• WARNINGS: Uncle Jack’s Potty Mouth, and a bit of grossness
• SPOILERS: Not really
• Season: Anything after 6
• SUMMARY: Assumptions may prove deadly as Jack discovers that what you don’t know can hurt you.
• PG-13 [D] [Hc]

Life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.
By: William Goldman, "The Princess Bride"

* * * * *

"Remind me to kill Siler." Jack straightened up and placed his hands on the small of his back, stretching his aching muscles.

Teal’c looked over at him, frowning. Without looking up, Carter grunted non-committally. Daniel whirled to face him.

"Siler? You want us to remind you to kill Siler?"

"Daniel, don’t start with . . ."

"I can’t believe you."

Okay, here we go. Again.

"Need I remind you, oh great leader, that this is our day off? Mine and Teal’c’s and Sam’s."

"And mine," Jack interjected, but Daniel chose to ignore him.

"I promised Teal’c I’d take him to the Denver Zoo today. Sam had a date to meet someone at the health club this morning. Which she had to cancel, by the way. Not to mention the fact that we were all planning on heading over to Janet’s for a chili supper."

"Daniel." Damn, the guy could be such a whiner that Jack couldn’t prevent the exasperation from leaking into his voice. "We’ll be done in plenty of time to go to Janet’s. And, by the way, two grown men going to the zoo?" He made a face at the younger man.

"What’s wrong with that?"

Teal’c paused in his work. "I wish to see giraffes and elephants."

"Good for you, Teal’c. And there’s nothing wrong with going to the zoo. It’s just . . . well, the two of you going together? Alone? It’d look a little . . . weird. Why don’t you take Cassie?"

"I do not believe Cassandra Fraiser wishes to go."

"Oh, come on," Jack grabbed the rake he’d propped up against the side of Siler’s house, "all kids like the zoo."

Daniel leaned on his own rake and glared. "In case you hadn’t noticed, Cassie isn’t exactly a kid any more. I don’t think hanging out with Uncle Teal’c at the zoo is her idea of entertainment."

"Geez. Then take Carter."

Sam continued raking, keeping her back to her CO. "Because it’s not Carter’s idea of entertainment either. Sir."

"Ah, it speaks." Jack reached under the edge of the porch with the rake, pulling out a wet, decomposing pile of leaves. "So, Carter, you had a date, huh?" He could feel her glare on the back of his neck. No answer. Oh, swell. "Well, if you won’t remind me to kill Siler, could you at least remind me to never bet with him again?"

"Consider it done," Daniel snapped.

These people had no sense of humor. So he’d lost a little bet on a game. What was the big deal? Siler was a little strapped, what with having three kids to feed, so they’d anted up a few fall chores instead. Jack’s team against Siler’s: Colorado Avalanche versus the Phoenix Coyotes; SG-1 against Siler’s techies. And that’s where they . . . well, Jack, made his mistake. If Jack’s team won, Siler and his crew would wash and wax Jack’s truck, clean out his garage and gutters, and put up the storm windows on his house. If Siler’s team won, SG-1 would clean up Siler’s yard and empty out the shed behind his house.

What Siler had neglected to mention was that he lived on a one-acre lot and the shed behind his house hadn’t been emptied since he’d moved here, which judging by the quick look Jack had gotten of the shed’s contents, had to have been around the turn of the century . . . maybe the eighteenth one. That probably explained why the entire Siler clan was conveniently out of town on the scheduled clean-up day.

What Jack had neglected was to tell his team they were part of the deal. Honest to God, it hadn’t even dawned on him that the Avs would lose.

"So," Jack leaned on the handle of the rake and watched his team members working, "anybody happen to catch that game? I mean, I know they lost, but it was close."

As one, they stopped what they were doing and looked at him.

"What?"

Carter glanced at Teal’c, then at Daniel. Teal’c nodded slightly, and Daniel grinned. They dropped their tools. Carter headed for her car, the other two close on her heels.

"Where are you going?" No answer. Again. "Hey! Get back here. We’re not finished."

Daniel stopped and turned to look at him. For the first time since he’d arrived, the man looked positively happy. "You’re not finished. We, on the other hand, are done."

That being said, the three piled into the small car, Daniel in the back and Teal’c wedging himself into the front passenger seat. Carter revved up the engine as Teal’c lowered his window. Without so much as a wave in Jack’s direction, they took off down the road. He watched until they disappeared from view, then turned back to his work. Well, he’d managed to get two hours out of them. That was two hours longer than he’d thought they’d last. Guess that meant he owed Fraiser dinner and two tickets to the next game.

It was dark by the time he finished. The yard hadn’t been too bad. Siler and his wife, Claire, had an older, two-story farmhouse. It reminded Jack of his Aunt June’s house. She’d lived on the outskirts of Chicago, and as a kid his folks had taken him and his brothers there to visit twice a year. Her house had always been neat as a pin, inside and out. Siler’s appeared to be just about as neat. The lawn was mowed and the shrubs were all trimmed. Someone, probably Claire, had decorated the front with pumpkins and hay bales. Mainly, the leaves had just gotten out of hand. Not surprising when you considered how much time Siler spent at the SGC.

The shed was a different matter. Siler hadn’t lied when he’d said it was a mess. Jack spent nearly six hours cleaning it up. The hardest part was the sorting - figuring out what should be trashed and what should be kept. He felt a little funny at first, then just decided he’d treat it like it was his own. So in the end, if it wasn’t something he would have kept himself, it was bagged up and hauled to the curb. Once that job was done, the rest went quickly. He moved everything that was left out onto the yard in order to sweep out the shed. Coughing at the dust he was raising, he filled two garbage bags with about 50 years’ worth of debris. Then, it was just a matter of hauling the little that remained back inside.

Jack stood in the open doorway of the shed and admired his handiwork. It actually looked pretty good, and despite the circumstances, he was pleased with himself. Never let it be said that Jack O’Neill welches on a bet. He shut and locked the shed doors, and glanced at his watch. Just shy of 1800 hours. It was dark and he was exhausted. But, the good kind of exhausted that comes with a day of accomplishing something, even if it was for someone else. Actually, the fact that it was for someone else made it feel even better, even if it was to pay off a bet. Janet’s dinner was supposed to start in an hour. Barely time to drive home, shower and shave, then get to Doc’s, but he’d promised he’d be there. Stretching, his joints popping loudly and somewhat painfully, Jack crawled into his truck.

* * * *

"No!"

"Carter . . ."

"Colonel, no means no."

Jack smiled at her. Gave her his best ‘shy guy’ smile - the one he’d been using since he was four years old when he’d found out it could get him an extra scoop of strawberry ice cream from Judy Madison who worked the counter at the local drugstore.

"That won’t work, sir."

"What won’t work?" He could play dumb with the best of them. He’d had lots of practice.

"That." She nodded her head towards her CO, then turned her back, burying her face in a microscope. "That silly grin."

Silly grin? Okay, maybe he needed to work on that. "Come on. It’s just a friendly little game of street hockey."

She huffed loudly, fidgeted with the knob on the microscope, then glared up at him. "If you won’t remind me to kill Siler, at least remind me to never bet with him again."

"What?"

"Your words, sir. Spoken, hmm," she appeared to think about it, "less than two weeks ago as you . . . strike that, as we were in the midst of the not so pleasant task of repaying your debt. To the very same man you’re now wanting to take on in a ‘friendly little game of street hockey.’" She smiled unpleasantly. "Ringing any bells?"

"Okay. Okay, tell me this, Major Wiseacre: why is it when I say something like, oh, I don’t know, ‘Carter, maybe we shouldn’t piss off these nice little aliens,’ you don’t listen? But when I say something stupid, you not only listen, you never forget it? Why is that?"

She smirked. "Physics, sir?"

Carter was developing quite the little smart-mouth. Jack glared at her, but she merely turned back to her microscope. He mumbled something unkind under his breath, and stormed out of her office.

Daniel. He’d ask Daniel. And Teal’c.

* * * *

"You won? You actually won?"

Jack leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on his desk, stretching out his sore legs. "You say that like you don’t believe it."

"Well, I . . .," Carter looked around at each of her teammates, her gaze stopping on Daniel.

"What?" He sounded hurt. "Why are you looking at me?"

"I’d take it as an insult if I were you, Danny-boy."

"No," she said too quickly, insincerely. "No. I just . . . I mean, I’m surprised. That’s all. I thought . . ."

It was so rare for Carter to be at a loss for words, that in itself was worth all Jack’s aching muscles. Still, he wouldn’t deny that it was nice to have a freshly waxed truck. The steak and lobster dinner hadn’t hurt either. "It’s just that she thought we would lose," he announced to Daniel and Teal’c.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Daniel snorted.

Teal’c smiled slightly. "In fact, Daniel Jackson scored the winning goal."

"He did?" Carter stared over at Daniel. "You did?"

"Um . . ."

"Yes," Jack sat up straight in his chair, wincing at the ache in his back. "Yes, he did." No need for her to know that Jack himself had actually slammed the puck between the goalie’s skates. He’d been in the midst of scrabbling for control of the elusive game piece when Daniel had wobbled up on his roller blades and managed to accidentally kick the puck into the goal while everyone else was fighting. "It was a great shot, too, by the way."

"Wow. I’m sorry, Daniel. I had no idea."

Daniel pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. "That’s okay, Sam. I try not to talk about it much. You know, my . . . my . . ."

"Sports acumen?" Jack supplied.

"Uh, yeah." Daniel smiled warily. "Yeah, that."

* * * * *

"I’m still not sure about this." Jack stepped out of the elevator on Level 21 and headed towards the infirmary, Carter walking alongside him.

"Well, Daniel says he’s found evidence that the residents may have recently defeated the Goa’uld."

"All because of some squiggly lines written in the sand."

"It’s a little more than that, sir."

He huffed softly and glared at his second in command. "Okay. All because of some squiggly lines carved into sandstone."

Sam flushed slightly and tried not to grin. "Yes, sir. That’s about the size of it."

"How do we even know those squiggly lines actually say anything? I mean, for all we know, Jackson could be making this stuff up as he goes along."

She chuckled softly. "Well, I guess we just have to take his word for it, sir." Her CO pushed open the infirmary door and stepped through in front of her.

"Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

"Don’t have to like what?" Daniel was sitting on the bed nearest the door, swinging his legs as one of Fraiser’s nurses drew blood from his arm with a huge needle.

Trying not to look, Jack walked past him. He grimaced as he eased his sore body onto the next bed. It’d been two days since their game against Siler’s techies but instead of lessening, it seemed the ache in his muscles was getting worse by the hour, especially his back and hamstrings.

"Don’t have to like what, Jack?" Daniel repeated.

"Don’t have to like having huge, honkin’ needles shoved through my skin." Jack frowned as Karen, the evil nurse, approached him with a tray of sharp, shiny instruments. She set the tray on the table by the bed and smiling pleasantly at him, left the room. "Daniel, are you sure you know what that damn post says?"

"Something about ‘here lies what remains of the god Min who was killed by’ something, something."

"See, it’s that ‘something, something’ that has me worried."

Daniel stood up and pulled on his BDU shirt over his t-shirt, looking over at his CO. "Aren’t you the least bit curious about who or what killed Min?"

"Men? As in . . . guys?" He knew what Daniel meant, but he couldn’t help harassing him.

"Min. M-I-N. The god of fertility," Daniel patiently instructed for probably the tenth time today.

"Ah." Jack couldn’t help but smile. "Maybe Lucky Guy’s luck just ran out."

"Lucky guy, sir?"

Still grinning, Jack looked over his shoulder at Carter. "Yeah. You know, god of fertility. I mean, come on, you gotta admit that if you’re gonna be a god of something, then this guy had the right idea."

Carter shook her head in disgust.

"What?"

"It’s just . . . nothing."

"What’s nothing?" Janet breezed into the infirmary carrying three charts and smiling.

"Oh," Sam unbuttoned her BDU shirt and eyed the back of her CO’s head. "The Colonel was just admiring the career choice of Min . . . M-I-N." At Janet’s blank look, she added, "The god of fertility."

"Oh." Janet shrugged. "Well, I have to agree with you, sir. If you’ve got to be the god of something . . ."

"See," Jack smiled. "That’s what I said."

