Cold Revenge
Cold Revenge
by BadgerGater
TITLE: Cold Revenge
AUTHOR: BadgerGater
EMAIL: BadgerGater@cs.com
CATEGORY: Adventure, Drama, angst, Jack/Sara
SPOILERS: None
SEASON / SEQUEL: Three
RATING: PG, language
CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence
SUMMARY: Daniel comes to Jack's defense when the Colonel's life and reputation are threatened.
STATUS: Complete
ARCHIVE: Heliopolis
DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. We have written this story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the authors. Not to be archived without permission of the authors.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: More evil doers doing evil deeds to our dear Colonel. Blame it on Tanya and Corine. They encourage me.
Dr. Daniel Jackson and Major Samantha Carter met in the SGC's main hallway.
"Any idea what's going on?" he asked.
"No, I was as surprised as you to get the General's message," said Sam. "And it sounded urgent." She looked around. "Have you seen the Colonel?"
"Actually, no. I haven't seen him all morning. I was going to meet him for breakfast, thought he might need a friendly face this morning."
"Oh yeah," she answered, recalling the date and what it meant. Yesterday would have been a bad day for her CO, Colonel Jack O'Neill.
They found Teal'c already seated at the briefing room table. Daniel and Sam exchanged worried glances at the dark look on General Hammond's face. Dr. Janet Fraiser, when she joined them, looked equally grim.
George Hammond sat quietly at the head of the table for several minutes, gathering his thoughts. In a long career filled with difficult tasks, this was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do, he thought sadly. Standing, he paced to the window, his back to them. Janet was staring at her fingers, twining and untwining them atop the table.
Daniel was suddenly sure something terrible had happened."General?"
Finally, Hammond turned to face them, clearing his throat as if he couldn't say the words. "I wanted all of you here, together, to hear this from me..."
"Well then don't you think we ought to wait for Jack?" Jackson asked.
Hammond shook his head. "Please." His hands were white where they gripped the back of the chair the others had left empty for the leader of SG-1. "Colonel O'Neill won't be joining us. He's," Hammond looked down for a moment, then around the room to these three people. "Last night, Colonel O'Neill shot his ex-wife and then himself."
Stunned silence.
"Oh God." Sam wiped her eyes.
Teal'c stared straight ahead.
It was Daniel who spoke up first. "I don't believe it," he said fiercely.
"They were found together, at the cemetery, at their son's grave."
Daniel slammed his hand down on the table. "No. He wouldn't do that. I don't believe it."
"Son..."
"General, he wouldn't."
"I also do not believe Colonel O'Neill would do such a thing," added Teal'c in his unruffled voice.
Hammond paced. "Sara O'Neill told the police..."
"She's still alive?
Hammond nodded.
"And Jack?" There was sudden hope in Daniel's voice.
"Sara received only a minor injury. The Colonel shot himself in the chest. He is still alive, as of a half hour ago, but he's not expected to live through the day. I'm sorry." Hammond wiped his hand across his face. This news had hit him hard as well.
Major Carter was disbelieving. "Sir, with all due respect, we're supposed to believe that if, and it's a mighty big if, Sir, if the Colonel shot her and then himself, that he wouldn't have, well, frankly, done the job right, Sir. I've seen him shoot, in the field and on the range, and he hits what he aims at. If he'd intended to kill her, and himself, he'd have done the job. General."
"He didn't do it," said Daniel quietly.
"Dr. Jackson, I know you don't want to believe it, but those are the facts. And we all know what yesterday was: the anniversary of his son's death, a tragedy he has struggled to deal with for the past four years."
Daniel jumped to his feet, pacing. "He didn't do it. He wouldn't have. First, Jack wouldn't hurt Sara. Never. No way. Even if he was despairing for himself, he would never plan to take her with him."
"Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Hammond suggested.
"No. Jack wouldn't hurt her. And he hasn't been depressed lately, he hasn't been for a long time."
Another voice spoke up for the first time. Dr. Fraiser was having a hard time keeping her voice detached and professional. "Daniel, when a person who's depressed makes the decision to commit suicide, often they seem happy, happier than they've been for a long time, because the pressure is released. They've made a decision and that can lead to a kind of euphoria, thinking that they've found a solution."
Daniel glared at her and the General. "Look, I've known him longer than any of the rest of you. None of you were here when this project started, when Jack really *was* suicidal. I was. He was different then, dark, closed up. Hardly said a word. No sense of humor." A small smile crossed Daniel's face. "That Jack O'Neill cracking a joke was unimaginable. The man was a mess, and even I could see it. But that was a long time ago, before so much had happened, before he found a place and a job here, a reason to go on, friends, people he trusts with his life." He looked pointedly at Hammond and the doctor. "General, I saw him at his worst, and he couldn't even kill himself then. He couldn't have done this, not now, not when he's put his life back together, not when he's needed here. It doesn't make any sense. There must be some mistake."
"There's been a lot of stress in his life lately, Daniel," Janet pointed out. "All of us have our limits.
Even someone as strong as the Colonel."
"No. Not enough to make him do that. Never." He looked at Sam and Teal'c. "As little as he talks about things, he told me once, after the blue crystals and the clone thing, remember, at the hospital, the clone told him that he carried Charlie in his heart, with him. After that, he knew he couldn't end his own life, because killing himself would kill that part of Charlie that lived on in him. And taking Sara with him would be destroying even more of Charlie."
"Sometimes, when someone seems to be coping well, the pain just becomes too much, Daniel. And the Colonel is the kind of person who would never seek out help, no matter how desperate he was." Janet added quietly.
"He wasn't desperate," insisted Daniel.
Sam spoke very quietly. "Well, he has been sort of distant lately. When was the last time he invited any of us over to his place? No team bonding sessions, no beer and pizzas for I don't know how long."
"He..." Daniel paused. "I shouldn't be telling you this, I promised him I wouldn't. But, well, he's been seeing Sara. That's what he's been doing outside of work, why he hasn't spent so much time with us." He looked at Sam, knew she would take that hard, but not as hard as believing her CO could have shot himself, and someone he loved.
Sam was sitting silently, face down, not looking at anyone. Suddenly, she looked up. "Sir, you said he's still alive?"
Janet nodded. "Yes, Sam, but his injuries are massive and irreparable; his heart was badly damaged. It's only a matter of time, hours at most."
"It doesn't matter. We can save him..."
"There's nothing any of us could do that they aren't already doing, CS General is an exceptional hospital..." Janet started.
"The Goa'uld healing device."
Everyone in the room went still, every face turning to General Hammond.
He didn't hesitate. "People, I'm leaving the room. What you do when I'm gone, well, that's up to you. I don't want to hear about it. And, Major, here," Hammond hurriedly scrawled a series of numbers on a sheet of paper, handed it to Carter, and left.
Sam looked down at the paper. The numbers were the code to the special weapons safe, the one containing the Goa'uld artifacts, including the healing device.
"So what do we do? He'll be in intensive care," said Carter as they hurried down the hallway toward the weapons storage area.
"Under police guard?" Daniel asked.
"Probably not; not when they think he's dying," Carter answered.
"We'll worry about that when we get there. We've got to hurry," said Fraiser.
Sam opened the safe, removed the healing device, and they raced for the Cheyenne Mountain exits and the Colorado Springs Hospital.
"I'm sorry, Mr. O'Neill is in extremely critical condition and can't have any visitors, only family," the ICU nurse told them.
"We work with him. We're his friends, the closest thing he has to family," Daniel pleaded.
"I'm sorry. No visitors."
Janet stepped up. "I'm Dr. Janet Fraiser, USAF, and I'm accredited at this hospital. I'm his personal physician. I've treated Colonel O'Neill on numerous occasions for service connected injuries, and I demand to be allowed in to see him."
The desk nurse considered. "Look, I'll have to check with the doctor. Wait here," she ordered, and walked away.
Sam and Daniel took that opportunity to head down the hallway, ducking into his room.
Colonel Jack O'Neill was barely recognizable. He was hooked up to every conceivable type of monitor and machine. IV lines and tubes were everywhere, and he was intubated, a respirator breathing for him. His face was pale, almost gray, beneath his tan. His bare chest showed a long incision where the emergency room staff had opened his chest and bruises from the CPR. The room was filled with the soft noises of the machines that were keeping him alive.
They could hear Janet talking loudly in the hallway as Sam pulled out the healing device, slipped it on her hand, and concentrated.
She really didn't know how to work the device, didn't understand how she activated or controlled it, though she'd used it several times now, including in saving the life of that Goa'uld Cronos. After several moments, Sam realized that it didn't seem to be working. "Damn." Maybe it was because she was so upset, her emotions in turmoil; maybe you had to have a cool head to make this thing work, in which case the Colonel was doomed because she couldn't calm down, not seeing him like this.
"Hurry," Daniel whispered urgently.
Major Carter forced herself to be calm, and tried again, and was rewarded with the feel of the device heating in her palm.
Daniel heard the change in the monitors, heard their rhythms begin to increase and stabilize. "It's working," he said quietly, not wanting to disturb her.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" said a suspicious voice behind them.
Sam had to stop, quickly slipping her hand and the palm device into her pocket.
They turned to confront an angry nurse. "I told you he couldn't have visitors," she began and then she noticed the change in O'Neill's condition. Quickly, she hit the call button, and more personnel streamed into the room.
Sam and Daniel hid themselves back against the wall, wanting, needing to stay. In the confusion, maybe no one would notice them.
The nurse, a shocked look on her face, was explaining to the doctor, "I just walked in, and look, Dr. Ellis, he's...."
The doctor placed his stethoscope against Jack's chest, shaking his head. "This shouldn't be happening. It can't be. He was dying." He looked up, looked around, spotted Daniel and Sam. "Who are you and what did you do here?"
"Nothing," said Daniel, and that was true, for him at least.
"Well, whatever, it's a miracle. Now, get the hell out, while I work on this patient." As they left they heard the doctor barking orders for new tests and changes in medications.
Sam and Daniel found Janet waiting for them in the hallway. "So? Did it work?" she asked anxiously.
"The doctor said it was a miracle. I know his blood pressure and heart rate moved back toward normal," Daniel told her. "But the nurse came in."
"I didn't have enough time, it wasn't finished," Sam worried. "I don't think I did enough."
"It's okay," said Janet, trying to re-assure them. "If you helped him past the crisis, it could be all that he needs. At least enough that I can demand he be moved to an Air Force hospital, where we can do whatever else is needed," Janet was smiling now for the first time.
Daniel shook his head. "Right, we heal him up so he can go to jail for attempted murder? Or so they can lock him up for being suicidal?"
"One thing at a time, Daniel. At least he's alive." Janet looked over at the desk, hearing the excited talk. "Look, I've got to go see what's happening. You two wait for me downstairs."
Daniel shot a longing look over at the now closed door to O'Neill's room.
Janet put a re-assuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "Later, Daniel. It worked. Now we've got to do the rest. Trust me."
An hour later, Dr. Janet Fraiser was in the ICU lab with a still baffled Dr. Gary Ellis. "It doesn't make any sense. A couple of hours ago this man was clearly dying, his heart so damaged it could barely pump enough blood to keep him alive. And now, it's working nearly normally, his blood pressure is up, his blood gasses are in the normal range, and the damaged aorta looks like it healed. Spontaneously." He looked up at Dr. Fraiser. "If I didn't know better, I'd say I'd just seen a miracle."
