vs. the Enkarens vs. Daniel Jackson, and let's not forget that thing taking over Carter. But, it could have started earlier than that. Then off world, everywhere we step, we step into nests of Jaffa, always there, always well equipped and ready for a fight. How many System Lords do we have to kill, before we make a dent?" The last word spoken with semi-hysterical inflection, but O'Neill collected himself and continued, " ...and the folks who are supposed to be our allies, well... we can't trust their Intel, or they won't share their ordinance and technology - which that alone, could shorten this war, or they're too busy, fighting their own battles...and we're stuck out there...in the middle of the universe, with egg on our face; tryin' our best, doin' our best...and our kids are dying."
The Colonel stopped speaking, gathering his composure. General Hammond remained silent, afraid to speak...when had Jack O'Neill ever spoken with such candor and emotion?
" And, I'm tired General. I'm tired of writing letters of condolence, I'm tired of seeing the faces of those who don't come back; their bodies blown-up into a million pieces, again and again in my dreams. I don't sleep anymore, I can't think anymore and I can't handle it anymore, sir." O'Neill rubbed his hands together as if to warm them up, or to wipe off the blood, that he alone saw there. " I don't want to go, General, but there's only so much of Jack O'Neill to go around and I'm losing more and more of me, each day. I've never been a quitter, sir."
Hammond ached for his friend and 2IC, but now was not the time to coddle, or agree with the man...he wouldn't want that anyway. That brand of caring would come later, after a few home truths had been hammered home.
" Well, Colonel...I for one, would love to also be able to lay down the burden of this job, leave it for someone else to do; go home, and play with my grandkids, or do eighteen holes each morning, but I can't. I can't do that to the men and women who depend on me...and you. They depend on our decisions and our leadership, our support of them, in any and all circumstances, and if worse comes to worse, they depend on us to grieve for them ...and remember them."
" We all make bad decisions from time to time, Colonel ...any officer, worth his salt, will. We're not infallible, but you can't dwell on it, you suck it up, learn from it, and move on. And when you feel like you can't suck it up anymore, you take a deep breath, remembering all those kids who depend on you, and you suck it up, just one more time, and move on. You do the best you can, with the information and resources available to you...and that's all you can do, Jack "
" I don't think this is a question of your making a bad decision, or a good decision, it's more a question of your being able to stand by those that you had to make, and whether or not you can live with those. You're a compassionate officer, Jack, and I refuse to let you deny it. You feel joy, and anger, and hurt, and you feel pain. We need compassionate men, and women, in the military, son, because just by the nature of the job, our compassion is as much a victim of war, as is our bodies."
" Our allies, Jack, are our allies - good, bad, or indifferent...and when we win this war with the Goa'uld, do we share the accolades, or the satisfaction of fighting 'til the bitter end, and winning against overwhelming odds? I think not, nor will we have to share anything else...we will have achieved the success on our own. But, Jack, they support us by just being there...a shoulder to lean on, albeit a none to constant one. I've ...always believed that it's easier fighting the dark, if you know someone shares it with you."
" I know you're tired, son, and I know that I don't want you to leave, or quit, or retire - you still have plenty to teach your team... your peers, your subordinates...the new teams being formed...life saving techniques, that'll prevent further loss of our inexperienced teams. But, I can't make you stay...you'll have to make that decision on your own. I'm laying my cards on the table - it's up to you...ante-up, or fold."
The General stopped; he'd said all he could say, at this point. He stopped his pacing also. Jack would have to make up his mind and reach a resolution. He was awfully quiet.
The General spoke again, filling the silence.
" Colonel O'Neill... this is not a decision you want to make right now. I'll table this request at my discretion, and under advisement from Dr. Fraiser. First thing tomorrow morning, you will place yourself at Dr. Fraiser's disposal, until we can get this situation cleared up. Dismissed."
The General walked back to his desk and sat down, seeming to ignore the officer still standing at attention in front of him. O'Neill had a stricken expression on his face, the General observed - At least it was some kind of expression and not the blank disinterest he'd had to face down.
O'Neill collected himself, sketched a salute toward his superior officer, and then turned and exited the office. Hammond breathed a deep, shaky sigh - It never got any easier, especially for those men and women about whom he cared. Maybe, it was time for him to reconsider retirement....
ê ê ê ê ê ê ê ê ê ê
Dr. Fraiser's planned examination of Colonel O'Neill was extensive, including first, another complete physical exam, with enough lab work to drain the poor man of any and all body fluids - checking, especially, his chemical, hormonal, endorphin and endocrine levels, followed by a radiological battery, guaranteed to have him glowing in the dark, come sundown.