"So, what’s Min’s sign, Daniel?" Carter tapped her forehead with one finger as Janet slipped a blood pressure cuff around her arm.

"Oh, uh, well, it could be one of two things actually. Either an, uh, well, an erect penis or possibly a flail."

"A flail?" Jack chuckled.

"Yeah, a flail. It’s a . . ."

"I know what a flail is, Daniel. It’s a whip. A damn whip. So you’re saying this guy is into sex and whips?"

"Ew," Janet mumbled as she frowned, intent on listening to Carter’s heartbeat. She pulled the stethoscope away and tucked it around her neck.

"Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it." Jack fumbled with the buttons of his BDU shirt. When he looked up, they were all staring at him. "What?" They said nothing. "What? Well, isn’t that what they say?"

Daniel grunted softly. "Yeah. Yeah, that’s what they say, Jack."

"Well, okay then." Jack untucked his shirt.

Daniel stared at him a moment longer, then flinched as if clearing his thoughts. "Well, um, I’m going to go . . . uh," he looked at Jack again, curiously.

"Pack?"

"Right. Pack." Almost reluctantly, Daniel left.

Janet handed Carter off to one of her nurses for the usual blood samples that were taken before every mission. Patting Sam’s arm, she moved over to the Colonel.

He forced a tentative smile on his face. "I gave at the office."

"You say that every time."

"And you never listen."

She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm. "Oh, I listen. I just don’t believe you."

For once, he sat quietly while she measured and noted his blood pressure. As she slipped the stethoscope into her ears and reached under his t-shirt to press it against his chest, she studied his face. The others, Daniel and Sam, even Teal’c, were up front about any physical problems. The Colonel, however, was a different story altogether. You had to watch him like a hawk; search for any subtle signs of a problem; give him the third degree if you suspected there was even the slightest thing wrong; and then hope like hell that you asked the right questions in order to get the answers you needed. After all these years, she knew him well enough to know some of the signs and she watched for them now.

Sam pulled on her shirt and hopped off her bed. "See you in the gate room, sir."

"Yeah." Jack nodded at her as she walked by, then stared back at a vague spot over Janet’s shoulder.

Except for a couple of nurses who were working at the other end of the room, they were alone. Janet always planned it so that the Colonel was either the first or last member of his team to arrive at or leave the infirmary. That allowed her a few minutes during which she could privately grill him and increase the odds of getting an honest response. "So, anything I should know about, Colonel?"

"Nope."

"You look a bit tired."

Irritated, he glanced at her before returning his gaze to the wall behind her. "I am a bit tired. I’m getting old, remember?"

Janet smiled and pulled the stethoscope from his chest. As he pulled his t-shirt down, she saw him grimace slightly. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That?" She nodded towards him and grabbed his t-shirt, easing it up despite his protests. High up on his left side, a dark bruise wrapped around his lean rib cage. "Okay. You were going to mention this, right?" He stared at her. "Please say yes."

"Um, no."

"And why not?"

"Because it’s nothing?"

She gently prodded the ribs beneath the bruising, not unaware that he was tensing at her touch. "What happened?"

"Oh, you didn’t hear about the big game?" When she shook her head, he smiled. "SG-1 kicked techie butt in a game of street hockey."

She pulled his shirt back down. "Well, obviously, they managed to get in a few kicks of their own. Karen?"

A nurse at the far end of the room, turned to her. "Yes, ma’am?"

"Let’s get some films on Colonel O’Neill."

"Doc, really, that’s not necessary. I didn’t even get hit that hard. Besides, I’m scheduled to go off-world in less than an hour."

"Then we’ll hurry. But you’re not going anywhere until I get a look at those ribs."

* * * * *

Hammond stood in the control room, looking down at three-fourths of SG-1. Teal’c was standing quietly off to one side, the picture of serenity, while Major Carter and Dr. Jackson were leafing through a tome that Jackson had pulled from his backpack. If the young man knew what was good for him, he’d make sure he stashed the volume back in its hiding place before O’Neill discovered his archaeologist was toting around 50 pounds of paper. Speaking of whom . . .

Just as he turned to go to his office to telephone the infirmary, Dr. Fraiser climbed the steps into the control room. Hammond waited for her to approach.

"Doctor?"

Even as he spoke and in answer to his question, he caught sight of O’Neill entering the embarkation room kitted out for a trip through the Stargate.

"He’s cleared to go, sir."

"What was the hold-up? Major Carter said something about possible injuries . . ."

"Seems that a couple of days ago, the Colonel, Daniel and Teal’c were involved in a game of street hockey against Sergeant Siler and some of the technicians. Apparently, it got a bit . . . physical."

"But he’s all right?"

"He’s bruised, sore, and proud as punch." Janet smiled. "But nothing is cracked or broken. So, yes, sir, he’ll be fine."

Hammond nodded and tapped Sergeant Davis on the shoulder. "Dial it up."

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

The event horizon snapped into non-existence, leaving SG-1 standing at the base of the podium on which the Stargate was perched. Jack signaled for Teal’c to fan out and the two of them began a recon of the area as Carter checked out the DHD. Meanwhile, Daniel sat down at the base of the carved rock that had drawn them here in the first place. Finding nothing, Jack made his way back to his team members.

"Well, kiddies, welcome to Planet S&M. Daniel?"

The archaeologist ignored him, mumbling softly to himself as he ran his fingers over the carved squiggly lines that Jack had been assured were an actual written language.

He cleared his throat and squatted down next to Daniel, his knees popping loudly. "So, what’s the scoop?"

"It’s going to take a while."

"Define ‘a while.’"

Daniel didn’t answer for a moment, then glanced at Jack as if surprised to see him there. "Huh? Oh, uh, I don’t know. A day. Maybe two."

"A day? Maybe two?" Jack pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. Crap. His head was already throbbing and Daniel had just managed to kick it up a notch. "Okay," groaning softly, he pushed himself to his feet, "we might as well get comfortable. Carter, phone home. Let them know we’re gonna be here a while. T, you can help me set up camp." He glanced around the small clearing. "Over there," he pointed to an area that was partially protected by a small grove of trees.

Five hours later, three of the four members of SG-1 were bored. Well, make that two - Carter was sitting on the ground next to Daniel, leafing through a huge book that looked like it must weight at least 10 pounds. Sitting on the steps of the gate platform, his P90 cradled on his lap, Jack watched them. He found it amazing that anyone could find something carved in a rock so intriguing. Glancing at Teal’c, who was standing guard at the edge of the clearing, he decided to make that one - one member of the team who was bored.

Setting his P90 beside him, he shifted his weight and leaned back on his elbows, resting his aching head on the step behind and above him. Jack tugged his cap down over his face and shut his eyes. It was pleasant here. The sun . . . well, two small suns, were shining overhead. Temperature 78 degrees Fahrenheit; 39% humidity. According to Ralph the MALP anyway. All in all, not a bad place to be.

Something buzzed quietly near his ear and he opened his eyes, searching for the source. There. A gnat or a mosquito or something. He swatted at . . . gently. After all, wouldn’t want a repeat of that damned trip to that moon where the snarky scientists hadn’t listened to him. He shivered at the memory of being zatted, closely followed by a serious reaming from a swarm of those bug thingies. Nope. It just doesn’t pay to piss off the locals. Even if they are just fireflies.

His visitor darted to the right, then out of sight, and Jack shut his eyes again, relaxing, wondering if he’d be back home in time for the Avs game on Thursday. He had four tickets and had given two to Janet. Well, ‘given’ wasn’t exactly the word for it. She’d stolen them, basically. Well, okay, won them. Siler and Fraiser - two people with whom he should stop placing bets. Maybe Teal’c could go. Him, Janet, Cassie and Teal’c. Yeah, that’d be good.

"So, if you’re right. . .," Carter’s voice was soft and died away, her thought remaining unspoken.

"If I’m right, then it says: At this place . . . the Great God Min . . . was defeated . . . in battle against . . ."

Carter waited, as did Jack. Eyes still shut, he listened.

"Against?"

Good question, Major.

"I’m not sure. This whole section here is confusing. I recognize only scattered words."

"Which words?"

"Um, well, here. That looks like evil or demon. And that is three. Definitely the number three. Then . . . something. Hmm. I don’t know. Then, a crest or . . . wake. That’s it, wake."

"Wake?" Carter sounded as if she didn’t believe him.

"Maybe they’re Irish." Jack raised his head to find Carter and Daniel staring at him like he was crazy. "What?" Daniel frowned. "You know . . . a wake. They killed Min and then they threw a beer bash to celebrate."

Carter grinned and Daniel shook his head.

"Not that kind of wake, Jack. Wake as in . . . in their wake. You know, like they left something behind them."

"Oh." He dropped his head back down and shut his eyes again. Headaches sucked, especially when you were bored.

* * * * *

Jack awakened suddenly, knowing without looking that it was nearly time for him to take watch. Burrowed in his sleeping bag, he shivered against the cold that seeped through the thin, nylon walls of his one-man tent. As soon as the suns had gone down, the air had turned frigid. The pleasant 80 degree temperature had plummeted within the space of three-quarters of an hour to around 35 degrees . . . tops.

Hearing the soft murmur of voices, Jack stuck his head out of the sleeping bag to listen. Carter and Daniel? He glanced at the illuminated dial of his watch. He was right. Third watch. Just shy of 0200 hours. What the hell was Daniel doing up?

Jack crawled out of his bag, moaning softly. "God."

Screw the bruised ribs that Janet had been so concerned about. They were a mere annoyance compared to the ache in his back and legs; to say nothing of the headache which throbbed against the backs of his eyes. Sitting hunched over in the dark, he waited for the various pains to settle before dragging his pack closer and switching on his flashlight. He found the medkit and dry swallowed four ibuprofen. Okay, that’s it, absolutely no more street hockey. Not until spring anyway.

He managed to pull on his boots and coat, slipped his 9mm into his holster and grabbed his P90. Crawling out of the tent and getting upright was difficult - too difficult. Doing it quietly was impossible. Carter and Daniel, huddled near the campfire and cradling steaming mugs of what must be coffee, turned to look at him.

"Jack? You okay?"

"Daniel," he zipped his jacket and propped his P90 against the log on which his teammates were sitting, "what the hell are you doing up? You’re supposed to have last watch."

"Couldn’t sleep."

"Everything’s been quiet, sir."

Jack looked out at the clearing which formed a half circle around them. In the light of a very dim, very small moon, the Stargate rose like a malevolent monolith out of the short grass. Beyond it, he could make out the silhouette of the trees on the other end of the football-shaped clearing. Coughing softly, Jack walked away and stepped into the small grove of aspen-like trees. Listening to the soft murmur of Carter’s and Daniel’s voices, watching the flickering flames of the campfire, he stood behind a tree and emptied his bladder. When he returned, Carter was getting ready to turn in.

"Night, sir."

"Major."

He waited until she disappeared inside her tent before picking up her discarded cup. Sniffing the contents, he added more coffee and sat down next to Daniel. His profile to the flames, Jack sipped the warm liquid and stared out across the clearing.

"So, what seems to be the problem, Daniel?"

"No problem. I just keep thinking about the pillar and what it says."

"And?"

"And nothing. I don’t . . . I can’t explain it. I just feel like it’s more important than we originally thought. But I’m not sure why."

He looked over at the younger man, who was bundled into a thick parka and frowning into his cup. Jack shivered and clutched his own cup tighter. "So what have you got so far?"

"Um, well, that bit about Min being defeated by someone. And then, I think the end is something like ‘the three who came and left nothing or ruins in their wake.’"

"Hmm." Jack coughed and watched his breath fog out in front of him. "Not much to go on."

"No. Not enough. But I really need to figure this out."

"So you think this rock is, what? A signpost? A warning, maybe?"

"Maybe." Daniel chuckled softly. "It’s just a feeling. It’s probably nothing, Jack."

"Yeah. Probably." Jack set his cup on the ground by his foot and checked the magazine on his P90. He stood up, grimacing at the pain which had settled in his muscles, particularly his hamstrings. "Go to bed. Get some sleep."

Daniel looked up at him, smiling tiredly.

"Tomorrow, Dr. Jackson, you and I are going to re-visit the obvious disadvantages of lugging books across the galaxy."

"Yes sir, Colonel sir."