Fraiser was wracking her brain for an explanation, any explanation. "Colonel O'Neill has remarkable recuperative powers, Dr. Ellis. And as you well know, the will to live is often the strongest medicine available to any patient."
"By a man who attempted suicide?"
"That has not been proven," Janet stated coldly. "Look, as soon as he is strong enough, I want to transfer him to the Air Force Academy Hospital."
Ellis was still shaking his head. "Well, Doctor Fraiser, quite frankly I don't see what you can do for him there that we can't do here, but he is Air Force. He's improving rapidly and I'll be glad to oblige, as soon as he's stable. And, providing the police agree of course."
"He *is* a Colonel in the United States Air Force, Dr. Ellis, a man..."
"Who attempted to murder his ex-wife," interjected another voice.A large black man in a dark gray suit entered the room, flipping open his wallet, displaying a badge. "Detective William Richards, Springs PD. And regardless of that man's rank in the Air Force, we will want to be talking to him. Depressed or not, and that's still debatable, he shot his wife."
"So you think," objected Janet Fraiser.
"Ah, the gun was found in his hand, and she said he did it. There's many convictions made on much less evidence than that."
"Well, he has to survive himself, first, before you can prosecute him, Detective Richards. And that's my job, keeping him alive."
"Well, I imagine we can let you move him, once a few jurisdictional matters are cleared up. As long as you make sure he's available for questioning."
Jack O'Neill was drifting, floating. He'd been so close, so near to Charlie, to the bright lights where he knew Charlie was waiting. But he knew there was something wrong, he couldn't see Charlie, Charlie was dead, and gone. So, was he dead, too? Dying? What had happened? He couldn't remember. Staff weapon blast? Some accident?
He couldn't remember, knew only confusion and pain, and sank again into oblivion.
When he surfaced again, Jack was a little more aware of his surroundings, and tried to figure out where he was. It would be simple to open his eyes and see where he was, but his eyelids were simply far too heavy for one man to lift. So he lay on the fringes of awareness, knew the pain in his body was centered in his chest, that his breathing was labored.
Someone took hold of his hand, he could feel that, fingers taking his pulse. "Mr. O'Neill, can you hear me?"
Mister O'Neill? Whoa, that was strange. 'Colonel' he tried to stay, but his throat didn't work any better than his eyelids.
"Mr. O'Neill, if you hear me, can you squeeze my hand?"
Nope, sorry, can't do it, nurse who-ever-you-are, he thought and drifted away again.
In a Colorado Springs hotel room, a man answered the phone.
"Is it done?" asked a gravelly voice.
"He's dying."
"Dying? I thought you said he'd be dead."
"He, ah, things didn't go exactly as planned. But he's dying, according to the hospital staff."
"He'd better."
"Oh, he will. If I have to go back and finish the job myself."
"Remember, it has to look like an accident."
"Suicide actually."
"That's even better," chuckled the unnamed voice at the other end of the phone. "Dead and discredited. Perfect. A fitting end for that SOB. Just be sure you finish the job."
"Don't worry. I won't miss a second time.">>>
It had been 24 hours since Sam and Daniel's visit had started Jack O'Neill healing.
"How is he?" Daniel asked anxiously as he met Dr. Fraiser coming out of his friend's room. She shook her head wearily. "There's not much improvement, Daniel. I'm sorry. He's still unconscious and unresponsive."
"He should be better," Daniel protested. "The healing device should have worked."
"He was very near death when Sam used it on him. And you know she doesn't have much control of it. It helped, definitely, he's alive and making progress. The improvement is slow, but it's there." Fraiser took a deep breath, continued softly. "Still, we have to face the possibility that we were too late, that there was nothing left to save."
"You mean he's brain dead?" Daniel could barely utter the words.
"No, there seems to be brain function. But sometimes, a patient who has been that deeply traumatized just never wakes up. So much depends on his will to live."
"You know no one has more of that than Jack."
Janet still wasn't convinced of that, she didn't know that the Colonel hadn't finally lost his fight with his own inner demons. But she wasn't willing to accept this as a suicide attempt, either. Daniel's arguments had been strong, especially his insistence that O'Neill wouldn't hurt his ex-wife. It certainly didn't fit with everything she knew about the man. And yet, she had also seen the Colonel's dark side, knew about his medical history, the horrors in his dark past that his friends couldn't even imagine. Her heart told her the Colonel hadn't done this to himself and his ex-wife, but her medical training told her, knowing his history, it was possible, if not likely. "I hope so, Daniel," was all she said.
In the end, it was Daniel who went to see Sara O'Neill. She was two floors down in the same hospital, lying quietly in bed, her shoulder heavily bandaged, looking pale and tired. Daniel knocked on her door, and she opened her eyes. "Ah, hi. I'm Daniel Jackson. Do you remember me?"
"Yes," she said lifelessly. "You're a friend of Jack's. Come in." She let her eyes close again.
"If you're too tired for visitors, I'll go," he offered.
"No, please, it's okay," she said, looking into the earnest young face.
"How are you feeling?"
"Okay, I guess. The doctor's say I can go home in a couple of days; no permanent damage." On the outside, anyway, she thought, looking away.
He sat on the chair beside her bed, not knowing what to say, and finally simply stated, "Jack's doing better. They say he has a chance."
She nodded, said nothing.
"Please, Mrs.--"
"Call me Sara."
"Sara, please, can you tell me what happened?"
There was pain in her voice. "He shot me."
Daniel shook his head. "I can't believe he would do that."
"Neither could I..." she said, and a tear trailed down her cheek.
Daniel felt helpless. "Look, do you need...."
"No, please, I, it's just," she turned to look at her visitor again, unable to voice the chaos in her thoughts. "Of all the crazy things I thought Jack might do, I never imagined this," she said very quietly.
"I can't imagine that he did," said Daniel.
"You are a very good friend, to defend him. He said that about you, that you never give up, that you're loyal to a fault, that you're his friend." She felt another tear slide down her cheek. "He told me that you were the one who convinced him not to take his own life, back then, right after Charlie...." she couldn't stop the tears, now.
"He's my best friend, like a big brother."
There was raw pain in her voice, disbelief and despair. "Jack said he loved me, that he never stopped loving me, so how could he hurt me?" she asked.
"I don't believe he did," Daniel said again.
"But he did. He said he was sorry, and then he shot me."
"I can't believe it, Sara, I can't. I won't. I know him too well. I know how happy he was to be seeing you again, how much it meant to him to have you back in his life. And I know how much it meant that the two of you carry Charlie's memory in your hearts, that in some small way that keeps him alive, inside you. So he couldn't try to kill you. And I know he wouldn't have tried to kill himself. Three years ago, yes, he was ready to end his life. But not now. I have to believe there's some other explanation."
Sara lay quietly, thinking, hoping. "I hope you are right, Daniel. I do. For his sake, and yours. But I can't forget..." she was crying then, and reached out for the young man's hand. He stayed with her until she fell asleep, his mind playing with a thousand possibilities.
It was four days before Dr. Fraiser was able to convince the doctors to allow her to move the Colonel. He wasn't stable enough or strong enough before that, and even then they were reluctant to allow the transfer, not seeing the reason for moving a critically ill man. General Hammond, however, cleared the way with the police and it looked like O'Neill was ready for the move.
In all that time, he had not awakened, had not responded to a command or to a voice, but he was being administered so many medications, that might be part of it, Janet explained to his worried team, hoping she was right.
O'Neill was loaded onto a gurney for the move, portable oxygen and resuscitation equipment tucked at the foot of his blankets. Janet checked him one final time. "Colonel, we're going to move you to the Academy Hospital now. The trip will take a little while, but I know you'll be more comfortable there. Just relax and enjoy the ride, Sir," she told him, wishing for a response, for a squeeze from his hand.
She climbed into the ambulance beside him, rode with him across town, and saw him settled into a private room at the military hospital.
Twenty minutes later, Sam was there, in his room, the healing device again in hand.
She placed the device on her palm, and concentrated. Nothing seemed to happen. She tried again, closing her eyes, willing the alien thing to do it's work. "It's not working, nothing is happening." she said in frustration.
"Try again," encouraged Dr. Jackson.
"I did. I have. It just doesn't work."
"Maybe it only works once, maybe there's a limit," suggested Daniel. "Like Machello's machines. You couldn't use them a second time."
"Maybe I just don't know how. Maybe..."
"Sam, don't blame yourself," soothed Dr. Fraiser. "We don't know enough about the technology. Look, without your intervention last week, he would have died. He's gaining a little every day, he has a good chance for recovery, even without this device."
Sam tried to brush aside the worry. "I'll contact my father..."
"Good idea. Until then, we treat this like any other injury," added Dr. Fraiser.
Janet Fraiser was an optimist. "Colonel, how are you today?" she asked as she entered his room. There was no sign of awareness from O'Neill. He had not been awake, even though she'd begun cutting back on his medications. Still, she was going to walk in and treat him like he would respond and awaken, after all, she'd seen this man perform miracles of recuperation before. "Colonel, it would be a really good idea if you woke up now. It's about time. You've slept long enough. Your team is worried about you, we're all worried about you."
On the fringes of his consciousness, Jack heard a familiar voice. It was hard to listen, hard to concentrate, but he tried. He wanted to... damn.... it slipped away, every time he got close to making a connection, mind to body, it just...didn't....work....
The still form on the bed made a supreme effort and moved one finger on his right hand but Janet Fraiser was looking the other way and didn't see it. After making notes on his chart, she turned back to the bed. "Colonel, I know you're in there, I know you hate being stuck in a hospital. But until you wake up and talk to me, you're stuck here, at the Academy Hospital. Doctors, nurses, no privacy, no pizza, no beer, no hockey. Come on, Sir."
Hard as she tried, she couldn't keep the disappointment off her face. She wanted to believe he was still with them, still fighting, still trying, because the alternative was to believe Jack O'Neill really had shot himself, really wanted to die and wasn't ever going to wake up. Janet Fraiser had seen some incredible things during her years as a doctor, especially since joining the SGC. Yet she knew the most powerful medicine wasn't something that came in a pill or a shot or an IV, but from an individual's will to live. If O'Neill had lost that, all of this, all of their hard work, the risks they had taken to use the healing device, all the best medical care she and the Air Force could offer, would be in vain, if he didn't try.
Damn the Tok'ra, picking the wrong time to disappear again, Fraiser thought wearily. Sam had gotten no answer on her request for help, which might mean they'd had to bug out from their last hiding place, or maybe they just weren't answering. They were like that, strange and uncertain allies, at best.
"Colonel, we need you to wake up and tell us what happened, explain it to Daniel. And Sara, she's pretty upset. Sam too. Well, a lot of us are worried, and upset and..."
Sara? He could swear the voice, Doc Frasier's voice, had said Sara. Why Sara? What was wrong with Sara? Was she hurt too? Had they been in an accident, God, he remembered the roads were slick with the rain, when he left the base, but, but...
A hand was gripping his, again, he could feel it. So he squeezed the hand. If the gravity wasn't 12 times Earth normal on whatever the hell planet he was on, he might be able to move, he thought, if there wasn't so much weight on his chest and pressure on his muscles, but damn, he had to.
It wasn't much of a movement, at first she thought she had imagined it. Maybe it was just an involuntary muscle spasm. Don't get your hopes up yet, Janet. "Colonel, do that for me again. Squeeze my hand. Can you do that?" she let some optimism creep into her voice. "Please, Sir."