The good doctor really hoped that an imbalance, of a purely physical nature, would be responsible for the Colonel's depression. Because if not, and it was a true psychological problem, there was no way in hell that he would ever get near the Stargate again, much less be allowed to go through it. The entire mountain would mourn the loss of such a fine soldier/leader, and it would be a gross waste of his military talent.
Janet Fraiser turned into her driveway, reluctantly bringing her thoughts back to the present, as she parked her car in the garage. This would all have to wait until tomorrow; tonight her plans included a girl's night out, with Cassie. The new Keanu Reeves movie was at the Cineplex, and he "was to die for." She thought so too, in an older sister kind-of-way, of course.
< < < < < < < <
Jack O'Neill timed his arrival to coincide with that of Dr. Fraiser. He was reluctant - no terrified, to be caught loitering outside, or anywhere near, the infirmary. He hadn't slept very well last night, but that was a common enough occurrence nowadays. His appearance was a picture postcard of the perfectly turned out soldier - clean, sharply pressed fatigues, spit-shined boots; using the real stuff, regulation haircut and a very close-shaven face - he'd ditched the blood stained, toilet paper bits before getting out of his truck.
He'd handed in his resignation; it was official - wasn't it?
If he was so sure that his resignation was the right way to go, why did he feel so uncomfortable with the idea?
If he was so uncomfortable with the idea, why was he dressed to make the best impression?
General Hammond's words had meant a lot to him; those words were part of the reason for his being here this early, this morning, getting strange looks from late night staffers. If he was going crazy, he wanted to be part of the decision making process, instead of a mere spectator.
If his access to, and through, the Stargate was to be denied, he wanted a fight, on record to prevent it.
And, if he was resigning, why should it make a difference to him?
Maybe he was going crazy!
The quick tap-tap, of high-heeled feet awoke O'Neill from his reverie, and he pulled his long frame from the wall-hugging slouch he had maintained, as the doctor approached. Janet Fraiser was secretly glad to see his stern, humorless, nicked-from-shaving face, even though she knew that a struggle lay ahead for both of them. His presence here, this morning, indicated that he knew something was wrong, and he wanted to make it better...or General Hammond had threatened him. Either way, it worked.
" Colonel O'Neill."
" Dr. Fraiser."
He wasn't going to make this easy...that's okay, she hadn't asked for easy.
" Come into my office, Colonel. I'll send for some coffee just as soon as we take several tubes of blood," she saw his eyebrow raise at her words, and smiled, " We won't drain you completely dry, sir."
Fraiser gave the order for a technician to bring the appropriate paraphernalia, and spoke quietly with the duty nurse regarding preparations for Col. O'Neill's tests. O'Neill watched with covert interest, sprawled in the office chair, with no regard for his bad back or posture, as the doctor prepared for the beginning of her day; divesting herself of her uniform jacket and donning her cloak of authority, the white lab coat.
Returning to her office, Dr. Fraiser smiled at her patient, sitting there trying to look uninterested, unafraid, and unassailable...and failing, but only to her trained eye.
Taking a deep breath, and closing the office door behind her, the petite doctor launched into her prepared speech - the one she'd lost sleep over last night; trying to find just the right words to assuage the hostility, and the fear, of this very private man, while also disarming his attendant angry mental state.
She felt no need to give this man - no, this patient, a chance to muddy the issues with his own brand of logic. The issues here being his precarious mental state, its impact on his health and his team, and the SGC as a whole. No one person was indispensable to the SGC program, but Colonel O'Neill came about as close as anybody, other than General Hammond.
" Colonel O'Neill, General Hammond and I have discussed your situation..."
" Damned right you did, Major. I'm not real crazy about my mental state, or lack of one, being discussed over coffee..."
" At ease, Colonel. As the CMO of this project, I will discuss any member whom I feel warrants it, with the proper authority. The General and I have..."
" ...And besides I resigned."
If O'Neill thought his statement would surprise the doctor, he was very much mistaken, as she gave him a sad, regretful shake of her head - her regret only partly for this officer, the other part was for the loss of her carefully constructed, well rehearsed speech...which had grown wings and was flying out the proverbial window.
" No sir, you're not going to be allowed that luxury..."
" What do you mean? I've already handed it in." The Colonel sat up straight in his chair, bristling with indignation.
" Well, yes sir, you did, but I figure we've got several issues at work here. #1 being that you didn't resign because you really wanted to, but because you felt it would pacify this feeling of worthlessness and guilt you've been carrying around ...for quite a while, I might add. It won't."
" And #2, the General won't accept your resignation...we're in the middle of an undeclared war, Sir, he can retain any and all essential personnel as needed. He wants, no - he needs, you, Colonel, to lead the fight off world, against the Goa'uld, while he leads on the homefront. You know that."
A flicker of emotion crossed O'Neill's face, for a short second it looked like shame.