"And don’t forget it." He coughed once, then disappeared into the darkness.

* * * * *

Jack knelt close and touched Teal’c on the shoulder. The Jaffa roused immediately, without moving. He pressed his mouth against Teal’c’s ear. "A dozen unknowns. Nine, eleven and two o’clock." He pointed Teal’c towards the left, into the grove of trees, knowing his friend would slip around and try to flank whoever was surrounding them.

Jack had been patrolling close to the Stargate near the end of his watch when he’d first spied them. Whoever they were, they were humanoid. That much he was able to determine from the brief glimpse he’d had of one of them hunched over, moving through the grass. For the last half hour, he’d been slowly making his way around them, coming in through the same grove of trees where he’d sent Teal’c. Afraid using his radio would give away his location, he’d managed to worm his way past them unnoticed. Now, he needed to awaken Carter and Daniel, while praying that the natives were just shy and not unfriendly. Yeah, right.

Daniel came awake quickly and quietly. He’d learned a lot since the early days, and Jack felt a surge of pride, mingled with relief, when the first thing Daniel reached for was his weapon and not his glasses. "What’s happening?"

"Unknowns," Jack whispered, "trying to surround us. Head for the trees and wait for me. I’ll get Carter."

Daniel slipped on his glasses and began pulling on his shoes. "Can’t we just try to talk to them?"

"Good idea. We’ll do that . . . as soon as they put down their weapons and come out with their hands up." Jack frowned over at Daniel. "Now, make a run for the trees. Quietly."

Jack eased out of Daniel’s tent, not looking around when he heard Daniel slip out behind him and scurry over to the tree line just six yards away. His knees killing him, Jack remained hunched over and hurried towards Carter’s tent. Halfway there, he heard a noise. The sound of a scuffle. The sidewalls of her tent flapped, and he could hear her strained voice as she instructed her enemy on just where he’d better not put his hands.

Cursing, Jack squeezed into the tent and shoved a cocked and loaded 9mm against the skull of Carter’s attacker. With his left hand, he grabbed a handful of the man’s greasy hair and pulled, hard.

"Don’t even think about it."

But the man did, oblivious to the deadly weapon pressed just behind his right ear. Jack grunted at the impact of an elbow in his already sore ribs, then used the momentum of the man’s swing to his advantage, rolling both himself and the alien off of Carter. The men hit the side of the small tent and it buckled, threatening to collapse.

His enemy rolled onto his back, facing Jack, and in the dim light of the campfire that filtered through the thin canvas walls, he saw the glint of a blade. Dodging the man’s flailing legs, Jack grabbed the native’s arm with his left hand and held on. Behind him, he could hear Carter panting, trying to free herself from the confines of the sleeping bag. Trying to fend off the man’s free hand, refusing to let go of either the guy’s arm or his own weapon, Jack pounded his enemy’s wrist against the ground, hard and repeatedly, trying to weaken his grip on the knife.

"Let go, you sorry . . ."

There was a soft snap and the intruder groaned, his hand opening and the knife dropping to the floor of the tent. Jack knocked it away with his left foot and tried to ward off a punch to the belly from the guy’s free hand. The blow was solid, but did little other than knock a bit of the wind from Jack’s lungs. Straddling his enemy’s waist, Jack pulled back with his right, prepared to knock the man senseless.

Suddenly, fire lit up his groin and Jack fell forward onto the squirming assailant. His vision fading, nausea clenching his insides, Jack gagged and struggled against unconsciousness.

"Oh, God." In agony, he forced himself back up to his knees. As his assailant howled, Jack pulled back for the final blow. The intruder grabbed Jack’s left hand. Sensing the end was near, the man’s fight became enraged and desperate. As Jack aimed the pistol grip at the side of the man’s head, he felt a slight pinch and then pain flared across his left hand and up his wrist. Roaring in agony and from the effort, he slammed the pistol into the man’s head and immediately his adversary went limp.

Gasping and moaning, Jack rolled off the man, cupping his groin with the hand that still held the pistol, and holding his left hand up in the air. He was aware of Carter checking to make sure their assailant was down for the count.

"Sir?" She shuffled towards him. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" Jack rocked back and forth, still fighting a wave of nausea. "We’ve got to get out of here. There are more where this one came from." Accepting the hand up she offered, Jack wobbled drunkenly to his knees and groaned, bending over and eyeing the unconscious alien. "Geez. He didn’t have to knee me in the nuts."

"Actually, Colonel, that was me." When he glared at her, she shrugged an apology. "I was aiming for him."

"Yeah, well, you missed."

"What about your hand?"

When she reached for his raised left hand, he pushed her towards the opening of the tent with his elbow. "Son-of-a-bitch bit me. Can you believe it? Now, go on."

Following her towards the tent flap, something exploded against the back of his head. The last thing he saw was the sole of Carter’s boot headed straight for his face.

* * * * *

Jack groaned. He heard himself, was a bit embarrassed, but couldn’t seem to stop the noise from rising up the back of his throat. He rolled to his right and was rewarded with a dull throbbing in his hands and pain spiking up his back and down the backs of his legs. His head . . . well, that was a whole other category of pain. A solid 8 on the Fraiser scale of 1 to 10. He groaned again for good measure, then opened his eyes. Two blonde, blue-eyed Carters sat next to him, watching him closely. He blinked her back into one slightly tarnished Major.

"Sir? How do you feel?"

Okay. So how is it that someone who’s supposed to be so smart can ask the most stupid question possible? He coughed softly and grimaced as the pain ratcheted. His entire body hurt and to make matters worse, he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten here. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Something was holding his arms behind his back; they were hooked on something. Caught.

"Hold still."

Despite her order, he tugged weakly against whatever held him and felt something bite into his wrists, causing his left hand to throb painfully. "Shit."

"Try not to move."

He squinted around the small, dark room. "What the hell’s going on?"

"We were attacked by some natives and brought here."

"Where’s," he attempted to look over his shoulder, trying to see what was holding him, "here?"

"Their village. You’ve been unconscious for hours."

Hours? Really? He raised his throbbing head and looked at her, studying her closely. Something wasn’t right. "Carter, where are your arms?"

She smiled. "Tied behind my back. Like yours."

"Oh." So that was the problem. He lowered his head back down to the floor. "Wait. You said ‘village.’ That’s a pretty big word. Why didn’t it come up during the briefing?"

"Uh," Carter blushed slightly, "well, sir, seems they have it well camouflaged. It’s tucked away under a canopy of trees. It wasn’t visible on the UAV."

"And it didn’t," he squinted as pain flashed across his eyes, "it didn’t detect warm bodies moving around down here, either? Geez." He shifted onto his back, hoping for a more comfortable position. That was worse. He rolled back onto his side. "Those things are way over-priced, you ask me." Using his elbow, he painfully levered himself up to a precarious sitting position. "Damn."

"Easy. You took a hard blow."

Jack breathed through the pain. It was everywhere. Starting in his legs and working its way up his body. Dull heat throbbed through his groin, a reminder of his earlier, intimate encounter with his second in command.

"How’s the head, sir?"

He chuckled softly as numerous inappropriate comments tickled the back of his tongue. "Oh, it’s peachy, Major. By the way," he coughed and squinted over at her, "you owe me your firstborn kid, cause I don’t think I’m gonna be having any. Not any time soon, anyway. And maybe never."

She blushed again and squirmed. "Sorry about that. I did get him on the second kick though."

"Ah, well, that makes it okay then." She looked away, and Jack was struck with the vague notion that something was missing. His head pounding, his thoughts fracturing, he looked around the room again. God. "Daniel? Teal’c?"

"Daniel is speaking with the village leaders, trying to figure out what’s going on. Teal’c," she glanced over towards a door he hadn’t even noticed, then lowered her voice, "got away."

Jack felt the weight on his shoulders lift slightly. Ah, that upped the odds a bit in their favor. He smiled at her. "Then we’ll be fine."

"Yes, sir." But she didn’t exactly look convinced.

An hour later, Jack was awakened by Daniel’s return. He pulled himself up from where he’d been leaning into the corner of the wall, and watched as Daniel stumbled inside, thanking his captors as they locked the door behind him. If possible, Jack felt worse. Although, that might have been an exaggeration because he wasn’t sure it was possible. His head throbbed, depositing a metallic taste in the back of his throat that hinted of things to come. His entire body ached, especially his back and legs, but thanks to Carter, even his nuts weren’t immune. His arms had gone numb which, while a relief, couldn’t be a good thing. And there was a distinctly tight feeling beginning to wrap itself around his left eye that made him think he was sporting a shiner to beat all shiners.

"Sam, you okay?" Daniel dropped down in front of his teammate, then glanced over at Jack. "You’re awake."

"More or less," he groused.

"You look like crap."

Jack coughed and glared at him. "Kick him in the balls, Major. We’ll compare notes."

Confused, Daniel stared at Carter, but she shrugged and nodded towards the doorway. "What’d you find out?"

"Well," he sighed and sat down, hugging his knees and making himself comfortable, "I think I’ve . . ."

"Daniel."

The younger man looked over at him.

"I don’t mean to interrupt what I’m sure is going to be a meaningful, enlightening exposé on the archaeological significance of the Village of the Damned, but do you think you could untie us?"

"Oh. Sorry." Daniel scrambled behind Sam and soon had her hands loosened. She brought her arms stiffly in front of her and groaned, rubbing her swollen wrists. He moved over to Jack.

Jack could feel a slight tightening of the binding around his wrists and then blessed relief, soon followed by a surge of blood and pain rushing across his hands and into his fingers. Gasping slightly, he pulled his arms in front of him. Daniel grabbed his left hand and looked at it.

"You’ve got a bad cut there, Jack. We should bandage it."

"It’s a bite, and it’ll get infected," Carter pronounced.

As Daniel pulled out a handkerchief and wrapped it around his palm, Jack frowned over at her. "Thank you, Major, for the vote of confidence." Daniel tied the makeshift bandage in place, and Jack patted him on the shoulder. "That’s fine. Now, what did you find out?"

"Well," Daniel sat back against the wall near Jack, "I finally have my translation."

"Yeah? Let’s hear it."

"At this place the Great God Min was defeated in battle against the interlopers. Warriors of evil and deception. Three who came from afar and left chaos and destruction in their wake."

Jack shrugged. "And that helps us how?"

"You mean, how does that hurt us."

"What?" Jack frowned at Daniel. Sometimes he really hated scientists.

"They think it’s us."

Jack shook his head. "They think who’s us?" Maybe he was hurt worse than he’d thought, but he was having trouble wrapping his brain around what Daniel was so ineffectually trying to say.

"The three interlopers. The warriors of evil and deception." Daniel looked over at Carter and back at Jack. "Us."

"Holy crap," Jack rubbed his eyes.

Even Carter looked confused. "Daniel, I don’t understand."

"They say we were here before. That we destroyed Min."

"That’s ridiculous." Jack wanted to pace, but he hurt too bad. "We’ve never been here before." He looked over at Carter. "Have we?"

"No, sir."

"See."

"Jack, I know that. I know we haven’t been here before. I told them that, but they’re convinced otherwise."

"Well, then . . . un-convince them."

"How do you propose I do that? I’ve told them. I’ve argued with them. But, to be perfectly honest, I," Daniel looked over at Carter before turning back to their commanding officer, "I believe them."

"Excuse me?" Okay, now he really did have to pace, pain or not. Groaning, Jack hauled himself to his feet and swayed as a wave of dizziness swept over him. He gave up on the idea of pacing and decided to go with hanging onto the wall. "Daniel, I know I have a head injury, but I could swear you’re not making any sense. You know we haven’t been here, but you believe them when they say we have." Jack rolled his eyes, then regretted it when pain ricocheted inside his head.

"They have a picture."

"A picture," Carter frowned.

"A photo of us?" Jack chuckled softly. "I don’t think so. I think I’d remember if a group of natives marched us off to the local photography studio for a group shot. Wait a minute. Was it one of those old-fashioned photos? You know, where we dress up Teal’c as a riverboat gambler and Carter as a whor-"

"Dammit, Jack, not that kind of picture. A drawing. A fairly accurate rendering, actually, of the three of us."

Jack coughed and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "This is crazy."

Carter scooted closer to Jackson. "How is that possible? Are you sure it’s us?"