There. There. A tiny bit of pressure on her hand. Her face lit up with a smile. "Good job, Colonel, that's it. Okay. I knew you were in there. You just hang on, we're going to get you better. It won't be easy, Colonel, but you can handle it. You hear me?" Her smile got even bigger as she felt his fingers tighten over hers once more.
Janet stepped out to the hallway, to the little cluster of chairs outside the ICU, where Daniel and Teal'c had been camped for three days. At the sight of her face, at the smile neither of them had seen since this whole mess started, Daniel leaped to his feet.
"He's there, he's there," Fraiser told O'Neill's friends.
"Colonel O'Neill has awakened?" inquired the Jaffa.
"Not yet, guys, not yet. He's still a long ways from that. But he squeezed my hand when I asked, he responded to my request. With the medications he's on, with the amount of physical trauma he has experienced, it's what I'd expect for a start," she enthused. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but really, it's major progress. It's the first step."
Daniel sank back on his chair, suddenly looking and feeling exhausted.
Fraiser looked him over critically. "Look, Daniel, if you get some sleep, and I mean actually sleep, I'll give you something that will help, then this afternoon you can stay with him for a while. Okay?"
"I will sit with him until that time," offered Teal'c.
Janet smiled. "That would be fine. I don't expect him to awaken, but there's quite a bit of evidence that even a comatose patient is aware of people being around him."
It was evening, and Daniel Jackson, refreshed by the first real sleep he'd had in days, was sitting in Jack O'Neill's room, reading aloud from a book on Ancient Egyptian society. "Wow, Jack this is really great. This guy has some great theories. Listen to this, "From the engravings on the tombwall....." Daniel's head suddenly snapped up, his attention caught by a movement from the still form on the bed.
"Jack?" he said, grabbing the gray haired man's hand. The hand squeezed his in reply, the eyelids fluttered, fell closed, opened again, looking around vaguely, disoriented. "Hey, Jack, hold on. I'm gonna get Janet, okay." Daniel pushed the call button, turned back to his friend. "Just keep still...."
God, would you people just make up your minds? You want me to wake up and move and then you tell me to keep still? Get it together, people. Jack thought, as his eyes drifted around the room, idly tracing the pattern on the ceiling of the room. He knew he was in a hospital, knew he was drugged to the gills, that his body was heavy and unresponsive. That was a feeling he was familiar with, one that meant something bad had happened.
Then Daniel's face appeared above him. Daniel. Jack blinked, raised his hand off the bed. Daniel grabbed it, holding on tight. "Easy, Janet's coming."
Dr. Fraiser dashed into the room, knowing only she'd been summoned to an emergency in the Colonel's room. What had he gone into cardiac arrest? Thrown a clot? "What?" and then she saw the brown eyes staring up at her from the bed, and her heart slowed to somewhere near normal as relief flooded through her. "Hi, Colonel."
He waved a couple of fingers at her, feebly, but he moved, and in acknowledgement of her words.
"It's good to have you back with us, Sir."
Where had he been, he wondered?
"Colonel, you're at the Academy Hospital." Janet thought quickly, deciding what to tell him. Just the basics for now. Just enough to try to reassure him. "You were shot, over a week ago, Colonel, but you are going to be just fine. Everyone else, your team, is okay. You just need to relax and concentrate on healing, Sir."
He was still staring at her, confusion evident on his face.
"Colonel, don't worry. It's okay. You have a chest injury with damage to your lungs, so you're still intubated. We need to keep that tube in for a while yet, while your body heals, so don't worry about it, okay? We've got you on a lot of medication, to help you rest and sleep, so I know you're a little confused. That's okay, that's the way you should feel, for now." She was smiling down at him, using every bit of bedside manner she could think of to keep him calm. "Daniel is here, and Teal'c, and Sam and the General were here earlier." The brown eyes blinked, drifted, and he fought to keep them open. "Sir, you need to rest, to heal. It's okay to go back to sleep, Colonel. Doctor's orders."
He looked once more at her, then let his eyes fall shut.
"You didn't tell him?" Daniel asked.
"No, it's going to be a while before we can talk about what happened," Janet explained.
"Or didn't happen."
"Daniel, you have to consider that he may not remember. Or may not want to remember."
"I don't believe he..."
"I know. I find it hard to believe, myself, but we'll see."
O'Neill drifted in and out for two more days, not fully awake or conscious but aware of people coming and going, of the faces of friends, of time passing, and of his body slowly beginning to reawaken and listen to his commands.
Finally, Fraiser felt he was ready for the next step. "Colonel, I just got your latest tests back, and I think we're ready to take that nasty tube out, if you'd like?"
He blinked and squeezed her hand. There was a little more strength in the grip, she thought.
"I take it that's a yes?"
He blinked again.
"Okay, Sir, you know the drill. Exhale when I pull. Easy," and the tube was out.
He coughed. She gave him some ice chips.
"What?" his voice was a hoarse whisper.
"You shouldn't try to talk yet Colonel, you know you need to let your throat heal."
He nodded, tried again anyway. "What hap....?"
She looked at the back of the room, at Daniel and General Hammond. "Colonel, we don't know exactly what happened. You were shot, here on Earth, outside the base. I don't want you to worry about that now."
"Anyone...."
She looked again at Hammond, and when he nodded, she went on. "Sir, someone was with you and was wounded, but she's fine. She's been out of the hospital for days already. It was Sara."
O'Neill struggled to sit up. "Sara?"
Fraiser's hand gently pushed him back into his pillows, and he was too weak to resist her gentle touch. "Easy, Colonel. She's okay. I promise. My word."
Hammond spoke up for the first time. "Son, she is okay. I've talked to her. Her injury was minor. She was the one who was able to call the police and get help for you both."
Jack sank back on the bed, closed his eyes for a moment, alarming Fraiser, but he opened them again. "Robbery?"
"We don't know what happened, Jack," said Daniel, ignoring Hammond's glare. "But we'll find out okay? You just concentrate on getting better."
"Hmmmm."
"Colonel, you need to rest," the doctor ordered. "I'll let Daniel stay and sit with you if you promise not to talk but to rest. Deal?"
He nodded, a tiny movement.
"Okay," Doc smiled.
Hammond moved to his Colonel's bedside, touched the man's shoulder. "Jack, just get well, son," and he turned quickly away.
Days passed as O'Neill improved slowly. Sam's request for help from the Tok'ra continued to be met with complete silence . It seemed they might have been forced to move their base again, so she had no way to contact them for assistance, and could do nothing but wait impatiently.
Three days later, with Daniel in the midst of reading him the morning paper, the Colonel suddenly opened his eyes and said, "tell me what's going on."
Jackson dropped the newspaper. "Tell you what?"
"What's going on, Daniel? What really happened?"
"Jack, we told you, we don't know..."
"You know more than you've told me," O'Neill said accusingly. "Sara hasn't been to visit. I've hardly seen Sam. And all of you are walking around me like you're walking on eggshells." He sighed. "I need to know the truth. All of it."
"Jack, I don't know if you're ready..."
"As ready as I'll ever be. I have to know."
Janet might not agree, but making his decision, Daniel took a deep breath. "It was 10 days ago, the anniversary of Charlie's death. You and Sara were found in the cemetery, at Charlie's grave. The gun was in your hand. Jack, Sara says you told her you were sorry, then you shot her and turned the gun on yourself. The police have it under investigation as a murder/suicide attempt."
Jack simply closed his eyes.
Daniel was suddenly frightened. O'Neill lay unmoving, eyes closed, the beeping of the monitors slowly increasing in tempo. Jackson turned when he heard footsteps in the hallway, it was Janet coming to check. He motioned to her to wait, and she stood just outside the door.
Did I? Did I shoot Sara? God, I didn't. I couldn't have? Why would I? I love her. There's already been too much blood and death in our lives. Why? His chest felt suddenly tight, like he couldn't breathe, like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
Daniel's worried voice brought him back to the moment. "Jack? Are you okay?"
O'Neill opened his brown eyes, looking into Daniel's frightened blue ones. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
"Jack, you didn't, did you? Shoot yourself and Sara?"
"How diplomatic of you, Daniel," he whispered.
Jackson shrugged.
"Do you think I did?"
"No. I don't believe you could do that." Jackson tried to lighten the moment. "Like Sam said, if you had, you wouldn't have missed."
"Boy, that's a compliment." O'Neill was silent for a long time, thinking, searching his mind, a frown crossing his face. "I don't remember."
Daniel wrapped his arms around his chest. "What do you mean, you don't remember?"
"The last thing I remember was driving home from the base, getting to my house, and then, it's all just a blank from there, until I woke up here."
Janet spoke up. "It's nothing to worry about, Colonel. Memories are often lost after trauma. It may come back."
"Or it may not," he whispered wearily.
"Why isn't he getting better?" Jackson demanded of Dr. Fraiser four days later. Even he could see that his friend wasn't bouncing back the way Jack usually did. O'Neill still spent most of his time sleeping, was weak and disinterested in what was going on around him.
"He is improving, Daniel, just, it's slow going. He's depressed."
"As in depressed enough to shoot his wife and himself, or depressed because people think he shot himself and his wife?"
"Daniel, I don't know. People who are severely injured, as the Colonel was, are often depressed. Recovery is hard, long, slow and painful."
"He's been through worse before."
"True, but this is different. And he's not helping himself when he won't talk to Dr. MacKenzie."
"What would you expect? He's never liked the guy. And Jack's not good at talking, even to the people he * does* like."
"And then there's the police."
Daniel was worried. "The police?"
"They've been here. I told that Detective Richards he wasn't able to talk to them. Yet. But I can't hold them off much longer."
Daniel Jackson was nothing but stubborn, or he would have given up on visiting his friend by now. Jack wouldn't talk to him, would barely look at him, declined invitations to play chess or cards, have the paper read to him or even watch TV. His answers were just "no" or "maybe later" and then he would turn away and go back to sleep, or pretending to sleep. After another fruitless morning of silence, Daniel decided he had to do something. "Jack, I've got to go. I've got to talk to someone. Okay? I'll be back."
"Whatever," came the disinterested, too quiet voice from the bed.
"Jack, I know you didn't do this, I know you didn't hurt Sara or yourself."
"I'm glad you know that because I don't," there was barely concealed despair in the quiet answer. If Sara said he did it, Sara wouldn't lie. He didn't remember that night, couldn't imagine something happening that would have sent him over the edge, but he couldn't imagine Sara lying, so it had to be true. She didn't come to visit, and he couldn't go visit her, he was stuck here in the hospital, helpless. God, he hated this. "I don't know."
Daniel tried to give his friend some of his own confidence. "Jack, I know you. I know you didn't do that. And I'm going to find a way to prove it."
Daniel pulled his car into the driveway of the neat two-story blue house. He'd never been here before, had only seen a couple of pictures, one's Jack usually kept tucked away in private. He knocked on the door and heard someone call from inside. "Who is it?"
"Sara? It's Daniel Jackson. Jack's friend." He pushed the screen door open, not waiting for an invitation, afraid she might send him away. He was right. She didn't want to talk. Sara O'Neill looked drawn and pale, her arm in a sling, and she was lying on the couch, covered in a blanket.
"I really don't want to talk about him."
"He's recovering, slowly, but he's very depressed."
She simply nodded, said nothing.
"I wanted to talk about that night, if there was anything else you might have remembered, anything that could help him..."