" And then #3, don't take the easy way out...as you told General Hammond, you're not a quitter. Don't settle, don't let this illness goad you into something that is wrong for you, wrong for the time, and wrong for this world...planet savers are a hard breed to find."
Janet smiled again, for the first time since beginning this dialogue, then continued, " Every-one reaches a stage, Sir, where life either kicks you in the seat of your pants, or in your teeth. But, the good thing is, it's up to you to decide, which will it be?"
" In the pants? And on to bigger and better things, climbing molehills that were mountains, accomplishing victories way beyond our wildest imagination.
Or in the teeth? Giving in to defeat, guilt, paranoia, and self-condemnation. You've been there, Colonel, do you really want to go back?"
O'Neill winced at the mental picture she painted, remembering those dark, dark days before the first trip to Abydos. Remembering the depth of despair, like an acid eating at him, torturing his soul and cleaving his heart, and he remembered the long hard road back to a semblance of wholeness.
" Colonel, you've lived hard, worked hard, and played hard. You've got more than enough stress just being the 2IC of the SGC. Now double it, by going through the Stargate; seeing your teammates hurt, or killed, desperate situations, primitive living conditions, unfriendly aliens ...the list goes on. And you've been hurt - physically, and mentally, and emotionally. It builds up, sir... But you've met those challenges, in your own way, and fought your way back. This detour is a sign, if you will, that life is biting you in the ass, and it's decision time."
Fraiser took a deep breath, was she getting through to this man? He watched her, like a predator watched its prey, giving away nothing of what could be going through his mind.
" Colonel O'Neill, I can give you the name of a very competent therapist. A major portion of this depression - for lack of a better term, is your life...the life you've led, bled, and fought for. A sort of survivors guilt..."
At the mention of a therapist O'Neill's hard fought for impassive façade crumbled, and a look of disbelief, bordering on panic took its place.
" I don't need to spill my guts to a stupid, back-stabbing shrink...all I need is to be left alone."
" That's impossible sir, and you know it. General Hammond needs you fighting fit, and your hiding behind a stack of overdue mission reports is not where you need to be. Anything you say, or confide, will be held in the strictest confidence..."
" Yeah, right...until someone needs the low down and dirty on one slightly crazy bird colonel. And I have a desire to never go through the gate again. Right, Doc!"
Dr. Fraiser wanted to shout; at least the impassive, disinterested look was gone, while the Colonel fought against her plan.
" Or Sir, we can try medication..."
The Colonels interest was peaked. What kind of medicine did Janet have, that would still allow him to function in his present capacity? Shut up O'Neill, let her finish.
" An antidepressant, sir. We have quite a number of very good ones, and it's just a medicinal aide, Colonel, not a life sentence." Fraiser had her fingers mentally crossed, hoping the man in front of her was listening.
" What kind of medications are you talking about here, Doc?" He asked, after several long seconds.
Bingo! Janet Fraiser released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Dr. Fraiser inwardly smiled, inwardly congratulating this superior officer for taking this first step, but her face revealed none of her emotions, which were on the verge of overtaking the moment. Maintaining a professional demeanor, she listed the medications available, called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, or SSRI's, which helps correct the chemical imbalance in the brain. She went on to explain that serotonin is a naturally occurring chemical in the brain, involved in the transmission of messages between nerve cells.
Knowing the Colonel and his intolerance for scientific explanations, the doctor valiantly tried to keep the medical jargon to only that which was absolutely needed. But, being an intelligent man, the Colonel also knew when to pay attention and when to zone out, and as far as she could tell, he was still with her.
" How long?" O'Neill asked, as soon as Fraiser took a deep breath.
" How long, sir?"
" Yeah, how long do I need to take this Serious stuff, and how long until I'm cured?"
God, Don't let me flounder now!
" Well Colonel, you would start to feel better within two to four weeks, or it could take up to eight weeks..."
" Sonofabitch, Doc. Am I supposed to put my so-called life on hold for up to eight weeks?" he spat out indignantly.
" At least you'll start feeling better sir, and your so-called life is on hold right now! You know I can't let you go through the stress of gate travel in this condition...and I know you're about as ready to retire as...as...I am. With all due respect, sir, give this a chance. You've got nothing to lose, and so much to gain. You're going to feel much better - there'll be no psych testing, no psychiatrists - no Dr. McKenzie, no padded rooms, or threats of any. As treatment progresses, you'll be more at ease with yourself and your memories, and more in control of yourself and those pesky emotions..."
She had his full and undivided attention, now was the time to push.
"...And although I would like for you to see a specialist, it has to be your decision."