"Well," he looked at Jack as if in apology, "let’s see. Two men and one woman. The woman and one of the guys have light hair and blue eyes. Oh, and here’s the kicker, the other guy is wearing a baseball cap and is carrying a big gun."

"Well," Jack frowned and shrugged, "I mean, come on, that could be anybody." He glanced at Carter and Daniel. "Okay. Okay. So let’s say it was us, which it wasn’t by the way. But even if it was, why whack us over the head and throw us in here? I mean, you’d think they’d be the least bit grateful. We killed a damn snakehead, for cryin’ out loud."

"Exactly." Daniel nodded.

"Daniel," Jack’s voice had taken on that note of exasperation with which they were all too familiar, "I got kicked in the nuts and conked on the head. Give me a friggin’ break."

Daniel stood and stepped closer to Jack. "You said it yourself. If you could have your pick of being any god in the universe, which god would you be?" He didn’t wait for an answer. "They adored him, Jack. According to them, he was . . . he was kind, benevolent. They worshiped him."

Jack forced a tight smile. "Whips and sex. Gotta love ‘em," he mumbled.

"Min cared for them. Provided for them. Since his death, they’ve been at a loss. Their whole civilization is crumbling. They’re struggling to get by."

Jack sighed and coughed softly. His body aching, he slid down and sat on the cold, hard floor, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back. There was a brief silence while the three of them tried to grasp what this turn of events meant.

"So," Jack kept his eyes closed, frowning against the pain which seemed to have taken up permanent residence inside his skull, "think we can talk to them again? Try to convince them otherwise?"

"They’re scheduling a council meeting. I was told they’d come for us when they’re ready to convene."

"Maybe they’ll listen to reason, Colonel. If we could just explain . . ."

"Explain what, Major?" Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Yes, sir."

"Teal’c," he didn’t need to say more.

"Yes, sir."

Not even Daniel could think of anything else to say. They quietly settled themselves around the room.

Trying not to dwell on how miserable he felt, Jack was almost asleep when it hit him. Groaning, he pushed himself up on one elbow. "Clones."

"What?" Daniel blinked over at him, and Carter sat up.

"Dammit to hell." Jack coughed and lowered himself back down with a groan. "If they’d buried the gate like they were supposed to . . ."

"The clones!" Carter looked over at Daniel. "He’s right. That’s got to be it."

"They came here. Before P2X 729." Daniel sat up. "You’re right, Jack. That’s the only explanation."

"There were three warriors because Harlan was having problems with Teal’c’s clone. It makes perfect sense. They were going out on missions." Carter glanced over at her commanding officer, who merely looked at her and rolled over, facing the wall.

"Okay. Okay." Daniel smiled at Sam and at the back of Jack’s head. "So we’ll explain it to these people. Hopefully, they’ll listen to reason and we can just . . . ," but his enthusiasm died as he realized the futility of explaining the concept of clones to a people who didn’t even understand automatic weapons.

"Sir?" Carter frowned over at O’Neill’s back. "Sir, are you all right?"

"No," his voice was muffled, distant. "Not really." There was a slight pause before he added, "Try to get some shuteye."

"Yes, sir." Carter frowned over at Daniel.

* * * * *

He heard them coming. Jack forced himself into a sitting position and called out to his teammates. Carter came awake with a jerk; Daniel roused slowly. Bleary-eyed, he looked over at Jack.

"Company," Jack softly warned him. Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to his feet. Shit. He hurt, and not in a good way. His head was pounding and beneath the bone-deep ache that permeated his body, he thought he felt the makings of a fever. Great. Just what he didn’t need. He braced himself in the corner as the door was unlocked and opened.

Three goons stepped inside the small cell. They rivaled Teal’c in size and looked about as pleasant. They were human, but looked odd. It took a minute for Jack to figure out what exactly set them apart. It was because their ears were too small and set too far back on their heads. And while he was nitpicking, their mouths were too wide. Not just Julia Roberts or Steve Tyler wide either. Much wider than that. Still human, but definitely not from Earth.

"Hey, boys. Breakfast time already?"

The head goon stared over at Jack. "You will follow us."

"Sure. No problem. Hope you’ve got coffee. I’m dying for a drink." He was only half-joking, and had to force himself to not stagger as he followed head goon out the door. He smiled tightly at Carter as he passed her on his way out. "Maybe we’ll get lucky, and there’ll be T instead."

Carter and Daniel fell in step behind him, followed by goons two and three. The group trudged along a long, dark hallway that led to a set of stairs leading up. Steadying himself with a hand on the wall, Jack forced himself to climb. His head throbbed mercilessly and his legs screamed with every step. He could swear he felt his temperature rising with every step up the endless flight. By the time they emerged into a broad, well-lit corridor, he was sweating and trembling.

Head goon led them to the right, towards a large set of double doors. Crowds of people had gathered along the sides of the passageway, and were talking and whispering amongst themselves.

"Well, kids, looks like we’re the main event."

"Silence!" Jack awkwardly ducked as the leader turned and swung at him with something resembling a nightstick. Someone in the crowd chuckled as the weapon whipped by Jack without touching him. "You will hold your tongue."

"Hold my tongue?" His tone incredulous, Jack straightened. "Well, obviously, you don’t know me very. . ."

"Jack, please."

The nightstick swung again, this time with greater accuracy. It struck Carter high on her right arm. She cried out and stumbled.

"Hey!" Jack stepped between her and head goon, his face flushed with anger. "What the hell!"

Goon leaned close. "You speak, she suffers."

"Dammit! Keep your hands off my people."

The nightstick was raised again. Jack leaned over Carter, prepared to take the next blow, but head goon merely turned away. Without speaking, Jack helped Carter to her feet. He questioned her with his eyes and she nodded, rubbing the bruise that was already forming on her arm.

Trembling with rage, as well as with fever, Jack followed the unnamed man who had suddenly moved up to the number two spot on Jack’s ‘I’m gonna beat the crap out of you as soon as I get the chance’ list. Fortunately for head goon, the number one spot had already been filled by the inventor of a UAV that couldn’t detect life signs through a few tree branches. As they walked, Jack glared at the back of the man’s head. Apparently, alien or not, this guy had him figured out: threaten the Colonel all you want, but threaten his team and you control him.

Their guards delivered them to a so-called courtroom where for the next four hours, the three members of SG-1 were rigorously questioned by a panel of seven judges. The room was crowded with gawking aliens, who filled every seat while the team was forced to stand before their accusers. It was hot and cramped, and tempers flared. By the time the panel finally retired to make its decision, it was obvious that they would be found guilty of murdering Min. It was also obvious that Jack was sick. Alternating between sweating and shivering, his muscles trembled with exhaustion and fever.

Following the guards to a small room down the hall from the courtroom, Jack wondered if a person’s head really could explode. At least the room came equipped with a table and chairs. He waited until the goons had locked the door behind them before dropping into the nearest chair, groaning at the effort. He propped up his aching head with his good hand and stared at the large jug sitting in the center of the table, hoping it was water but not sure if it mattered. He didn’t have the strength to reach for it to find out.

Carter sat down beside him. "Colonel, are you all right?" When he didn’t respond, she reached over and touched his forehead. "God, you’re burning up. Daniel, get him some water. Sir," she tugged gently on his arm, "let me look at your hand."

As Jack drank down a glass of lukewarm water, Carter pulled away the makeshift bandage covering the bite on his hand. It wouldn’t have looked so bad had it not been attached to the end of his own arm. They both grimaced as the wound was exposed.

"Uh, okay," Daniel paled slightly, "that looks infected to me."

Carter nodded. "Oh, yeah." Jack flinched as she turned his hand, examining the wound closely. His entire hand was swollen and the skin immediately around the bite was streaked with red. He tried not to think about the pus he could see draining from the injury itself. "I’m not sure washing it would help at this point, sir." Carter glanced up at him. "If there’s bacteria in the water, it might make it worse. How does it feel?"

Jack coughed and shrugged. "Not as bad as it looks." Which was true. In light of his other symptoms, he’d actually forgotten about the injury itself. "Feel kind of sick though," he needlessly informed her.

"Sorry, sir, but we don’t have anything to give you."

"Not your fault. Hopefully," he coughed again and accepted another glass of water from Daniel, "we’ll be out of here and headed for the gate soon."

Carter exchanged a look with Daniel that Jack wasn’t meant to see.

"We have to trust that Teal’c has something planned." Jack finished off the glass of water and leaned over the table, resting his head on his good arm. "In the meantime, we’ll watch for an opportunity to help ourselves out of here." When neither of them responded, he looked up. "Major?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack squinted over at Daniel.

"Sure, Jack."

He dropped his head back down and shut his eyes. "We’ll be fine. We’ve been in worse fixes."

* * * * *

"Jack."

It was whispered in his ear.

"Jack."

Something brushed his cheek and he turned his head away, groaning at the stiff muscles in his neck and back, the pounding in his head.

"Come on. You have to wake up."

"Daniel?" His right arm was asleep and he was sweating. It was hot here, wherever here was.

"Jack, please."

Something tugged on him. Groggy, he lifted his aching head and forced his eyes open. He was in a dark room sitting at a table of some kind. Daniel was squatting beside him, pushing Jack back against the chair in which he was sitting.

"You awake?" When he didn’t respond, Daniel shook him gently. "Jack?"

"Hmm?"

"They left us in the room, remember? The trial?"

Jack frowned down at the younger man, then glanced over at Carter, who was kneeling by the door watching him closely.

"We’ve been here for hours, Jack. You fell asleep. Teal’c is outside. He took out the guards and unlocked the door."

"Teal’c?" He was starting to remember. They were supposed to have killed a sex god, and someone bit him. Jack coughed.

"Yes. He went back outside to make sure it’s still clear. We have to leave. Can you stand?"

"Yeah." He blinked, wondering if he was dreaming. "I’m thirsty."

"Sorry, Jack. No more water. Come on."

He groaned as Daniel slid Jack’s right arm over his shoulders and helped him to his feet.

"God." His entire body was stiff and ached like a son-of-a-bitch. "Gettin’ old sucks."

Despite the circumstances, Daniel chuckled softly. "You’re not old. You’re sick."

"Oh. Good."

Carter was still kneeling by the door and, as they approached, Jack could see that she was armed with a zat gun. Obviously, Teal’c had come prepared. He was amazed that he’d slept through the entire ‘break-in.’ He was typically a light sleeper. Must be the headache. Jack leaned heavily on Daniel as Carter cracked the door open and peered out into the hall.

"Okay. Coast is clear. Come on."

Zat at the ready, she stood and eased out into the hallway, motioning Jack and Daniel towards the right. Jack forced himself upright and pulled away from Daniel’s grip.

"Go on. I got it."

Trying not to think about the pounding in his head and the heaviness in his chest and limbs, Jack forced himself to follow Daniel’s hurried rush down the long hall and out the doorway, into the cold, night air. Teal’c was waiting for them in the shadows of the building.

They followed the silent Jaffa as he led them around the side of the building, cutting across an empty courtyard and leading them down a narrow alleyway. His chest burning with the need to cough, Jack knew they were headed in the wrong direction, but he trusted that Teal’c had a plan and followed without question.

It took nearly an hour before they left the town behind them and entered the thick forest that surrounded the small village. Once there, Teal’c led them unerringly on a semi-circular path. Jack blindly struggled along behind him, Daniel in his wake and Carter covering their six. The only sounds were the soft pants of his teammates and Jack’s own wheezing breaths.

Finally, when they had put only a few miles of forest behind them, Jack stumbled. He held onto a small sapling and righted himself, tugging away from Daniel’s grasp and forcing himself back on Teal’c’s heels. A few steps later, he stumbled again and went down. Trying to push himself up with his good hand, his team quickly gathered around him.

"Colonel?"

Carter’s concerned voice was soft and difficult to hear as he struggled to catch his breath, the air whistling through his lungs. On his knees, he wrapped his arms around his chest as if that could ease the ache. Despite the bitter cold, every breath seemed to sear his lungs. Suddenly, he couldn’t help it. He coughed, and kept coughing. The sound was loose and loud, and unnatural in the stillness of the forest. Jack covered his mouth with his hands trying to muffle the noise.