"Help him?" An angry male voice, behind him, and Daniel turned to see Sara's father enter the room.
"That no good son of a bitch...."
"Dad..."
"Sara, you were well rid of him three years ago and why you ever got involved with him again...."
"Dad...."
Daniel stepped forward, extending his hand. "Sir, I'm Daniel Jackson, I work with Colonel O'Neill. I know you are angry, but I don't believe Jack would ever hurt Sara..."
"Yeah right. Not like he's never hurt her before, either," said Sara's father, ignoring the outstretched hand.
"Sir, I know Jack and I know he still has very strong feelings for Sara..."
"Well, if he's told you that, then that's more than he's ever told her..."
"Dad...
"Sir, Jack hasn't said that, no, but he doesn't have to, when you know him well..."
Sara cut him off. "Dad, please."
Her father gave Jackson a hard look. "If you want him to leave, just holler, I'll be in back," he glared at Daniel again, and stalked out of the room.
Sara was toying with the fringes on the blanket, her fingers picking nervously at the threads. "Daniel, look, I'd like it not to be Jack, but the fact is, he shot me. He stood there, at Charlie's grave and he said... he said he was sorry and he shot me. And then, I was on the ground, and, and I heard the second shot, when he shot himself."
"Please. Take a moment, think very carefully. You're sure it was him. There's no possibility it was someone else?"
She closed her eyes, thinking. "No. I'd know that voice anywhere."
"Voice? Didn't you see him?"
"No, not his face. He was dressed in a dark coat, and it was dark. The streetlight was out at that end of the cemetery, and he got there so late."
"Late? What do you mean?"
"He was supposed to meet me at six o'clock, but he didn't show up. I waited a long time in the car, then I finally walked up to the grave alone. It must have been seven or seven-thirty. Long after dark."
"But he left the base early," said Daniel. "Sara, he doesn't remember anything after he got to his house. His memories from that night just stop. Whatever happened, I know Jack didn't shoot you. He wouldn't. So someone must have set him up."
"But who? Or why?" Sara asked wearily. "He told me he's not in black ops anymore."
"No, but he might have enemies from then. Or since."
"Daniel, I know you are his friend and you want to help him, but it was his voice, even if I didn't see his face."
"Voices can be faked, or copied or recorded. Please, think hard, what did he say? Exactly."
Again, Sara closed her eyes and thought. "He said, something about Charlie, about us being together with Charlie, and then he said, 'I'm sorry' and 'forgive me.' That's it. I'm sorry. That's all I remember. I gave a statement to the police, that night, I think I remembered more then, before all this," she said wearily.
"Sara, before he left Cheyenne Mountain that day, Jack called your house, to tell you he was leaving, I overheard part of that conversation, I was just leaving his office when he called you. He said something about meeting you so you could go together 'to be with Charlie,' Sara, he said those words, I think they were those exact same words. They could have been taped, if someone was tapped in on your phone."
"Why would they tap my phone?"
"If they were trying to set up Jack, they would. They'd know he would call you, that he'd be meeting you on that day. Maybe had a tap on his phone, to start with."
"I never got a call from him. I wasn't home, I went straight from work to the cemetery. But there wasn't any message from Jack on my answering machine."
"Well, it could have been erased. Or the call was intercepted, maybe it never got to you. You didn't go home?"
"No, I was late myself. I had a flat tire," There was suddenly a bit of hope in her eyes.
"Have you checked your answering machine?"
"No. But Dad said something about it wasn't working, about the tape being bad...."
"Do you still have the tape?" Daniel asked, excited.
"Maybe. Dad?....." Sara's father reluctantly rummaged around in the trash, but finally he found the tape, half unwound.
Daniel clutched the tape like one of his treasured artifacts. "I'll have this analyzed, maybe there's proof here, that this was a set-up."
Daniel stepped into Sam's lab, finding Major Carter totally absorbed in a computer project. "Sam..."
"Hi, Daniel," she answered him distractedly.
"I need some help," he asked.
"With?"
"This tape," he said apologetically, handing her the mangled mess.
"What's this?"
"Sara O'Neill's answering machine tape."
Sam looked at Daniel. "What's this going to prove?"
"Whether someone set up Jack. Look, we need to know exactly the wording that Jack used, if it matches what Sara remembers," Daniel explained.
"Okay, let's see," and she started to work on the computers. "This could take a while."
Deciding that there were things that needed to be said, Daniel plunged ahead. "Look, Sam, I know you've been a little upset," he started.
"We all have been," she said, distractedly, not looking at the team's archeologist/linguist.
"That's not what I mean," Daniel put his hand on her shoulder. "Sam, I know you were upset hearing about Jack seeing Sara."
"Why would I be upset?"
"Because he didn't say anything and I didn't say anything. It wasn't done on purpose, you know how private Jack is. I only found out by accident, and he asked me not to tell anyone. I think he just didn't want to have to explain anything, if it didn't work out."
Sam only nodded, knowing how her CO tried to keep his private life private, even from his team.
"Sam, do you, I mean?" Daniel asked, hesitantly.
"He's my commanding officer, Daniel."
"Right, but that doesn't mean.."
"Doesn't mean what? That I'm not human? That I might not be attracted to him? It doesn't matter Daniel, even if I was head over heels in love with the man, which by the way I am *not*, it wouldn't matter, he's my CO. Why is it that no one can ever believe that a woman can work with men and just be interested in working with them, not wanting to, well, be after other things? We're friends, like you and I are, like I am with Teal'c, and any of the other men I work with here."
"Then why have you been so distant? Even Jack noticed you haven't been to see him."
"I've been busy. And worried about my dad and the Tok'ra."
"Right," Daniel answered.
Sam paused, turned to her friend. "I guess I was sort of hurt that the Colonel ignored us, his team, lately. I didn't know why. I understand now," she said, still working at the tape machine. "That's all, Daniel. I just don't want anything to happen to our team."
"Well, then we'd better hope this tape proves my theory."
"What theory?"
"That's Jack's conversation was taped by someone who was out to kill him. Whoever it was used the tape in the dark at the cemetery to convince Sara that it was Jack who shot her."
"I don't know, Daniel, this tape is in pretty bad shape, I'll see what I can do," Sam promised.
In the SGC Briefing Room, the three members of SG-1 were meeting with General Hammond.
"Dr. Jackson, I know you want to prove Colonel O'Neill innocent, we'd all like to believe he didn't do this, but this conspiracy theory is pretty farfetched, you have to admit."
"General, it is much less farfetched than believing Jack would shoot Sara and himself," Jackson answered him passionately. "There were just too many coincidences: Sara's flat tire so she was late, the street light being out so it was really dark, Jack getting there so late when he'd left the base on time, Sara never seeing his face, the words Sara remembers matching what I heard him say earlier and then her answering machine being mysteriously broken. Add them up. There are just too many unusual things to take this on face value, Sir." Daniel paused, then went on. "And we know Jack's made enemies, starting with his work before the Stargate project. Then there are those people at NID, Maybourne, even Senator Kinsey. There could even be someone else out there, too, another Goa'uld or an ally of the Goa'uld, a bounty hunter or anything. If they could find a way to get to Earth, General."
"But why would they go after the Colonel?" Sam asked.
"Because it would disrupt SG-1. Just like it has. We haven't accomplished anything since he was shot. And if he'd been killed? Even more chaos. He's Second in Command of this base. Or maybe it was personal, someone with a grudge."
"But why go to the trouble of such an elaborate plot?" questioned Teal'c. "A Goa'uld assassin would simply kill him, and be unconcerned with the consequences."
"Okay, so maybe not a Goa'uld. But taking the time for this, it's the perfect cover for a murder. It wouldn't be hard to discover Jack's background, especially if we're dealing with someone from the NID or some other hazy government organization. Bottom line: if the killer had succeeded, no one would have questioned what happened. If Jack and Sara were found dead at Charlie's grave, they could have put the gun in her hand, even. No one would have questioned it. I don't think even I would have fought this so hard if he'd died. What would have been the point?"
Hammond shook his head. "Dr. Jackson, I admire your loyalty, but you have no proof of any of this."
"I might. Sam is working on the tape right now, the tape from Sara O'Neill's answering machine. If the words there match the words she told the police right after the shooting, I'd say that's pretty good proof."
Hammond nodded. "I hope you are right, Dr. Jackson, for all our sakes."
<<
"That's what the doctor's were saying..."
"Well, he's not dying now. My sources say he's awake, and talking and getting better."
"That's not possible!"
"Well, you know, they now have some of our technology, they might have used one of the healing devices, perhaps even a sarcophagus. You have to finish the job."
"They've transferred him to the Academy Hospital. I can't get access."
"I'll see to it you receive the proper credentials. O'Neill's still quite ill. This time you should be able to handle him and finish the job."
"I won't fail you again, Sir."
"You'd better not. I would hate to think we misjudged you and your abilities to carry out this assignment. Perhaps this job was too much for you.."
"No, Sir."
He hung up the phone, determined now to successfully complete his task.>>>
"What are you doing in here?" asked Daniel Jackson, angrily, on finding Detective Richards in O'Neill's room.
"Just talking to Colonel O'Neill."
"Oh, without a lawyer?" Jackson swung back to O'Neill. "Did he read you your rights?"
Jack waved a hand at Daniel. Daniel ignored it.
"Well?"
"And who are you, his lawyer?" asked the detective.
"Not exactly. But I do know he's not up to being interrogated by the police..."
"I wasn't interrogating the man, Mr...."
"Jackson. Dr. Daniel Jackson."
"Well, Dr. Jackson, I was just asking him a few questions."
"You didn't answer them did you?" Daniel asked his friend.
"Yeah, sure."
"It seems Mr., errr, Colonel O'Neill here, doesn't remember what happened. That's unfortunate, because it leaves a lot of questions unanswered."
"Like?"
"Like who shot who? And why? And why suddenly today Mrs. O'Neill called my department and says she'll refuse to answer any more questions and doesn't want any charges filed against him?" said the detective.
"The question is who shot whom," retorted Daniel. "And you ought to be looking at possibilities outside this room," he insisted stubbornly.
Once the detective was gone, Jackson figured it was time he told O'Neill what he was working on, what he had learned from Sara and how he had Sam working on restoring the tape.
Jack wanted to believe Daniel, wanted to believe what Daniel was telling him, because he couldn't believe he'd shot Sara and himself. Still, the truth was, he couldn't remember a thing and he couldn't imagine Sara lying. It was so frustrating, just thinking about that day made his monitors go crazy. His heart rate, pulse, blood pressure and respiration would shoot up and quickly some overly helpful nurse would be back at his bedside, wanting to drug him to insensibility. God, he wanted a few minutes alone to think. He wanted to be able to do something to help himself, to solve this riddle, to be doing something instead of lying here thinking and worrying and helpless.
Thank God for Daniel. Count on Daniel, Daniel who never gives up on me, even when I want to give up on myself, Jack thought.
Even better, later that afternoon, Daniel returned. Jack was dozing, nearly asleep, as he seemed to still spend almost all of his time, when the young archeologist came into his room, announcing he had brought someone with him. "Hi Jack."
"Hello," Jack opened his eyes, noted it was Daniel's familiar face, and let them drift shut again.
"I brought someone to see you," Daniel said with a smile, and left.
Jack heard quiet light footsteps, reluctantly opened one eye, then snapped both eyes wide open. "Sara." She was there at his bedside, taking his hand, and the touch sent shivers through him. "I, I..."