His handsome face reflected the unguarded emotion he was feeling; safe in the knowledge and trust that Ole Doc Fraiser wouldn't tell, his amber eyes begging for understanding. Minutes slowly passed, as the doctor gave her patient time to consider the options open to him. He'd been in the military long enough to guess at the unspoken terms.
" Thanks, Doc...I appreciate it. I just...I just don't...it's not right for me. Can you understand?"
The doctor's heart constricted. After all this time, after the exchange of questions and answers, he was refusing the treatment...leaving her only one choice, and that was to command, demand and over-ride his decision....
Her inner turmoil almost prevented her hearing his next words.
" I can't do the psychiatrist-thing, but I'm pretty sure I can hack eight weeks to becoming bolder, brighter, better - a bonafide success. See, I'm already starting to feel better. When do we start?" The smile on his lips failed to reach his eyes; he wasn't too happy about taking medicine on a regular basis, but if the doctor's prescription helped him feel like a human again, he'd get used to it.
Janet Fraiser smiled, extremely pleased that she had gotten through, " With this session, sir, we've already started...I'll just give you a prescription for the drug which I feel will be best for you, and then you can get out of here. Lt. Simms will escort you to X-ray, we still have several studies to do and I promised you a cup of coffee.
" Yes, you did...and I'm holding you to it."
" Before I forget, sir...after I've had a chance to review your lab results and the X-rays, I'll schedule another appointment with you, so we can go over the information together. Until then, you're free to do anything you want...except..."
" Go through the gate, right Doc?" The Colonel attempted a smile, but the result was a tight grimace.
" Yes, sir, I'm sorry."
" Don't be Doc, I'm a big boy. I can handle disappointment...at least that immovable stack of field reports, has a chance of finally getting completed." He waggled his eyebrows, turned, and opened the office door, leaving with a waiting Lt. Simms.
The doctor said a silent prayer of thanks, as she watched him bolt out of her office. Thanks that this soldier, who had wangled his way into her heart; becoming one of her favorites, would find his way out of the earth-bound hell he was suffering. And thanks also, that she was partly instrumental in that journey. With no psychiatrist, no psychotherapy, no psychotherapeutic drugs to dull a bright mind, and no angry, bitter recriminations blocking their efforts. Dr. Fraiser smiled a smug, very self-satisfied, this-is-one-time-I'm-glad-to-be-in-the-medical-field smile, and then turned back into her office and closed the door.
( ( ( ( ( Epilogue ( ( ( ( (
" Okay kids, let's saddle up and move 'em out," the Colonel's imitation of John Wayne, echoed in the large embarkation room. This was O'Neill's first trip through the gate since his stand-down, and although you couldn't tell from his demeanor, the Colonel was very excited to return, to that which he loved best. SG-1 was back together, in fighting form, ready and eager to take on the world, and any recalcitrant System Lord. Major Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal'c of Chulak stepped onto the metal ramp leading up to the anomaly, each smiling; in their own way, as in Teal'c's case, glad to be together again, although they had remained together throughout the Colonel's "detour through nut-land," as he so in-elegantly put it.
Janet Fraiser watched from the control room, as the team stepped through the shimmering blue puddle. She also caught Colonel O'Neill's gesture, a tip of his hat, as his started up the ramp behind his team, and then acknowledged it with a tip of her head. Dr. Fraiser thought back over the weeks of therapy, through which she had led the Colonel. She remembered the things she and O'Neill had discussed - the friends and places, and even some situations. The angst present in his monologue was enough to depress anyone, much less a military overachiever like the Colonel, and the force of the detailed information made her want to cry.
Cry, for this soldier who was expected to bottle up the hurt, the hate and the anger until it affected his health, yet carry on as if nothing was happening, or had happened. And these were only the things he could talk about. But, this soldier didn't want her tears, or her pity and would deal with this scenario as he always did...in his own way, except now he had help from a silent source, in the form of a little pink pill...it wouldn't win the war, but it would win this battle.
There hadn't been a dramatic change in O'Neill, only the slowly increasing evidence that he was improving - he was sleeping better, he had put on a few lost pounds, and his eyes had lost the look of panic and disinterest. He was taking better care of himself and had started to laugh at himself, again, and was even finding a much-increased level of energy. The jokes and the sarcasm were still a ways off, but Dr. Fraiser knew it wouldn't be long now. Daniel Jackson also reported that Jack's home was returning to its previous state of cleanliness, and "the yard looked much better." And, he and his team were spending downtime as bonding-time, again.
Janet Fraiser smiled to herself...a pleased, happy-to-be-here, glad-I-could-help smile, as she turned from the large glass window, heading back to her own corner of the SGC. Sometimes, she thought, turning her head to take one last look at the anomaly, the light at the end of the tunnel, instead of being an onrushing train, was indeed, the shining sun.
The End.
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