Someone shoved a canteen into his sore hand. He grimaced but held onto it and, trembling, lifted it to his mouth. He choked on the first sip, but the second swallow of the cool liquid calmed the fire in his chest. He sagged tiredly as a large, rough hand pressed against his forehead.

"You are ill."

Jack glanced up at Teal’c and forced a weak smile, but said nothing.

Teal’c turned to the others. "It will be light soon. I have hidden some supplies approximately three miles away. There is a place to hide until it is safe to move again." He looked back at Jack. "Can you walk, O’Neill?"

"Ever since I was a baby." Jack struggled to his feet, swaying drunkenly. "Three miles, huh?" Hugging his injured hand to his chest, he choked back a loose cough. "Piece of cake."

* * * * *

He so lied. It was most definitely not a piece of cake - not unless it was related to that special wedding cake served up by Kynthia so long ago.

By the time they reached Teal’c’s hideout, day had dawned and Jack was wheezing loudly. For the last two miles, he’d been entirely dependent on Daniel’s broad shoulders to help him remain upright. Teal’c had located a large tree growing alongside a dry creek bed. Erosion and a massive expanse of exposed tree roots had fashioned a cozy den large enough to comfortably house SG-1 and a small pile of their gear.

Crawling inside, trying not to put weight on his swollen hand, Jack made his way to the back of the dark cavern and collapsed in a gasping heap against the damp, dirt wall. He shut his eyes and coughed, trying not to think about the rattle he could hear in his lungs, nor about the fact that he was shivering uncontrollably.

A warm hand brushed his forehead and he opened his eyes to his second in command. Carter smiled tightly and looked at Daniel. "We need to get him warmed up. Teal’c, do we have any medical supplies?"

As Daniel unrolled a sleeping bag, Teal’c pulled one of their backpacks near and retrieved a medical kit. He held a small flashlight, while Carter dug through the kit pulling out what she needed and lining things up on the ground beside her.

"Okay, Jack, let’s get you inside this thing." Feeling sicker than he could remember being in a long time, Jack allowed Daniel to help him crawl inside the bag.

"Teal’c," Jack shivered painfully, "are we safe here?"

The Jaffa nodded solemnly. "Before our escape, I laid a false trail in a more direct route to the Stargate. We should be safe here for some time, O’Neill."

Jack nodded and allowed his tired eyes to shut as he snuggled deeper into the warm bag.

"Daniel, would you mix up an MRE? I want to give him some medicine, but he shouldn’t take it on an empty stomach." Jack opened his eyes as Carter pushed the sleeping bag aside to reveal his hand. "I’m going to put some ointment on your hand, Colonel, and bandage it properly."

He nodded, shivered, and closed his eyes again. "Go for it, Major."

"Jack?"

He opened his eyes. He could only have dozed for a few minutes. Carter was finishing up the bandage on his throbbing hand, and Daniel was sitting beside him holding out an MRE container.

"I couldn’t warm it, but you need to try to eat something. Okay?"

"Yeah." With Teal’c’s help, he managed to sit up and lean back against the wall, shivering. He took the MRE and sniffed it. "Beef stew. Must be Tuesday." His attempt at humor brought only a few weak smiles from his team. He took a tentative bite of the cold meal and forced himself to swallow, knowing he needed it. "So, T, how was your day?"

As Teal’c related how he had managed to evade capture, and had watched helpless as the rest of his teammates were hauled to the village, Jack forced down a few more bites.

"After following your captors and locating where you were being detained, I returned to our camp, and reported to General Hammond. All available teams were off-world. I informed him that I believed I would be able to arrange your rescue without support. However, he stated that he would begin to recall teams and if we did not report back within 24 hours, he would send back-up. I next gathered up some supplies and took a circuitous route back to the village, finding this spot in which to hide our gear. I then returned to the village and waited for an advantageous moment in which to effect your escape."

"You did good, T-man." Still trembling from the cold, Jack handed the uneaten portion of the MRE back to Daniel.

"Sir, you should eat a bit more if you can."

He shook his head. "Sorry."

Frowning, Carter held out some pills. "Antibiotics, sir, and some Tylenol."

Jack swallowed them down, setting off another round of coughing. Exhausted, he dropped back down on the makeshift bed.

"That cough sounds terrible."

He glanced over at Daniel, prepared to thank him for the play-by-play, but he was just too damn tired.

"Rest, sir."

"We will leave at dusk, O’Neill."

Burrowing into the sleeping bag, Jack murmured, "Sounds good. Get some rest, guys."

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

Jack was drowning. Someone was holding him under water. Hot water.

He jerked and opened his eyes to darkness. He was sweating profusely, and something hot was draped across his face. He couldn’t breathe. With tired, aching legs, he kicked at whatever was covering him, and fumbled with his good hand to push it off. The sleeping bag.

Free at last, he lay there sweating, exhausted from the battle, and looked around the small cavern. Soft, ambient light revealed Daniel curled up, soundly sleeping with his face turned towards the dirt wall. Teal’c sat on Jack’s other side, deep in kel-no-reem. Carter was MIA.

Jack was wheezing. He was also burning up, despite the fact that the sleeping bag had been tossed aside. There was no mistaking the feeling of his lungs filling with fluid, and he knew he had a raging fever. All in all, not good. The chap that had bitten him must have been loaded with some first-rate germs.

Even as he lay there, he could feel the pressure inside his lungs building. Gasping, he rolled to his side and struggled to lean up on one elbow. The movement caused his injured hand to throb dully, and set off a round of deep, loose coughs. As he felt the viscous phlegm rising up the back of his throat, his eyes watered and he gagged. Clutching his aching chest with one arm, he coughed and retched, struggling to clear his airway.

Strong hands pulled him into a sitting position. Heaving, sucking at the thin air, Jack sat there panting. Finally, he realized he was breathing - not easily, not clearly, but not choking to death either. Not yet anyway. His hand shaking, he wiped at his runny nose and watery eyes, and nodded his thanks to Teal’c.

"Jack?" Daniel had been awakened by the coughing fit and was now sitting sleepy-eyed, staring at Jack with concern.

He didn’t respond. Wasn’t sure he could speak just yet. He watched, helpless, as Teal’c dug through the medkit. Finding what he was looking for, the Jaffa reached over and very gently pressed a thermometer strip across Jack’s forehead.

"You grow more ill."

Jack studied his friend’s face. Teal’c looked worried, which actually scared Jack more than he cared to admit. He must look as bad as he felt. He started to protest, but honestly didn’t feel quite up to it.

Teal’c peeled away the strip and looked at it. He frowned, then glanced at Daniel, and finally at Jack. "You have a fever of 103 degrees." He paused. "That is not good, O’Neill."

Jack actually chuckled at that, which spawned a second coughing fit, albeit a less harsh one than the first. When he reached for the water, two sets of hand beat him to it. Daniel uncapped the canteen and handed it to him. He swallowed the soothing liquid, then held the cool container against his forehead before dredging up the energy to speak.

"Carter?" His voice was hoarse and shaky.

"Major Carter is patrolling the area. There has been no sign of the natives."

"How . . .," Jack paused to clear his throat. "How far from the gate?"

"We are no more than four miles away from the Stargate."

Jack frowned. Four miles. Geez. When he wasn’t drowning in his own body fluids, he could run three times that easy. But right now, four miles sounded impossible. He knew he couldn’t make it. Trying to think past the throbbing in his head and the wet sponges passing for his lungs, he glanced around at their accommodations. Apparently, Teal’c’s choice of a hiding place had been a good one. They appeared to be safe here. At least for the time being.

"It’s not quite dark yet. But I really don’t think we should wait any longer."

Jack looked over at Daniel, who was staring intently at Teal’c.

"I believe you are correct." Teal’c toggled his radio twice, without speaking.

An instant later, Carter’s voice filled the small cavern, asking what was going on.

"Major Carter, please return as soon as possible."

Jack struggled to wrap his feverish mind around what his teammates were planning. As if sensing this, Teal’c turned to him.

"We must leave at once, O’Neill. If we wait any longer, your condition will worsen."

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. But he also knew that he wasn’t going to be able to run or even walk to the gate in his current condition. If the natives were lying in wait along the way, he would only slow his team down.

He nodded, reeling slightly from the movement. "Yeah. That’s why you guys . . . go without me. I’ll wait . . . you’ll send help."

"Yeah, right." Daniel snorted softly, as if he thought the idea was a joke. His eyes glittering with fever, Jack glared at him. Daniel stiffened. "No. No way. We’re not leaving you here."

Carter ducked through the small opening formed by the tree roots.

"Daniel Jackson is correct."

"About what?" Carter set down her P90, and reached over to touch Jack’s forehead with the back of her hand. She frowned at the heat there, and immediately began digging through the medkit, shaking out pills into her hand.

"Jack wants us to leave without him and send back reinforcements."

Carter stopped what she was doing to stare at him. "No, sir."

"Major . . ."

"Sir, with all due respect . . ."

"I’m still in charge."

Carter shut her mouth against whatever she’d been planning to say, then proceeded to count out the pills in her hand. She handed them to him. "Then one of us will stay with you."

He shook his head, took the pills from her, and without asking what they were, downed them with a sip of water from the canteen. "Leave me water and . . .," he wagged a tired hand towards her, "whatever else I might need. Then go."

Before she had a chance to protest, he was choking. One second, he was inhaling and the next, everything he’d just swallowed was riding back up on the wave of a mucous-filled cough. Leaning forward, three sets of hands supporting him, fumbling to help him, he deposited the water and pills in his own lap, then desperately sucked in a liquid-filled breath. Then another. And another. The small cave darkened at the edges and he felt the gentle tingle of unconsciousness threaten as he labored to breathe. Someone kept calling out to him; someone else pounded painfully on his back. Just as he thought he would pass out, his airway cleared and he sucked in a rattling, wheezing breath.

"Oh, God." He moaned and hunching over, shut his eyes against the fire in his chest.

"Okay. That’s it. Daniel, Teal’c, we’re getting him out of here."

He could tell by her voice that she wouldn’t listen to reason. And, God help him, he didn’t have it in him to argue with her. Totally spent, he squinted up at her, only vaguely aware of Daniel and Teal’c gathering their small store of supplies.

"Colonel," she leaned close, her blue eyes like saucers in the dim light of the cave, "you can haul me up on charges if you want, but we’re taking you back. I don’t think . . .," her throat clenched and she swallowed loudly. Her grip on his shoulders tightened. "I don’t think you can wait for help to arrive, sir."

The fact that he didn’t try to argue spooked her. He could tell by the way she blinked and seemed to shake herself. Unfortunately, at the moment, he didn’t have much choice. He wasn’t sure he was capable of speech, let alone argument. Besides, due to the fact that his lungs seemed to have taken on vast quantities of water, he was inclined to agree with her. Stunned at the rapid progression of whatever was ailing him, he knew if he lay back down, he wouldn’t wake up. Not on this side of eternity anyway. So he didn’t respond - didn’t agree; didn’t disagree. He merely sat there, leaning awkwardly forward, covered with his own vomit, and struggling to maintain life.

"Come on, Jack."

He hadn’t dozed. He knew he hadn’t. But suddenly they were surrounding him, ready to go. The backpacks that Teal’c had stashed in the cave were no longer in sight, so he had to assume they’d taken them outside. Feeling dazed and lightheaded, he submitted to Teal’c and Daniel grasping his arms and helping him crawl drunkenly towards the opening. Sam was outside. On all fours, he took one breath, then another. Wheeze in, rattle out. And he waited for someone to tell him what to do next.

Short of air, thinking was a problem. He knew they were off-world and that something had gone wrong. He knew his hand throbbed, and his head. He knew his chest was burning from the inside out. At that point, the old brain sort of overloaded and he couldn’t for the life of him remember why they were making him crawl home. Because, really, sick as he felt, he thought he should probably just lie down and sleep it off.

"O’Neill."

He opened his eyes to find Teal’c kneeling beside him, looking worried and a bit pale.

"T," his own voice sounded strange, breathless and trembling.

Teal’c nodded and very gently slipped his shoulders underneath Jack’s kneeling body. Seemingly without effort, he felt himself being lifted in a fireman’s carry. For a brief second, he panicked, wondering how he would possibly breathe, but almost immediately he felt gravity work in his favor and his breathing eased slightly. Soon, Teal’c’s rhythmic steps lulled him into sleep.