She put a finger to his lips. "Shh, you don't have to say anything." She pulled up a chair, seated herself carefully.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm fine, now that I know you didn't do this."
"I don't know that, Sara."
The finger was back, quieting him. "Jack, please, Daniel explained his idea to me and it makes sense, so much more sense than the thought of you doing this, to you or to me."
"I couldn't hurt you," he said in a whisper so soft she could barely hear him.
"I know that. That's what never made any sense." She touched his chin, ran her hand along the line of his jaw. "I know there was a time you thought you couldn't bear to live with what happened to Charlie, but that was a long time ago, and you found your way through it. And I know, in our own ways, we've each come to terms with what happened." She paused. "I didn't want it to be true, and then Daniel and I talked, and the truth is, that night, it was your voice, but I never saw a face. In the dark it could have been anyone, pretending to be you."
"I'm sorry."
"For what? You didn't do this."
He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Either way I got you involved in this..."
"Like you chose to get yourself shot?"
"I chose the Air Force."
"And I knew that when I met you," she said softly. "I've always known you lived a dangerous life..."
"Didn't mean for you to get dragged into what I do, for you to get hurt."
"I know that too. Now."
He closed his eyes, talking still tired him out so fast, but he had more he wanted, needed to say.
"Sara...."
"Shhh, Jack, it's okay. We'll talk more later." She ran a hand through his short hair, God, she had always loved to do that, then brought her hand down to wind her fingers through his. "I just want you to get well, and we'll get through this together."
Had he heard that right? Together, Oh God.
Two days later, an excited Sam called Daniel down to the lab. "Listen to this," Sam played the tape, and then Daniel handed her the copy of the police report which included Sara O'Neill's statement recalling the exact words Jack had spoken to her in the cemetery.
Jack's voice, scratchy and distorted, but clearly that of SG-1's CO came from the speakers: "Sara, it's me. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I'm late, and I won't be there on time to meet you, but I will come as soon as I can, so we can be together tonight, you and me, together with Charlie. Forgive me for being late, will ya?"
Carter looked up, a grin lighting her face. "Perfect match."
"Yes!" said Daniel with a smile. "Let's go tell Jack."
It was late when they arrived at the Academy Hospital, but by now the staff knew Jackson's face. Daniel explained why they were there, and Dr. Warren agreed the news would be good for the Colonel, good enough to warrant an otherwise after hours visit.
"Jack?" Daniel asked, entering the room.
O'Neill roused from a doze, surprised to see Daniel and even more surprised to see Carter follow him in the door. Jack made an effort to sit up a bit, raising the head of his bed, anticipating this late visit had to be news, and from Daniel's excited look, good news. "Hi guys. What's up? It's late to be visiting."
"Well, we have news," offered Carter.
"News?"
"The tape from Sara's answering machine," said Daniel, smiling widely, waving at Sam.
"Sir, I was able to clean up and enhance the tape enough to hear your phone message to Sara. Your words clearly match the words she told the police the night of the shooting..."
"Which means?" asked O'Neill, not wanting to get his hopes up.
"Which means, Jack," burst in Daniel, "that you didn't do it. Someone set you up, recorded your conversation, destroyed the version on Sara's machine or thought he did, so no one could make this connection and realize she's heard a tape at the cemetery. It wasn't you, it was someone pretending to be you. And this proves it," he finished triumphantly.
Jack laid his head back on the bed, closing his eyes with a sigh. Thank you Lord, he thought silently, there was at least one sin he could cross off his already way too long lifetime list.
"Sir, are you all right?"
"Fine guys. Thanks," he told them, a small grin playing across his wan face, the first grin Daniel had seen in a long time. "Thanks." He looked at the two of them another moment, and Daniel, deciding Sam and Jack needed to talk, quickly backed out the door, waving at Jack as he did so.
"I, uh, need a coffee. Be right back," he said, ducking out the door.
Jack was silent a moment, then said, "Good job, Carter. Again."
"Piece of cake, Sir."
"Well, I owe you one, Major. And I guess I already owed you one for sticking up for me, back at the start of this mess."
She looked at him, wondering. "What?"
"Daniel said you ah, defended me. Told Hammond I could still shoot straight, at least for an old guy."
She grinned. "Truth, Colonel. You beat my scores on the shooting range every time, Sir, so I knew you wouldn't have missed if you were going to...uh..."
Jack waved her to silence. "It's okay Carter, you can say it. If I was going to shoot myself. Which I didn't," he said with an audible sigh of relief. "And I guess I owe you an apology, Sam."
"Sir?"
"I should have told all of you why I was spending so much time away from base and you guys," he looked away, staring out the window into the darkness. Damn, he could never look a person in the eye when he was talking about his feelings. "I don't know, after this whole mess, if Sara and I, if, well, if there's any hope left for us..."
"Sir, I've always known you were still in love with her. Way back with that crystal clone thing, I saw you in the hallway at the hospital, with her... it was obvious you still cared for each other. And then, when we were thrown through the Antarctic gate, the last thing you said was her name, you whispered her name when you thought you were dying. I'd say that's pretty clear evidence..."
He forced his eyes back to her face. "Sam, if Sara and I get back together, I want you to know it won't affect the team. Our work will go on. We'll just have a fifth for the Friday night poker game, huh?"
Carter grinned. "Right, Sir."
<<
Finally, they left, and the hospital began to go quiet for the night. He waited, saw the nurse make her rounds and return to her desk. That's when he walked quietly down the hallway, in the white garments of a hospital staffer, blending in, looking purposeful, like he belonged.
He entered O'Neill's room. The Colonel was sleeping, quite soundly. O'Neill looked pretty sickly, but then, he was supposed to be dead. The man picked up a pillow from the shelf by the bathroom, walked across the room, and placed it over the sleeping man's face.>>>
He couldn't breathe. Jack tried to draw a in air but nothing came and he brought a hand up toward his face and met resistance. What the hell?
He tried to move, to struggle, but his body responded sluggishly. He didn't have any strength, nothing, and he could feel the ache start all over again in his chest as his lungs desperately tried to drag in a mouthful of air. Shit, was he dying? No he couldn't be dying, not now, not when he and Sara were talking again, not when he had a chance to put his life back together, not.....
With his last bit of awareness, as his hands futilely sought to remove whatever was covering his mouth, his fingers hit something on the bed. His call button, and with his final coherent thought, he willed his fingers to press the key.
A button went off in the nurse's station, and a tired nurse, in the last hours of a double shift, unhappily saw that a light was blinking. And then she did a double take. It was Colonel O'Neill's room, he never.... And she ran.
Someone was already there, someone she didn't recognize was in the room, his back to her, standing over the Colonel's bed. "Ah, see you got here first," she started to say, surprised, and then the figure was bolting from the room, and she started to go after him, but realized that O'Neill was lying unmoving on the bed. She reached for his neck, checking the carotid pulse, realized he was not breathing, hit the alarms as she began to perform CPR and then other on-call staff was responding.
Two hours later there was a conference in the hallway outside O'Neill's room.
"So, Dr. Fraiser, what happened here?" said an angry General George Hammond.
"Sir, we're not sure," said a worried Dr. Fraiser. "It seems the night duty nurse, responding to an alarm from the Colonel's room, encountered an unknown someone in his room. The Colonel was in respiratory arrest."
"So..."
"So it appears, General, that someone tried to kill him, to finish the job they started last week."
"I knew it," said Daniel triumphantly. "Did someone get a description?"
"Sorry, it appears not. Just a man, average height, average weight. Nothing remarkable. And the news isn't all good, Daniel. The Colonel was not breathing when he was found. We were able to revive him, but he hasn't awakened since."
"But he was getting better..."
"Yes, but this has set him back a long ways. Daniel, he was still in serious condition before this."
"Then why was he left alone?"
"No one anticipated someone was going to try to kill him."
Teal'c added, "so now we must post a guard to insure he is safe from further harm."
"We'll have a guard detail at his door within the hour. Until then, Teal'c..."
"I will stand watch over O'Neill."
"Thank you. Dr. Fraiser?"
"We're doing our best, Sir. But it's still touch and go."
<<>>
"Time to wake up Jack, come on." Daniel pestered his friend.
"G'way."
"Jack, I'm not going away. Wake up."
O'Neill slowly forced his eyes to open. "Daniel." He looked around. "What happened this time? Somebody drop a bomb on the hospital?"
"No. Someone tried to kill you. I'd say it's fair to say, tried *again* to kill you."
Jack closed his eyes and tried to sort that thought through his still fuzzy brain. "What?"
"Jack, whoever tried to kill you before, got into the hospital last night. Tried to kill you again. Did you see anything? Do you remember anything?"
O'Neill thought hard again. "No. Nothing, just couldn't breathe. There was something over my face."
"They think he tried to smother you with the pillow."
"When pillows are outlawed, only outlaws will have pillows," Jack mumbled.
"Sure." God, it was good to hear some life back in Jack's voice.
<<<"Fool. Idiot. Botched another attempt, and now he is under such tight surveillance neither you nor anyone else could get to him. We'll have to wait, and hope he doesn't remember anything."
"I will finish the job."
"How?"
"If I can't get to the man, I'll make the man come to me.">>>
Four days later, in O'Neill's room, they were arguing. That morning, for just the third time since he'd been shot, O'Neill had been allowed out of his bed. Daniel had helped, well, mostly watched, as Jack walked down to the end of the corridor and back. Hobbling down the hallway, trailing his IV stand, Daniel hovering nearby in case he needed help, Jack stubbornly insisted he was "just fine, dammit." Daniel however, hadn't missed Jack's wobbly legs and his sigh of relief at sinking back onto his bed.
Back in the Colonel's room, Jackson doggedly resumed digging for information.
"Daniel, I can't tell you who might be trying to kill me," said the silver haired Colonel, pillows propping him up in the bed.
"What, there's that many?"
"Probably." Jack looked annoyed. "Look, anyone from the Stargate program, you'd know anyway-- Kinsey, Maybourne, Samuels, the NID. And before that, I can't tell you anything about what I did or where. It's all classified."
"Well, you know I do have a pretty high clearance."
"You have the highest clearance, for a civilian. For the SGC. That doesn't mean you're cleared for anything else. Hell, I don't even know the meaning of half the things I did back then, who was involved, who or what the real targets were. I just carried out the assignments I was given, no questions asked. I've given the General a couple of names, but that's the best I can do." Jack shook his head wearily. "I wish I knew more."
The phone rang. Jack waved a hand at it, and Daniel picked it up, handing it to him.
"Colonel O'Neill?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and something about it immediately set the hairs on the back of his neck on end. "Colonel, I have something of great value to you. It won't be harmed if you do as I say."
Daniel thought he saw something flicker across Jack's face, but then it went still.
"O'Neill," the voice continued, "get rid of your friend. Get him out of your room. Sara's life depends on it. You've got three minutes. I'll call you back."
"Hey..." but the voice was gone. Jack hung up the phone, "wrong number." He was silent a moment, mind racing, needing in a hurry to invent a reason for Daniel to leave. O'Neill looked down at his untouched lunch, inspiration striking suddenly. "You know, Daniel, I might eat something if it didn't all taste like cardboard. There's that Italian place down the street..."
"Pizza?"
"Yeah. Now *that* I could eat. Pizza."
There was something strange in Jack's voice, Daniel thought, but then, this was the first time Jack had shown interest in much of anything. "Okay," Daniel said reluctantly. "What do you want?"
"Huh?" Jack asked distractedly. "Oh, whatever. You know what I like."
"Yeah, everything. Okay, I'll be back. If I get in trouble for this..." Daniel suggested.
Jack didn't answer.
Shaking his head, Daniel left.
The phone rang again. Jack grabbed it quickly. "He's gone. What do you want?"
"Good work, Colonel. And what I want, of course, is you." And then another voice, Sara's voice, sounding frightened, "Jack, this guy grabbed me..."
"Has he hurt you?"
"No, but he says he'll kill me if you don't meet him. Jack, please, don't...."
She was gone, and the other voice was back. "Listen to her."
"If you hurt her I will kill you," Jack threatened, his voice laced with absolute fury.
"Really, O'Neill, I have no intention of hurting her, unless she gets in the way again..."
"You son of a bitch..."
"Colonel, I want you to leave that hospital, alone. If I see someone leave with you, if I see any other Air Force personnel, that bodybuilder or anyone else, even that four eyed geek, you'll never get the little Mrs. back in one piece. Is that understood, Colonel?"
"You bastard..."
"Now now Colonel, name calling won't help. Are your orders clear?"
"Perfectly." There was barely controlled fury in O'Neill's voice.
"So, you will find a car in parking stall 482, with the keys under the mat. Get into the car, follow the instructions. You have 30 minutes..."
"Look, whoever you are..."
There was anger in the voice. "Don't argue. You are wasting my time. You have only 30 minutes to reach your destination. You better get moving."
The phone disconnected.
Thirty minutes? Jack O'Neill didn't know if he could walk out to the parking lot in three hours much less 30 minutes, but by God he was going to try. Praying a nurse didn't pick the wrong time to come checking up on him, he carefully removed the IV line, wincing, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. From his walk earlier that morning, he was still wearing sweat pants and a pajama top, tucked in at the waistband. Hobbling carefully over to the closet, he was pleased to find a jacket and shoes. He managed to stick his feet into the sneakers, but couldn't bend over to tie them. Oh Hell, have to leave the laces undone, he thought.
Summoning up his strength, he forced himself to straighten up and walked out of the room. Three steps down the hallway, a voice stopped him.
"What on Earth do you think you're doing?" Daniel was leaning against the corridor wall, looking intently at him.
Jack glared. "You're supposed to be going for pizza."
"Right. I thought there was something suspicious about that."
O'Neill's face turned grim. "Daniel, I have to get out of here."
"For God's sake, Jack, where do you think you are going? I know you hate hospitals, but this is crazy. You can hardly walk." Daniel came and took his arm, trying to steer Jack back down the hallway. "Come on, back to your room."
Jack jerked his arm away, his pale face going even whiter. "Daniel," he said very softly. "I have to go. Please. Just let me." There was pleading in his voice. "You have to trust me on this."
"What could possibly be so important that you'd risk your life..."
"No questions. Just let me go."
Something in O'Neill's voice made Daniel stop. "What's the matter? Jack?"
Jack didn't want to say anything, but he knew the only way he was going to get out of here was if he could convince Daniel he had good reason. And that meant telling him the truth, or at least part of it.
"He's got Sara."
"What? Who?"
"I've got to get out of here," O'Neill repeated.
"Jack, what's going on? Tell me. All of it. Now."
An agonized look crossed the brown eyes. "Daniel, the man who's been trying to kill me has Sara. I have to go to meet him."
"But he'll kill you."
"Probably. But I have to get Sara out of there." Jack looked at his friend again. "Please. We can't stand here arguing like this. Someone will see me." O'Neill started down the hallway, toward the exit. They heard the elevator come to their floor, Jack somehow finding the strength to straighten up as the door opened, and they stepped in, joining two other passengers. O'Neill leaned gratefully back against the wall, hoarding his energy, as they rode down to the lobby.
As soon as the others had exited and they were alone, Daniel said, "Jack, you can't do this, you can't...."
O'Neill raised worried brown eyes. "I don't have a choice."
"Then I'm coming with you," said Daniel, bending over to tie O'Neill's flopping shoelaces.
"You can help me to the car," Jack conceded. "But that's it. He threatened to kill her if anyone came with me."
Jack dredged up every ounce of willpower to walk out past the desk, and once outside the door, Daniel grabbed him, the Colonel draping his arm over the younger man's shoulder. "Jack, you shouldn't be doing this."
"Ya think?"
Daniel helped his friend to the parking lot, felt O'Neill's trembling weakness, heard the rasp in his breathing as they found the car in stall 482. The wounded man could barely open the car door, groaned as he slid into the driver's seat, his head falling against his hands on the steering wheel as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over him.
"Jack, you can't do this alone. I'll drive."
"I'll be okay," he said stubbornly.
"No, you're not okay and you have no business leaving the hospital. You're so weak you can't even start that car, much less drive it."
He didn't want Daniel there, didn't want to put his friend in danger, but O'Neill knew his own weakness, knew he didn't have much strength and that Daniel was right this time. Despairing over how his body had failed him, he finally answered, softly. "Okay. But you're there only to make sure Sara gets away safely. Promise."
"Promise," Daniel answered, hand behind his back, fingers firmly crossed.
There was a sheet of paper on the dash, 800 block, Eldridge St.
Daniel drove, Jack riding in worried silence, only the harsh sound of his labored breathing filling the car. "Once we get to this guy, you get out of there, take Sara and get away. It's me he wants..."
"Jack..."
"Daniel, just do it. Obey an order for once, will you? Take Sara and get her to safety. I can take care of myself."
"Oh yeah right."
Jack glared at him.
"Okay," he muttered, reluctantly.
They made it to 800 Eldridge St. in 27 minutes. The place proved to be nothing more than an empty lot, but they found another piece of paper there with another scrawled address: 4915 Marshall Drive. In all, there were six addresses, six sheets of paper, before they finally pulled up in front of an old, deserted warehouse.
"I don't like the look of this," Jackson protested as they climbed out of the car.
"Daniel, whatever I say, you follow my orders. Clear?"
"Jack...
"This is no time for arguments. We have to get Sara out of here. She's the first priority." O'Neill stared hard at his friend, "promise me. I can't let anything happen to her."
Daniel nodded, unable to say more, seeing the look on O'Neill's face, knowing his friend was intent on sacrificing himself to save his ex-wife's life.
They walked together up the stairs, Jack leaning heavily on Daniel, conserving his dwindling strength, letting the younger man assist him up the steps and into what had been an office area.
"Down here," said a voice from a dark hallway.
"Send Sara out, and I'll do whatever you ask."
A dark figure, ski mask over his face, stepped into the hallway, holding a terrified Sara, her mouth covered with duct tape and her hands taped behind her, using her like a shield.
"You! geek! Stop there." He waved the gun menacingly. "I thought I told you to come alone," he hissed in an angry tone.
Jack didn't have to fake the look of utter weariness. "I couldn't make it by myself, couldn't drive."
The man pulled a roll of duct tape from his pocket, tossed it to the Colonel. "Now, tape your friends' wrists and ankles."
"No."
The man jerked Sara's arm and Jack saw pain flare across her face. No, Jack, don't react, it's what he wants. Calm. Keep calm. "You promised not to hurt them."
"And I won't. I only want you. Now, do it."
Jack complied, taping Daniel's wrists and ankles. When he was done, the stranger ordered, "O'Neill, now you, down on your knees, hands behind your head."
Jack sank slowly to his knees, groaning as he lifted his hands above his head, lacing his fingers together behind his neck, his arms trembling.
The stranger advanced to stand beside O'Neill, looked at the Colonel's drawn, white face. "A little sore, are you, Colonel?" he asked contemptuously, and jabbed the wounded man in the ribs.
"No!" both Daniel and Sara cried out, struggling to get free of their bonds as O'Neill hit the floor.
The Colonel nearly passed out, as blackness swam in front of him, everything going dark for a moment as he gasped for air and fought the pain. "Bastard," he mouthed.
"That is not the way to talk to me, Colonel O'Neill," said the still unfamiliar voice.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Oh, just a little payback Colonel, for destroying something very important to me."
"Then let them go, and I'll do whatever you want."
"Oh, I know you'll follow orders, Colonel. Assume the position. Hands behind your back, legs spread." Awkwardly, Jack complied. Roughly, the man pulled O'Neill's arms behind him and taped them in place, then patted the colonel down, checking for weapons. Satisfied the man was unarmed, he barked, "now get up."
Jack struggled up from his knees, then bit back a moan as he staggered to his feet. "What about them?"
"I'm just going to leave them here. They'll manage to get themselves untied after a while. But by then, of course, we'll be long gone," the kidnapper told him smugly.
The masked stranger pushed O'Neill out through the back door, urging him to hurry, but Jack stumbled.
"Move it. Quit faking."
Not faking, thought Jack, who was reeling from exhaustion and pain, barely able to keep his feet under him. They started for the man's car, stopping beside it. Roughly, the man shoved O'Neill into the car and buckled the seat and shoulder belt, leaving the Colonel effectively confined.
Jack laid his head back on the seat, let his eyes fall closed, leaving them open just a bare slit to try to watch his surroundings.
He heard the man laugh. "Go ahead, open your eyes, won't make a difference. There's no secret to where we're going."
The man had removed his mask, and it was a face that registered vaguely somewhere in Jack's memory, but he didn't know where. Jack O'Neill knew he was a dead man, because his kidnapper didn't care if he saw the face. Ironic, because it wasn't one Jack recognized, though it did look somehow familiar, as if he'd seen it fleetingly, at some time in the past, but he couldn't recall where or when.
"So you were the one who shot me?" asked O'Neill, taking a stab in the dark, searching for information, seeking anything that might help.
"Of course, Colonel. It was so easy. I simply waited at your house, injected you with a tranquilizer when you came home, then took you to the cemetery and waited for dark, and your wife."
"You didn't have to hurt her," O'Neill said angrily.
"Oh, the plan was always for her to survive. Tied up all the loose ends so nicely, to have her tell the world you'd shot her and yourself. Deflected any suspicion."
"Great plan. Worked really well," O'Neill said with a smirk.
"It would have. If you hadn't woken up just a bit too soon."
"Wouldn't drugs in my system have made people suspicious?"
"No. With your wife telling everyone you shot yourself, I doubt they'd have bothered with an autopsy. The Air Force would have wanted the whole incident swept under the rug, bad PR when a big time hero Colonel goes mad and shoots his wife and himself. And even if they had bothered, I checked the drugs in your own medicine cabinet, matched a prescription I found there, something you had to help you sleep. Sleep permanently," the man chuckled. "Just the kind of thing a suicidal man might do."
"In my..."
"Oh, yes, Colonel, I've been watching your house for weeks, actually. Easy enough, you don't come home often. Slip into the house, tap the phones, check the medicine cabinet, find out your ex-wife's phone number, listen to your phone messages, got everything I needed."
Half an hour later, across town, the man pulled into the driveway of a large house where there was a for sale sign prominently displayed. The man pulled the car around the back of the building, into the garage, and closed the door behind them. Coming around to Jack's side of the car, he opened the door, reaching in to undo the seatbelt. "Out," he ordered.
Jack swung his legs out, biting back a groan at the pain, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. He
staggered up the stairs into the house, then was shoved into a dark room, hitting the floor.