* * * * *

When Teal’c put him down and leaned him back against the base of a tree, Jack was already awake. He had been for some time. Confused about why he was so exhausted, he had spent the better part of the last 20 minutes wondering why he was being toted around on Teal’c’s broad shoulders, and trying to decide how best to let a Jaffa know you’re awake. Do you whisper in his ear? Poke him in the ribs? Kick him in the kidney? Tickle him? Moan? Fidget?

Okay. Moaning and fidgeting hadn’t actually been on the list, but they obviously worked because the minute he engaged in both, Teal’c stopped and lowered him to the ground.

"O’Neill, how do you feel?"

Good question. Jack slumped against the tree, panting shallowly and softly. "Better." While he still sounded like death warmed over, even to his own ears, he did feel slightly better. Maybe it was those pills Carter had given him - no, wait. He’d thrown those up as soon as he’d swallowed them. So maybe the respite came from being draped over Teal’c’s shoulders. Or maybe just from sleeping.

Carter clutched one of the two P90's that the natives hadn’t taken when they were captured, and was keeping watch. Daniel knelt in front of Jack and eyed him closely before reaching over to touch his cheek. "You’re still burning up."

His head pounding, Jack rolled his eyes at Teal’c. "Just no pleasing . . . some people," he wheezed.

"You are extremely sick, O’Neill."

"Geez." Jack coughed loosely, too tired to totally cough up the phlegm that was a constant in the back of his throat. Swallowing, trying not to gag, he shut his eyes. He wanted to tell them to keep their day jobs, to stay away from the greeting card business, but he was too tired. "Status . . . report."

"We are at the edge of the forest that surrounds the Stargate. Major Carter scouted ahead. There were signs that the natives were here several hours ago, but apparently they broke off into two groups and have doubled back to the village. The gate appears to be unguarded."

Even though he wasn’t firing on all cylinders, Jack frowned. What kind of people would leave the gate unguarded with alien god-killers lurking?

Teal’c seemed to know what he was thinking. "Major Carter did a thorough job, O’Neill."

Jack nodded over at Carter, who was squatting several feet away, her weapon still at the ready. She glanced over at him, then went back to surveying the area.

"I’m sure . . . she did. Just seems . . .," Jack had to stop to cough. He pushed himself up straighter, his hand throbbing when he put weight on it, then settled back against the tree again, breathless.

"Odd?" Daniel finished for him.

"Was going to say . . . stupid."

Daniel chuckled. "Right. Sorry."

"I agree it would not be wise for the natives to leave the gate unguarded."

Jack stared at Teal’c, trying to will his mind to think about something other than the fire burning inside his chest, the pounding headache, and the deep ache in his limbs. He blinked dully, then realized Teal’c was staring at him with a worried look on his face.

"It appears to be safe, O’Neill. However, if there are natives in the area, your coughing will have alerted them to our presence. Therefore, I see no reason to delay our departure."

"How about ‘cause . . . I don’t want . . . to get shot . . . in the back?"

"If we wait much longer you will die here, regardless."

Jack grunted, wanting to laugh at T’s brutal honesty. He felt his mind drifting and tried to rouse himself. "Ever thought about . . . being a judge . . . on American Idol?" He smiled, then nodded at his teammates. Teal’c was right. They would have to take the chance eventually. Might as well go for it while the old pack leader was still among the living. "Okay."

When Teal’c moved to pick him up, Jack stopped him. "I got it. Help Carter." Slowly, trembling, he worked himself over onto all fours. After that, the going got a little rough. He fumbled woodenly and finally groaned out his frustration at not being able to get his feet under him, let alone hauling his six upright. All he accomplished was awakening a wave of weariness and another batch of deep, loose coughs.

"Come on, Jack." Daniel slipped his hands under Jack’s arms and hauled him upright. The sudden rise made him dizzy and he staggered before settling heavily against the younger man. The two of them stumbled towards the Stargate as Carter and Teal’c fanned out to the sides, weapons poised.

Halfway there, Jack’s knees gave out on him. His lungs aching for just one deep, clear breath, Jack bit the inside of his mouth and forced his legs to at least a semblance of stability. Daniel grunted softly under the effort of supporting him, and tightened his grip on Jack’s arm.

"Told you . . . I could . . . walk."

"Yeah? Well, anybody ever tell you you’re full of shit?"

He managed to glare at Daniel, who smiled tightly.

"You can just narrow it down to lately, if that’ll help."

"Screw you," Jack mumbled just as his legs gave up the ghost and folded up on him.

Daniel swore softly. Teal’c stepped closer and, holding his staff weapon at the ready, joined Daniel in wrapping Jack’s arms around his shoulders. The two carried him to the base of the platform on which the Stargate was erected. Barely taking her eyes off the grass-covered clearing surrounding the gate, Carter dialed home. The event horizon exploded towards them, then settled back on itself.

Teal’c and Daniel prepared to carry Jack through the wormhole, while Carter, her face tight with worry, relinquished her weapon long enough to enter the code in her GDO. It was then that the natives struck.

His senses dulled with fever, struggling for breath, Jack wasn’t sure why Daniel shoved him onto the steps and fell over him. "Wha-," Jack coughed against the added weight on his lungs and struggled to free himself.

"Jack, stay down."

"Daniel, go! Go! Take him!"

Jack turned his head, searching for his teammates as he heard Carter’s yell and the unmistakable sound of Teal’c’s staff weapon firing. Daniel crawled off of him and was pulling on his arm.

"Come on! Hurry!"

But Jack was concentrating on Carter and Teal’c, and the swarm of natives who had surged forward out of the grass. They were launching what looked like short, wooden spears from small doohickeys that were strapped to their forearms. Carter and Teal’c were backing up the steps, but not quickly enough. They stopped near the top and were valiantly, foolishly, trying to hold their position. Jack saw a spear land near Carter, missing her leg by a mere fraction of an inch.

He tried to call out to them, to order them to a full retreat into the wormhole, but he was wracked by a deep, bone-jarring fit of coughing. Daniel leaned his shoulder into Jack’s sternum, struggling to lift him onto his shoulders. Jack struggled weakly in protest. He was angry and frightened - angry at himself for being too sick to help in the fight, and frightened for the lives of his team.

"Stop." He coughed. "Put me . . .," but the rest of his sentence was cut off by the frozen silence of the wormhole.

* * * * *

Janet Fraiser was having a good day. In fact, she was having such a good day that she had caught herself humming . . . twice. In part, it was due to the fact that nearly every SG team was off-world, minding their own business, and leaving her and her staff in peace. It was also due to the fact that she’d had a date last night with a guy who had turned out not to be a neanderthal - despite Sam’s predictions to the contrary. To make matters better, he’d also been polite and definitely not military. All good things in her book.

Still, what had really clinched her day was the fact that her teenage daughter had been nice to her during breakfast. Breakfast! For the first time in what seemed like months, the two of them had actually sat down at the table together and shared a pleasant conversation over a meal. Janet had nearly choked on her Cheerios when Cassandra had asked how her date had gone. At first, she’d hesitated to answer, wondering what devious plot her daughter had planned and how much it was going to cost her. After all, lately, she could swear that Cassie was secretly enrolled in the Jack O’Neill School of Smart-Ass and was slated to graduate at the head of her class.

Swallowing a hard knot of apple-cinnamon cereal, Janet had mumbled, "It was nice. Thanks for asking," and had waited for the proverbial shoe to drop. It hadn’t. Apparently unaware of the stupor in which she’d left her mother, Cassie had proceeded to discuss an upcoming biology final and the fact that the teacher seemed to have it in for her. By the time Cassandra had consumed two slices of toast and an orange, they had shared a couple of laughs and planned a girls’ day out.

After breakfast, Janet had stood in the doorway and watched as her daughter backed out of the driveway in her slightly dented, used Honda Civic. A certain Colonel had insisted on helping them pick out Cassie’s first car. According to Jack, the Honda was safe; cute but not a guy magnet; large enough to haul a couple of girlfriends around, but with bucket seats and a narrow backseat that weren’t conducive to making out. Janet hadn’t even asked how he knew; she’d just assumed it was the voice of experience and had bought the car on the spot. Smiling as Cassandra had waved good-bye, Janet had shut the door and thought her life was certainly looking up.

Now, she wasn’t so sure. She’d been on her second round of humming when the call had gone out for a medical team to the embarkation room. Stat. Not necessarily a bad thing. Usually routine. Usually. But she’d been humming that old Cat Stevens’ tune ‘Trouble’ - she should have known.

Standing outside the doors of the embarkation room with gurneys and a small crew of medical staff, she felt her pulse quicken as it always did when she faced the blank slate that was the wormhole. Her nose nearly pressed against the sealed blast doors, Janet tapped her high-heeled foot and fidgeted with the stethoscope hanging around her neck. She glanced over at the young SF standing guard at the door.

"Do we know who it is?"

"I believe it’s SG-1, ma’am."

Good and crap. Good, because she couldn’t wait to see her friends home safely and was anxious to tell Sam that she’d been wrong about Mike. Crap, because things never seemed to go smoothly for the SGC’s premier team. In fact, according to the latest report that had been waiting on her desk this morning, Teal’c had contacted Hammond yesterday to say that there had been trouble of some kind. All Janet knew for sure was that if SG-1 didn’t return before 1700 hours today, Hammond was going to initiate a search and rescue. That had to mean their return now was a good thing. Right?

Despite the thick blast doors and the dampening field, Janet could swear she knew the moment the wormhole established. Maybe it was some kind of electrical charge in the air; anyway, that’s what it felt like. She could almost feel the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms standing up. Was that even possible, or was it just her imagination? She’d have to remember to ask Sam about it later. Edging closer to the door, she was already trying to press her way through nearly before the opening mechanism had properly engaged.

Pushing her way past the SF’s surrounding the ramp, Janet got her first clear view of the team. She saw Sam first, one hand on her weapon and leaning over with her other hand on her knee, trying to catch her breath. Teal’c was leisurely walking down the ramp as if home from a stroll in the park; however, she noted that there was a small spear-like object protruding through his left bicep. Daniel was on his knees near the base of the ramp, his back to her. From this angle, she didn’t see any evidence of injury, but it was impossible to say for sure. Of the Colonel, she could see only his boots.

"Out of our way, people." She led her medics through the armed guards. "Maria, Steve, check Teal’c’s arm. Penetrating wound. Sam? Daniel?" As Daniel stood and turned towards her, she saw Jack. He was sitting on the ramp, slightly hunched over, his left arm with a bandaged hand draped across his abdomen. Broken ribs? Internal injuries? Already her mind was racing at the possibilities presented by his guarded posture.

Sam straightened and relinquished her weapon to a waiting guard. "I’m fine, Janet."

"Yeah," Daniel stepped away from Jack, giving them room to maneuver, "me, too."

They looked fine, but she knew her medics would check them out anyway. It was protocol. Janet and one of her best nurses, Bill Mead, dropped down beside the Colonel. "Sir, besides your hand, where are you injured?" Even as he shook his head, Janet was already mentally examining every detail of his appearance, including the black eye. Add possible head injury to the list.

"Not."

Frowning at the strain evident in his voice, she reached for his wrist. "Nowhere, sir? You’re absolutely sure?"

He nodded.

She flinched slightly as she felt for his pulse. God, he was burning up with fever, and his pulse was entirely too fast. She studied his face as she counted: eyes a bit dull; a sheen of sweat; there was a flush on his high cheekbones, but otherwise his skin and his lips were pale. She could see him breathing rapidly, shallowly.

"What’s going on, Colonel?" She watched as his eyes moved up to hers, his reactions slow.

"Asshole . . . bit me." He held up his shaky, bandaged hand, and was suddenly wracked by a series of deep, loose coughs.

Janet immediately reached for her stethoscope. She listened to his chest as his coughs died down, grimacing over at Bill at the crackles she heard. Pneumonia seemed a pretty safe bet, and a full-blown case in both lungs by the sound of it. As a gurney was wheeled to the foot of the ramp, Bill pulled out the portable oxygen and slipped the tubing over the Colonel’s head, settling a nasal cannula at the base of his nose. Jack twisted slightly in protest and tugged at the tubing with his good hand.

"Leave it alone, Colonel." As the medics moved in to lift him, Janet slipped behind them and raised the head of the gurney to help with his breathing. She didn’t have to tell them to hurry; they were nearly out the door by the time she’d glanced back to make sure the rest of the team was mobile. They looked exhausted and worried, but more or less intact with the exception of Teal’c’s arm.

"Doctor?"

Janet turned to face a stressed General Hammond. "I won’t know for sure until we run some tests, sir, but given the sound of his lungs and his fever, I’d say we’re looking at pneumonia."

"He was bitten by one of the natives, Janet, and he started getting sick just a few hours later."

She smiled over at Sam. "I doubt it was the bite. It’s more likely that the man who bit him was infected and coughed in the Colonel’s face."

"Wrong place, wrong time," Daniel mumbled.

"Something like that. General . . .," Janet edged towards the blast doors.

Hammond inclined his head. "Go on. SG-1, we’ll debrief as soon as you’re cleared."

"Thank you, sir." Janet hurried down the hallway, her mind already on the man being rushed to her infirmary.

By the time she arrived, her team had the Colonel on an exam bed. His chest had been bared and someone was removing his boots and socks. A sheet was haphazardly tossed over him as someone else deftly cut his trousers away. She heard him groan softly, but knew it was in protest and not pain. He hated this part. And who could blame him. People were poking and prodding and examining and touching; and while Jack liked, and was liked by, almost every member of her staff, he was a private person who detested what he saw as an invasion of his personal space.

As she stepped up to the bedside, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes - his way of shutting them out. Unfortunately, she needed him here for the time being.

"Sir?"

Dull eyes stared up at her.

"Tell me how you’re feeling, Colonel."

Cindy Reinwald, a young nurse who was new to the SGC and who was suffering from a slight crush on their current patient, gently stripped away the bandages on Jack’s hand, revealing a nasty looking human bite. Janet glanced at it briefly, then turned back to the Colonel, who was watching her closely.

He still hadn’t responded to her question. "Sir?"

A tiny smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Feel okay. Can I go?" he mumbled.

Janet had to smile. Even if it was uttered breathlessly, it was his standard response. If Jack O’Neill ambled into the infirmary with a limb dangling by a thread of skin, he would make light of it. As she watched, he blinked tiredly and coughed. As someone began calling out the Colonel’s stats. Janet’s ears perked up.

"Pulse ox 93. Respirations 32. Temperature 103.1. BP 110/70."

Low, fast, high, low. Janet frowned and tapped his chest. She was unhappy with, but not surprised by the flat sound that resulted. She looked over at Bill, who had just finished inserting an IV. "Let’s start him on Cipro. Get a set of chest films, and I want a full work-up, including CBC, BCP, and blood culture. While we’re taking pictures, let’s check for possible skull fracture."

Jack coughed again and grumbled as Cindy went about cleaning the wound on his hand. It was infected, but the broad spectrum antibiotics should take care of it. It didn’t look like it needed more than a few stitches.

Janet patted his arm. "Colonel, we’re going to take some x-rays, run some blood tests, and we’ll have you fixed up in no time. You just relax and let us do the driving. Okay?"

He frowned up at her. "No catheter."

She smiled innocently. "I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t quite hear you."

He mumbled something unbecoming an officer, then glared up at her with feverish eyes. "I said . . . no catheter. And you heard me . . . the first time."

Janet didn’t answer, but turned to go check on Teal’c. As she left, she couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of the Colonel’s weak but irate voice.

"Hey. What the - I said, no."

* * * * *

He was poked, probed, rolled, maneuvered, punctured, drained; sometimes gently, sometimes not, but always with the utmost care. Finally, Jack O’Neill was granted the sleep of the sick and the drugged. At odd times, he was vaguely aware of their presence - the nearness of those who would care for him. At those moments, he felt a sense of impending doom and the need to rouse himself. He knew he should wake up and do something - possibly protest, reassure, entertain - but his body refused to follow the disjointed commands of his feverish mind.

So he slept, somehow cognizant of their presence and of the heat which had wrapped itself around and within him. He silently measured the rising level of that nameless thing which was consuming him from the inside out. It inched its way closer to total conquest with every shallow breath. Tired, he railed against it. Once, he heard himself call out to his teammates, to Teal’c, warning them away from this alien that had him in its grasp. He told them to go, to run, to leave him, and then he despaired when they did. Left to wallow in his solitary misery, he flinched at the touch of a cool hand on his face, and the soft tones of a familiar voice in his ear.

Coughing weakly, Jack opened his eyes to blurriness. Blurriness that shifted, then resolved into the shimmering blue eyes of his second in command - Carter, with a mask disguising the lower half of her face. He opened his mouth to speak to her, to name her, but the price was too high and instead, he drew in a shallow, shaky breath that lacked the oxygen he craved.

"It’s okay, Colonel. Janet’s on her way."

He blinked up at her, sucked in a laboring breath, and felt a tiny pinprick of fear. He had been here before. A serious case of deja vu. He remembered, dreamlike, Carter coercing him, then being carried through the gate in a sealed coffin, and finally, the snake sliding past his lips and piercing the back of his throat, suffocating him. He felt the pain in his chest and head; he couldn’t breathe. Tok’ra. Torture. He moaned. Ba’al.

He didn’t realize he was struggling with her until she asked him, please, to stop. She told him that he was going to be fine and that it was just the fever. No. He clutched at her wrist with weak fingers and shook his head. "No." Not this time.

"Sshh. Sir. Calm down. It’s okay."

"No . . . snake." He kicked weakly at the damp sheet draped over him and twisted, trying to escape her gentle persuasion. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow it again. He would die first. Once. This time.

"It’s okay. You’re safe here. You’re in the infirmary. At the SGC."

"No . . . snake," he repeated, in case he hadn’t been clear the first time.

"No snakes, sir." Doc’s comforting voice filled the room, wrenching control from Carter. "Not on my watch."

A masked Fraiser leaned over him, her brown eyes smiling warmly. She brushed a hand across his sweaty forehead and he relaxed at her touch, stopped struggling. Doc would take care of him. She hated the snakeheads as much as he did. She wouldn’t let Carter talk him into anything when he wasn’t thinking clearly. Not after last time. He smiled at her, and sighed breathlessly. The movement spawned a fit of liquid coughing.

As Carter moved away from the bed, a masked nurse rushed in and took her place, opposite Janet. They raised the bed higher, until he was sitting nearly upright. Still coughing, struggling to breathe, the room spun slowly. He squeezed his eyes closed.

"Colonel, try to relax. Just breathe. Slowly."

He opened his eyes again and ignoring the swaying walls, concentrated on Fraiser’s face, her voice.

"Maria, let’s switch him to a mask." Her eyes smiled at Jack, who was still struggling to catch his breath. "That’s good, sir. We’re going to get rid of this thing," she removed the cannula that he’d forgotten he had, "and switch you to a mask. I know you don’t like them, but it will help. Okay?"

Tired, he nodded as Doc reached for a cloth and wiped something thick and damp from his mouth. He groaned as he felt something inside him shift heavily.

"Sir?" Doc frowned at him.

She realized what was happening before he did and when he suddenly vomited, she had the small bowl in front of him to catch it. As he gagged and heaved, she supported him, rubbed his back and spoke softly. Gasping, Jack leaned back against the bed, stunned and more than a little grossed out by the red, frothy mucous that he’d just vomited.

Eyebrows drawn into a hard frown, Fraiser set the bowl to one side and again wiped his mouth. As Maria settled the warm oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, Doc looked at him. "You’re going to be okay, Colonel." The words were there, but she didn’t sound convinced.

His hand shaking, he reached for the mask to tug it aside. "What . . ."

She stopped him. "Leave it there, sir."

He waved a hand towards himself, his chest. "What . . . is it?"

Jack was watching her closely and for an instant he saw a flash of something on the part of her face that he could see. She hesitated slightly, and he knew he had asked the one question she didn’t want to hear. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what was wrong with him. He felt a stab of fear as he suddenly recognized the significance of the fact that they were all wearing masks. He looked around, studying his surroundings for the first time. He was in the isolation room.

"I’m not sure. I thought it was pneumonia. A particularly virulent, off-world strain. But now . . . I don’t know. Colonel," she leaned closer, her voice serious, "your condition is deteriorating. I need to check the fluid in your lungs." She wiped at his forehead again. "We’ll make it as quick and painless as we can. Then you can get back to sleep. Okay?"

He studied her eyes. He could always read Doc’s eyes. Frowning, Jack looked into them, searched them, and found his answer. Two things: truth and fear. Doc honestly didn’t know what was wrong with him and it scared her. As much as that frightened him, he felt bad for her. She always did such a good job; always took such a personal interest in her patients. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.

Jack nodded and forced a tight smile. As Doc turned away, he grabbed her hand. "You’ll . . . figure . . . it out. Trust you."

Her eyes glistened wetly, and she nodded but said nothing.

He awoke when they lowered the head of his bed slightly. Carter was gone. Janet was back with two nurses. Despite the fact that he could hear and feel the oxygen being forced against his face, he had to struggle to inhale it.

"Colonel, we’re going to perform a test that’s called a thoracentesis." True to form, Doc was always up front with him, explaining what she was doing and why. He nodded once to let her know he was listening. "Basically, sir, we’re going to insert a needle into the area around your lungs and draw out some of the fluid for analysis."

He frowned.

Janet’s eyes smiled. "It sounds a lot worse than it is."

"I’ll be . . . the judge . . .," he was too tired to finish, but Janet nodded.

"I’m sure you will, sir. As soon as you’re better, I’ll expect you to tell me all about it."

In response, he gave her a thumb’s up.

"Okay." She nodded at one of the nurses, who lowered the sheet and pulled the hospital gown down to his waist. Using a sponge, the nurse applied something liquid and cold over the left side of his chest. Then they covered him with small squares of cloth, leaving only a small area exposed. Fraiser held a small hypodermic needle in one gloved hand. "This is just a local anesthetic to numb the area. You’ll feel a stinging sensation, just like when we stitch up that eyebrow." He was aware of her smile again and nodded in response.

She was right. It stung. Not bad, but not exactly on his list of favorite things to do on a Saturday night. He blinked, his eyes heavy, and breathed. In, out. In, out. He opened his eyes and saw movement overhead. He squinted up at the observation booth. His team had gathered there, along with Hammond. They were all staring down at him, looking very serious. Okay. That should bother him, right? Didn’t he hate being the center of attention? He coughed breathlessly, and decided he was too tired to care. Let them gawk.

"Colonel?"

He forced his eyes away from them; looked at Janet. She was holding another needle. This time, a big, honkin’ one. He hated needles. He really hated this one. He was suddenly grateful for the small, stinging needle that had preceded it. He coughed again.

"I’m going to insert the needle, sir. Please try not to move." He was aware of hands pressing gently down on his shoulders. "It’s important that you hold very still. If you need to cough, if you can’t hold it back, let me know. Okay?"

He nodded, and turned back to stare at his audience. Actually, it felt kind of nice - their being there.

"You may feel some pressure."

He did. He couldn’t help but tense and frown at the uncomfortable feeling of tightness added to his already straining lungs. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Don’t move, sir."

The hands pressed a bit more, and he felt the beginning of an urge to cough. He blinked. Team still there. Hammond nodded down at him. He lifted a hand to them. Hi, guys. Breathe in, breathe out.

"Almost done."

The need to cough was growing and he frowned; concentrating on not coughing made him want to. Just look at your team. Don’t think about . . .

"Okay, sir. All finished."

He coughed liquidly and sucked at the mask wishing they’d turn up the flow. He felt the edges of the room greying out. God, he was going to drown. He arched slightly on the bed, trying to open his airway.

"Colonel? Sir?"

The room faded to black.

* * * * *

Janet Fraiser looked at the sheet of paper in front of her until her eyes blurred. Then, for perhaps the third time in the last half-hour, she glanced up at the latest set of films. She stared glumly at the images, particularly at the high concentration of white where darkness should be. She rubbed her eyes and looked down at the paper again as if the columns might suddenly reveal something that would solve the mystery. Nothing had changed. Not for the better anyway.