Shit, one fine mess you've gotten yourself into this time, O'Neill, he thought.
He spent what he guessed was 15 to 20 minutes working at trying to free his hands. He'd found a small tear in the tape, his fingers slipping again and again as his short, blunt nails worked desperately at the edge, enlarging it, weakening the material. Before he could get free, the door opened again and someone came in. Rough hands grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and propelled him down a hallway and into a large, brightly lit room.
Ah, the denouement, he thought. A man stood before the patio doors, his back to O'Neill. "You know, I think I've seen this movie. Isn't this the part where you tell me what the hell is going on and who the hell you are....."
The man who'd brought him to the house slapped his face. O'Neill felt his lip split, tasted coppery blood on the inside of his cheek, spit, staining the fine white carpet, he noticed idly.
The man by the door turned around. It was no one Jack knew. What the hell? "Who are you?"
"This is so nice of you to join us, Colonel. I've been looking forward to this meeting, actually, although the original plan was for me to see your face only after you were dead. I was going to be the mystery guest at your funeral, but, ah well, even the best laid plans sometimes go awry." The man walked around O'Neill, sizing him up. "You are a surprisingly difficult man to kill, O'Neill."
"Luck of the Irish," he quipped, mind whirling as he sought to identify this man. Nothing unusual in the voice or the mannerisms, no accent, nothing that rang a bell. Who was he?
"Well, Irish or not, your luck has run out. Arthur, here, he wasn't able to finish the job, but I will, and there's something to be said for a man taking things into his own hands. A pity, it won't be seen as an accident, but then, no plan is perfect." The man ran his hand along O'Neill's jaw. The colonel jerked his head back. "Ah, still in fighting spirit. Such a shame I don't have time for a few more games with you, O'Neill. I think you would be a worthy opponent."
"Untie me and we could try a few," Jack offered.
The man laughed.
"I play a mean game of street hockey...."
"Hardly O'Neill. I was thinking more of a little game of hide and seek, of running through tunnels. Of course, you are not properly dressed. No long white robes, Colonel."
Tunnels? White robes? "Seth?"
"Ah, see, now I knew you were a smart man..."
"Seth is dead..." He was supposed to be dead. Not another Goa'uld revival. Damn, he was sick of those. Why couldn't any of those damn snakes just stay dead?
"Yes, he is dead, and by your hand..."
Actually, thought O'Neill, it was Carter, but I don't think I'll tell him that.
"Oh, I know it wasn't you that fired the lethal shot, but you orchestrated it, you led the raid that destroyed him and all that we built. I wasn't there that day, I actually spent very little time at the compound, because my work took me away. Arthur wasn't there, either. It took me a long time to find you O'Neill, it took a lot of hard work and used up a lot of favors, to find someone high enough in the system who could ferret out your whereabouts. But I'm nothing if not a man of patience, and it has paid off. And actually, I like the way this has worked out. You know, Colonel, there's something to be said for the hands-on approach. Killing you myself is much better than cold revenge from a distance."
The stranger was walking around O'Neill again. "My name is Lane, and I was among the earliest disciples of Seth," and suddenly his arm shot out, his fist hitting O'Neill in the chest.
It wasn't a hard blow, but it drove the injured Colonel to the floor, shuddering with agony, fighting to draw a breath.
Lane was still talking, enjoying the pain he had caused, liking the feel of power it gave him to see this man he hated down on the floor and helpless before him. Yes, doing this himself was so much better, he thought. "You see, O'Neill, I'll kill you, and then Arthur and I will finish off your friend and the woman. Pity, he should have brought them along. I'd have enjoyed watching your face as I killed them. Now you'll just have to use your imagination, Colonel, picture me killing them."
Jack let the anger build, felt the adrenaline begin to pump, knew it would give him a last boost of strength he'd have to use if he was going to find a way out of this mess.
Lane pulled back his foot, preparing to deliver another blow to the man curled up in a fetal position on the floor. But as the foot came forward, so did O'Neill's hands, as he desperately wrenched them free of the tape. With the last of his flagging energy, he grasped the booted foot before it impacted his ribs, catching the man by surprise, throwing him heavily to the floor, landing on his back. Jack struggled to climb to his feet, to somehow stop the man...
Then O'Neill heard the crash of breaking glass and saw dark figures with guns charging through the broken doors and into the room. Jack didn't have time to figure out who they were because suddenly he was under assault. Lane threw himself at the wounded Colonel. Jack felt the impact of the man's body hitting his, felt himself being dragged backward and away from the rescue party.
The cult member had a gun and ground the barrel into O'Neill's side as he wrapped his left arm around the Colonel's throat. "Come any closer and I'll blow him away," Lane threatened.
"Now, Mister, you wouldn't want to do that," said the voice of General Hammond, from the crowd of black clad intruders. "There are a dozen guns trained on you. Kill him and you'll be dead before he hits the floor."
Thanks, General, thought O'Neill. That was real comforting.
"Why don't you just put the gun down and we'll talk about this, Mr. Lane," offered the General.
"No. You back off. Let me go, and I let him go."
"Can't be done, Mr. Lane. You know better. Standard US military policy, no bargaining for hostages."
The gun barrel ground even harder into O'Neill's side as the man tightened his grip on the Colonel's neck. Jack was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. "Back off," Lane hissed. There was anger and a little hysteria in the man's voice now.
"Now, Mister you don't want to do anything you'll regret." Hammond kept his voice level.
O'Neill felt himself losing consciousness. Oh shit, he thought and with the last of his strength, slammed his head backward, striking Lane in the chin, and the man's grip loosened for a second. The Colonel spun, or tried to, falling to the floor as his knees buckled. He heard a gun go off, braced himself for the impact, but felt the slug whistle past his ear.
He raised his fist for a final blow at Lane, and then the man was gone. O'Neill looked up to see Major Ferretti's grin above him.
"SG-2 to the rescue, Sir," said Lou with a grin, giving him a hand to sit up on the floor.
"Ah, the Cavalry. And just in time," O'Neill mumbled to the concerned looking Major.
Quickly, then, there were more familiar faces there, among them Carter, Teal'c and Dr. Fraiser.
"Sara? Daniel?" O'Neill asked, trying once more to force himself to his feet, though he was breathing in gasps, the adrenaline beginning to leave his system and his strength going with it.
Ferretti was pushing the Colonel back toward the floor. "It's okay, Sir. Stay put."
"They're fine, Colonel. We had a back up team pick them up," assured Hammond.
"You're sure?" he asked worriedly.
"Absolutely Colonel. They're on their way here right now."
"But how'd *you* get here?" Jack asked, looking up in surprise at his CO, as Fraiser pulled out a medical bag and began checking over her errant patient.
"I had a tracking device placed in your jacket," answered the General with a grin.
"Sir, I don't mean to seem ungrateful, but if you were following me, ahh, why'd you wait so long?" he asked, rubbing the sore spot on his chest where the man had hit him.
"Sorry, Jack, but we had to wait for Lane to show up. Until he did, we had nothing to link him to Arthur except the phone calls. Nothing we could use in court, nothing that could prove he was part of
a conspiracy to kill you."
"Ah, that explains it." Jack closed his eyes, relaxed. "Thank you sir." Paused to catch a breath. "Seth, it was all about Seth."
"We know."
"I'm glad you do..." said O'Neill, still confused.
"Not everyone who belonged to Seth's cult lived at the compound, it turns out, Colonel," Hammond explained. "Lane and Arthur were among Seth's most fanatical disciples. I don't think he even needed to use his Goa'uld drugs on these two. They were true believers, and they blamed you for Seth's death and the end of their cult. We had your hospital phone line tapped since the second attempt on your life, Colonel. We thought your attacker might try something like this." Hammond grinned. "I've run a few black ops missions myself, you know, Son. Once he called, we traced it and I used a few old, ahem, connections to get the phone records that linked these two. We had Lane followed from the minute he left his office."
"His office?" Jack asked quietly.
General Hammond smiled. "Lane has worked for the NID for years, infiltrating it, waiting for news of the Stargate to surface."
"NID? Oh, good," he said, quietly, still having trouble catching his breath.
Janet Fraiser piped up. "Sirs, I hate to interrupt, but the Colonel needs to return to the hospital."
She pointed at the orderlies who had just entered the house, wheeling in a gurney.
O'Neill looked at it with obvious distaste. "I'm out. Can't I stay out?"
"Colonel, I'm sorry, but you had no business leaving that hospital in the first place, and you are going back. Now."
"Yes ma'am," O'Neill answered with a tired sigh.
Ferretti and Hammond helped him onto the stretcher, and he was wheeled out toward a waiting ambulance. "Came prepared, did you Doc?" he asked.
She smiled. "Yes, I did Sir. Couldn't let anything happen to our miracle patient," she said, fitting an oxygen cannula on his face. "This will help you breathe. Better?"
"Ah, yes." He closed his eyes, tiredly, then opened them. "Thanks."
Simple word, coming from him, she thought, but it meant a lot, that word and his look of trust, from a man who did not easily give either.
As he was loaded into the ambulance, a car pulled into the driveway behind it, and two figures dashed out.
"Wait," Jack asked.
Daniel and Sara ran to him, a worried look on his face, a scared one on hers. Reaching the stretcher, both sighed with relief to see the brown eyes open.
"You okay?" Daniel asked.
"Oh, fine."
Sara took O'Neill's hand, reassuring herself at it's warmth. He'd looked so awful, when she'd seen that man take him away. "God, Jack, really, you're okay?"
He didn't have the energy to do anything more than nod.
Fraiser was anxious to get the Colonel back to her medical facility. "He will be, Mrs. O'Neill. Now, we do need to get him back to the hospital."
Sara clung to his hand for a moment, then brushed Jack's forehead with her lips, staring worriedly after him as he was loaded into the ambulance.
Two weeks later, Jack left the hospital with Doc's approval if not her absolute conviction he ought to be going home. He was still pale and still tired quickly, but he was healing, and most importantly, he had his peace of mind back. And that might be the most potent medicine of all, Janet Fraiser thought as she watched Daniel and Sara help the Colonel into his Jeep.
He spent the next three weeks at home, recuperating and resting, well, at least not working. Janet checked in every day the first week, felt confident enough he was taking care of himself by the second week, what with Sara seeming to be there a lot, and Daniel when she wasn't and Teal'c spelling the others.
With both of them healing from the ordeal, both physically and mentally, Sara drove to Jack's every afternoon and they walked, first just slowly around the block, then more briskly and further with each day as his energy returned as his body healed.
More than six weeks after he was shot, Jack called Sara and asked her to join him for a picnic.
"Hey, Doc gave me the okay to drive today. I wondered if you'd like to go up to Pleasant Hill Park. We could hike...
"Jack, that's a pretty rugged trail. Are you sure you're ready for that?"
"Won't know 'til I try," he answered enthusiastically. "Come on."
She agreed. As she climbed into his vehicle and they pulled away from her house, Sara couldn't help thinking the difference a month had made. He looked good, a healthy tan back on his cheeks, his eyes bright, the smile back on his face, and the energy visible in every movement. She leaned over and kissed him. "You look great today," she said, sincerely.
He grinned, kissed her back. "Feel great. A lot has changed, hasn't it?" he said, more quietly.
"Yes, it has."
<<>>
They rode in silence during the hour long ride to the park. Once there, Jack parked the Jeep in the lot and taking the small basket with their lunch, they started up the trail, walking briskly. After 20 minutes, Sara noticed he seemed to be breathing hard, and called for a break.
"What?"
"I need a rest," she told him.
"Hummph. You are a bad liar, Sara O'Neill. You think I need a rest."
"Okay. And you do. I can tell."
They rested in companionable silence for a while, before completing their hike. Jack and Sara laughed together over lunch on a blanket in a meadow along a stream, looking out over the mountains.
Afterwards, Jack lay back on the blanket.
"This is a beautiful place," she said.
"Not as beautiful as you."
"Flattery, flyboy?"
"Truth."
She laughed. "Too old for beautiful."
"Never too old, not you. And don't forget, you'll always be a younger woman, to me."
"Jack,"
His voice got suddenly serious. "Sara," he looked away, then forced his glance back to hers. "I missed you. I was hoping..."
"Jack, I don't know if I'm ready for a decision about us. Not yet. Don't push, okay?"
He looked away, hurt.
She took hold of his chin, turned his face back to hers. "Jack, please, we've been through so much this past month, I just don't know what I want. Yet. But I enjoy being with you, and I didn't think I could ever say that again. Please. Give me a little more time. I need to know that I can trust you again, that you won't turn away from me when I need you, and when you need me."
"Whatever you want," he said quietly.
"I want to keep seeing you. I just need more time to be sure. Okay?"
She could see the disappointment on his face, but the determination, too.
They started back down the mountain, and she could see the long climb and busy day outdoors had tired him, though he was trying to hide it.
When they got back to the jeep, it was dusk and the parking lot was deserted.
"Damn," he cursed as he walked around to put the picnic basket in the back.
"What?"
"I've got a flat tire." He started pulling the jack and spare from the vehicle.
"Jack, maybe you should call the auto club?"
"Nah. Way out here, it will take 'em hours. I can change it faster myself."
"Be careful."
He looked up at her. "I *am * fine, you know."
"Right. Fine."
He worked methodically, and by the time he was finished, and the spare in place, it was full dark.
And then there was a voice from the darkness, "Colonel O'Neill?"
Jack spun around, protectively pulling Sara behind him. "Who's there?"
"A friend of some old friends you might remember-- Seth, Arthur, Lane."
"Sheesh, don't you guys ever give it a break?" said O'Neill sarcastically, thinking furiously. Sara had a death grip on his hand. "And you are?"
"My name is not important."
"Well, my mother taught me never to talk to strangers."
"You don't need to talk to me. Just step away from the lady."
No way was he going to let this guy hurt Sara. He'd been responsible for getting her hurt once already, that had been more than enough. "No, can't do that."
The man raised his arm, aimed deliberately and squeezed the trigger. O'Neill saw the movement, pushed Sara aside, safely out of the way a fraction of a second before he felt the bullet bite into his arm. The force of it, at such close range, spun him around and drove him to the ground. "Run," he hollered at Sara, pushing her away with his good arm.
She started to go, hesitated, unwilling to leave him.
"I'll shoot him again if you leave," the man threatened.
Sara started back.
"NO!" Jack shouted, clutching his bleeding bicep, his teeth gritted, forcing himself to his feet, charging at the man. He felt another bullet whistle past his head and then he was on top of his attacker. They were rolling on the ground, O'Neill knocking the gun away as they battered at each other. The man hit Jack in the chest once and again, knowing where to hurt him, knocking the wind out of him, starting the old ache in his chest where he had been wounded.
The fight didn't last long as the attacker prevailed over the nearly but not entirely recovered Colonel. The stranger was quickly standing, O'Neill lying winded at his feet. The man was looking for the gun.
"Don't touch him," said Sara. She held the gun out in front of her, in both hands, in the shooters' stance Jack had taught her so long ago. "Get away from him," she ordered.
"Now, little lady, you're not going to use that."
"I will," there was a touch of hysteria in her voice. "Jack..."
O'Neill was moaning, coughing and gasping for air, rolling away from the stranger and trying to get to his feet.
"Stay there," she ordered as the man advanced toward her, and Sara began retreating, until her back hit the side of the Jeep. "Stop."
He didn't.
She remembered everything Jack had taught her, years ago at the shooting range: safety off, aim for the torso, the biggest target. Hold your breath. Squeeze, don't jerk the trigger. A gunshot rang out. Another and another. The man fell, clutching his chest, ragged breaths rasping and slowing.
Jack was crawling toward her, as Sara sagged to the ground, sobbing.
He made it to her, taking the gun from her numb fingers, cradling her against his heaving chest. He knew what that moment had cost her, knew how much she hated guns, since Charlie, knew how much courage it had taken to pick it up and Oh God, use it to save him.
"Sara?"
She was sobbing into his chest, unable to stop shaking and crying. "Oh God, Oh God, Oh God."
"Sara. Honey. Please." He lifted her chin to look up at him. "I, ahh, I think I need to get to the hospital," he said apologetically, showing her his arm where the blood was still flowing at an alarming rate.
She staggered to the Jeep, pulled out the car phone, and started dialing 911.
"No," he stopped her, "call the base. 555- 4915."
Shakily, she dialed and explained what had happened. "Hurry," she said, and sank back to sit on the ground beside Jack, using a strip ripped from his shirt to tie around his arm, the primitive tourniquet slowing the bleeding.
She was still shaking.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah. No," she was shivering, and huddled on the ground beside him, clinging to him. "Is he...?"
"Dead? Oh yeah."
"Oh my God."
They were wrapped in each other's arms 15 minutes later when they heard vehicles enter the parking lot, lights shining, and General Hammond, Teal'c, Daniel, Sam, Dr. Fraiser and half a dozen SFs jumped out of the trio of vehicles. "Hi guys," said Jack.
"Trouble again, Colonel?" asked Hammond.
"Sorry, Sir. I guess there was one more."
"I guess so, Colonel," the General answered dryly.
Three days later, Jack O'Neill was sent home from the hospital, again. Five minutes after getting into his house, and convincing Daniel he was going to take a nap and needed peace and quiet, he was back out the door, defying doctor's orders by going to Sara's house. She hadn't been to visit, hadn't even answered her phone. He had to see her. Awkwardly, he climbed into the Jeep and drove carefully, onehandedly to her house.
He knocked and when she didn't answer, he tried the door. It was open. "Sara," he called.
"Jack," the greeting was subdued.
"Can I come in?"
"You already are."
Ah, she really didn't want to see him.
"What are you doing here?" she said, looking away, not wanting to see the hurt look on his face.
"I needed to talk to you."
"So talk," she said, thinking this was a change of pace, him wanting to talk to her.
"Sara, I'm sorry."
"For what, this time?"
"For what happened. For what you had to do."
She said nothing.
"I know that was hard..."
"Hard? Hard? Jack, I killed a man," she said with a shiver.
"He was trying to kill us."
"It doesn't matter. I killed a man. I used a gun, and I shot that man, and he died right there in front of me. Just like...." she sobbed.
"Just like Charlie," he said softly.
"Yes." She turned away. "Jack, I can't do this. I can't deal with this. Every time I'm around you, there's more blood and death, and..."
There was anguish in his face, that hurt look that made her want to reach out and hug him. She forced herself to stay away, wrapping her arms around herself. "Jack, I.... please, I just can't see you. Not now. Maybe later. Maybe when I've had time to deal with this, to think about this."
Silently, he nodded, climbed to his feet. "Take care, Sara," he said, turning his back and walking out the door.
As Jack climbed slowly back into his Jeep, Sara O'Neill stood in the doorway, watching him go, her heart in her throat, tears on her cheeks.
Why did it always have to be this way between them?
Why couldn't love be enough?
Whoever said love conquers all was a lying son of a bitch, she thought, and closed the door.
Daniel Jackson was surprised to see the door to Colonel O'Neill's office was open. He looked in, saw his friend sitting quietly, staring at a sheet of paper on his desk. Daniel knocked on the door and walked in. "Hi, good to...." he started cheerily, then let his voice trail off "see you..." at the look on Jack's face. "What's that?" he asked, looking at the paper.
O'Neill looked up, looked back at the paper, pen poised above it. "My resignation."
Daniel chuckled. "Yeah right. You must have a stock pile of those on hand..." and then he looked again at the man's face, and realized this was no joke. "Ah, Jack, you aren't really going to resign, this time?"
O'Neill shrugged, stood up, turned his back to his friend, said very softly, "I don't know what I want, Daniel."
Jackson knew something had happened, something having to do with Sara, and Jack's hopes of patching up his marriage had failed. Again. Daniel knew what it was like to want something, and not get it. That was a thing he had lived with all his life, and he knew Jack had, too. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with Sara."
Jack turned back to his friend, "me too," he said quietly, and walked away.
General George Hammond turned out the lights in his office and closed the door, glad that another long day was over. Without SG-1, his premier team, things were a mess on the gate schedule. He needed them back in the rotation, and soon he was going to have to make a decision to put SG-1 back to work, with or without Colonel Jack O'Neill.
Hammond walked out of his office and started across the dimly lit briefing room. He almost missed the lone figure standing quietly at the window in the darkness, looking down into the gate room.
"Colonel O'Neill?"
The figure at the window turned to his CO, his face still in shadow. "Yes, Sir."
"Colonel, it's nearly midnight. What are you still doing here?"
The wide shoulders shrugged. "Thinking."
Hammond sighed. Dangerous business, O'Neill thinking. The General spotted a piece of paper on the table, looked over, saw the familiar document, one he'd seen before, a letter of resignation, but this one wasn't signed. Yet.
"This yours?"
"Yes Sir."
"Going to sign it, Jack?"
The shoulders shrugged again. "Don't know."
Ah, thought Hammond, and waited.
The quiet figure turned away, back to the Stargate.
After a few moments of silence, a quiet question floated out of the darkness."When I first met you, you told me you were about to retire. Why are you still here?"
Hammond thought a moment, knew this answer was important, knew the wrong words would send O'Neill running, never to return; didn't know if there were any right words, not in the mood the man was in. "I couldn't let them win."
"Who, the snakes?" O'Neill asked bluntly.
"Not just them, Jack. The politicians. Men like Samuels and Maybourne. All of those who wouldn't appreciate what this is, what it means in terms beyond just the military, all of them who wouldn't understand what you and Dr. Jackson and Teal'c and the others have sacrificed, for this country and this world."
"Is it enough?"
"Sometimes." Hammond paused, then went on. "You know, it was right in this room, just about two months ago, that I told your team about the shooting, told them the police suspected you had done it. You would have been proud of them, Jack. Not a one of them believed you could have done it. Teal'c, Carter, Daniel, they all jumped to your defense. Like a family, rallying around."
O'Neill's shoulders sagged. "They're all the family I have," he whispered.
"Son, I can't tell you what to do. Only you can decide what you need to do. I don't want you to quit and I know your team doesn't want you to quit, and I doubt there's anyone here who wants you to quit, because we all know what you mean to this place. But you have to decide what this place means to you. You can't step through that gate unless you know that's what you ought to be doing, Jack."
Long silent moments passed. Then O'Neill turned to the table, and picked up the letter. For one awful moment Hammond thought the Colonel was going to sign the paper, but instead O'Neill neatly ripped the page in half and tossed the pieces into the wastepaper basket.
"Dr. Fraiser cleared me for duty on Monday," he said softly.
"We'll see you then, Colonel," the General suppressed a sigh of relief. "It will be good to have you back."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you Sir."
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