O’Neill had now been in her infirmary for 34 hours. When he’d first presented in the gate room, she’d been sure she was looking at double pneumonia and had immediately started him on Cipro. They typically dealt with uncommon strains of otherwise common diseases, and she’d used a broad-spectrum antibiotic that had proven itself to be the most effective for the Colonel in the past. Despite the drug, his condition had deteriorated.

Janet had finally brought out the big boy: Vancomycin. She didn’t like to use it. Wouldn’t unless it was absolutely necessary. It could cause kidney damage and low blood pressure - something O’Neill had already been battling. But, she’d had no choice. She had sat back and watched, and waited. His condition worsened.

She studied the sheet of paper. Even on the mask, his pulse ox had dropped to 82, and his blood pressure had dipped to 85/50. Less than five hours ago, she’d been forced to put him on the ventilator. The results of the thoracentesis told her what she already suspected: it wasn’t pneumonia. At least, not a form seen on Earth anyway.

Janet glanced at her watch and gathered her papers. Exhausted, she left her office and made her way to the observation booth. She looked down into the isolation room, watching as Bill and Cindy monitored the Colonel’s vitals.

Impossible as it seemed, O’Neill looked small, nearly lost in the vastness of the machinery that was keeping him alive. A man who seemed to take up an inordinate amount of space when awake was diminished by the surrounding instruments of modern medicine. From here, Janet couldn’t hear the rhythmic pulse of the ventilator, but she could measure its progress in the rise and fall of the Colonel’s bare chest. His face was pale, expressionless; strips of tape secured the life-giving plastic tube that had been threaded down his throat and into his fluid-filled lungs. Soft restraints were wrapped around his wrists; his hands, the left one heavily bandaged, lay limply on the sheet that covered him to the waist. A complex tangle of tubes and wires crossed and criss-crossed his body, piercing skin, emerging from beneath the sheet, and disappearing into life support systems that even she sometimes had trouble understanding.

As she watched, one long leg spasmed beneath the thin sheet. She started to hit the intercom, to point it out to them, but Bill noticed it. He set down the chart in which he’d been writing and reached over to gently rub the cramping muscles, attempting to grant relief to their unconscious patient. Blinking away tears she couldn’t afford, Janet smiled at the thought of the Colonel’s reaction if he awakened to a strange man rubbing his leg.

Please, sir, wake up. Wake up. Yell. Curse. Drive us insane. Make us want to kill you. I have to tell you about Cassie - she has a new boyfriend. I need someone to give him ‘the talk.’ And no one delivers it quite like you. Please, Colonel. Just . . . get better.

The cramp eased, was quieted, and Bill returned to the chart. O’Neill resumed his silent, motionless descent towards something Janet didn’t want to admit. Sighing tiredly, she left the room, and headed for the elevators and her meeting with the General and the remaining members of SG-1.

They were already there, quietly waiting on her. She pulled out a chair and sat down at the conference room table, realizing too late that it was where the Colonel should be sitting. She cleared her throat and straightened the papers.

"Doctor?"

She looked up at Hammond and studied his face. She mentally diagnosed lack of sleep, stress, poor nutrition. Glancing around the table, she saw similar signs in the three other faces staring back at her.

"You asked for a meeting, Doctor," the General prodded. "I assume you have something new to report?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. The Colonel’s condition continues to deteriorate. I’ve contacted a colleague with the CDC but, considering the source of the contagion, I’m not sure they’ll be able to help us. Still, I’ve forwarded the lab results and a copy of the Colonel’s chart. He’s one of their top specialists in virology. I expect to hear from him any time."

"You realize we are not at liberty to reveal the details of the mission."

"Don’t worry, sir. I told him that Colonel O’Neill had recently returned from a covert operation, that he’d been ill on arrival, and that we were uninformed as to his whereabouts during the mission." She shrugged. "Like I said, I’m not sure there’ll be much help from that quarter."

"Then, the reason for calling a meeting?"

"I want to go over, again, everything about SG-1's mission. Particularly, the Colonel’s role in it and any symptoms he might have exhibited." Jackson sighed loudly. "I know you’re all tired, Daniel, that you’ve been over this before, that I’m," Janet attempted a smile, "that I’m probably grasping at straws here, but if there’s anything, anything at all . . ."

"No," Daniel straightened in his chair, "no, it’s not that. It’s just," he looked at his teammates, then back to Janet. "It’s just that we’ve been wracking our brains, trying to remember everything. Anything we might have left out. Anything at all."

"Janet, if we have to go over it a hundred times, we will."

"Thanks, Sam. So," Janet opened her folder and uncapped her pen, "why don’t we start with you, Sam. From the beginning."

For the better part of an hour, Carter detailed the mission from the moment they stepped through the wormhole until the firefight with the natives and their arrival back on Earth. Sam talked, Janet questioned, Teal’c and Daniel spoke up when they thought Sam had left something out, and the General listened, only voicing the occasional request for clarification.

"So, he was in close contact with four natives. The one who bit him, the two who drug him to the village and dumped him in the cell, and the guard who hit you, Sam. Were any of them coughing? Wheezing? Did they look feverish? Anything unusual?"

Carter shook her head. "No. Nothing."

"They just looked pissed." Daniel smiled. "Jack would probably say it was because they were suffering from seriously diminished libidos due to the death of Min." At the General’s puzzled look, Daniel blushed slightly. "You know, the god of fertility. Jack called it Planet S&M because . . . well, never mind why." He shared a tight smile with Sam and Teal’c.

"They were sneaky little bastards, I’ll say that." Sam was staring absently at the table, seemingly unaware of her use of inappropriate language in the presence of her CO.

"The natives were quite adept at stealth. I was unaware of their presence until O’Neill alerted me to the fact that they were attempting to surround our campsite."

"Guess it was a good thing Jack was on watch when he was. I’d been up late, during Sam’s watch, because I was puzzling over the translation on the pillar. Jack ordered me to bed. Said we were going to have a talk about my dragging . . ."

"Wait." Everyone glanced at Sam. She was still staring at the table, but was obviously seeing something else. Finally, she glanced up at Daniel, then over at Janet. "Something was wrong then."

"What?" Janet felt her heart jump.

Sam looked over at Daniel. "We were talking. Remember the Colonel coming out of his tent? He made a noise. He was stumbling, acting . . . off."

Daniel paled slightly. "I asked him what was wrong, and he . . ."

"Avoided the question. Shit." Sam glanced sharply at the General. "Sorry, sir." He waved away her apology. "It’s just . . . now that I think about it, it seems like he must have been feeling bad all that day. He acted like he does when he has a headache. You know, shading his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. I even caught him taking some ibuprofen. I just . . . I didn’t think anything about it. God, Janet, I’m so sorry."

"He coughed."

He spoke so quietly that Janet thought she’d misunderstood. "Daniel?"

He looked up at her, his eyes huge behind his glasses. "Jack coughed. Not a lot. Just a few times. That night after Sam turned in, when we were talking. He was coughing then. Before . . ."

"Before any contact with the natives," Janet finished for him. Her heart and mind racing, she dug through the papers in front of her. God, she’d concentrated so hard on the mission itself, could she have overlooked something obvious? She scanned the lab results from the Colonel’s pre-mission exam. Nothing jumped out; everything appeared normal. Her hands shaking, she flipped to her notes and quickly read them.

"Okay, okay." She took a breath, trying to calm herself. "When I examined the Colonel before you left, he’d suffered an injury to his ribs. Nothing serious."

"Two days previous, O’Neill, Daniel Jackson and myself had engaged in a game of street hockey against Sergeant Siler and two of his technicians."

Janet nodded. "Right. That’s what the Colonel said. He was hit with a hockey stick or something."

"Yeah. He was." Daniel squirmed restlessly. "But he wasn’t hurt bad. He was just sore. Told me he was getting too old for that kind of nonsense."

"He told me the same thing." Janet smiled at the memory. "I told him he looked tired and he informed me in no uncertain terms that he was tired. He was getting old."

General Hammond chuckled softly, then sobered. "So, Doctor, you believe this injury that the Colonel suffered somehow explains what’s happening to him now?"

"No." Janet shook her head, leafing through the sheaf of papers. "No. That’s not possible. But it makes me wonder . . .," she shook her head. "What about in the days before the game? SG-1 was on down time. Do you know what the Colonel was doing? How or where he spent his time?"

The teammates exchanged blank glances.

"I believe O’Neill attended a hockey game. He attempted to coerce me to go fishing with him; however, I declined." Teal’c looked and sounded regretful at the admission.

"He asked me, too, Teal’c. And Sam. Don’t feel bad. No one wants to fish with Jack. It’s boring and he sucks at it."

"Anything else?" Janet couldn’t help but think they were missing something.

Sam shook her head. "Not that I know of. Dammit. I told him not to play that stupid street hockey game. He asked me to play and I refused." She smiled over at Janet and Hammond. "The Colonel doesn’t have the best record when it comes to betting against Siler. You would have thought he’d learned his lesson after that last fiasco."

"What do you mean?" Janet was flipping through the file, scanning her notes.

"You remember. The day of your chili supper. The Colonel lost a bet over a hockey game and he tried to get us to help him pay up."

Teal’c smiled. "He tried. He was not successful."

Despite the circumstances, Sam and Daniel laughed softly, causing Janet to look up from her papers.

"Yes, I remember. You left him to finish cleaning up some mess over at Siler’s." Janet glanced at the General. "The Colonel anted up the services of SG-1 for some fall chores. There was a slight," she cleared her throat, "mutiny."

Hammond smiled. "I believe he might have mentioned that to me. And, if I remember correctly, I believe the timing of that mutiny earned the good Doctor here a meal and a couple of hockey tickets."

Teal’c cocked an eyebrow, and Sam and Daniel were obviously shocked. Janet blushed. "He mentioned that, did he?"

The General nodded. "Oh, he did better than that. He offered me a piece of the action."

On that note, still smiling, they adjourned. While on the one hand they had made progress, Janet was left with more questions than when she’d arrived. The Colonel’s ‘kids’ promised to let her know immediately if they thought of anything else that might help. Somewhat reluctantly, Janet made her way back to the infirmary to check on her patient, before retreating again to her office in an attempt to piece together a seemingly unsolvable puzzle.

Three hours later, she gave up. She didn’t want to. She argued with herself, relentlessly. She felt like a traitor, like she was letting down a good friend - which she supposed she was - but in the end, she knew she had to get some sleep. If she didn’t, she wasn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all the Colonel.

She checked on him again. Disappointed, but not surprised, to find that his condition was, if possible, even more critical than it had been just a few short hours before. She left explicit instructions with the nurses and with Dr. Warner, and told them all twice, three times, to page her immediately if there was any change. Any change whatsoever.

Finally, despite her misgivings, she made her way to one of the VIP rooms and collapsed across the bed fully clothed. Figuring she’d probably be unable to sleep due to the unanswered questions plaguing her exhausted mind, she was asleep in under five minutes.

* * * * *

She awakened to pounding. She opened her eyes to darkness and groaned at the crick in her neck. She was laying on her stomach, with her head turned and resting on a numb arm. The pounding repeated and she heard someone calling her name softly, the sound slightly muffled.

Janet rolled over and sat up, glancing around the room. Crap. She looked at her watch. She’d been asleep for over two hours.

"Dr. Fraiser?"

She glanced up. Someone was knocking on the door. She half-ran to it and threw it open, fearing the worst. If something had happened to him while she was down here sleeping, she’d never . . .

"What? What’s wrong?"

A young SF stared down at her. "You have a telephone call, ma’am. They said it’s urgent. A Dr. Young."

"Tell them I’ll take it down here."

"Yes, ma’am."

As the SF turned away, Janet hurried to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She was dried off and waiting by the phone when it rang.

"Janet Fraiser."

It was her old colleague, Warren Young. They’d dated once or twice many years ago, but nothing serious had come of it. They’d both been more concerned with concentrating on their careers than developing personal lives. Apparently, things hadn’t changed all that much.

"Hi, Warren. What do you have for me? Anything?" Janet listened with rapt attention, the color draining from her face. With the exception of a few non-committal grunts, she was speechless. "No. No, I’m still here. Yeah. I just . . . I can’t believe this. Are you sure?" But, of course, he was sure. "Yes. I understand. No." She rubbed a hand across her face. "I know. Yeah. It’s just difficult. He’s a . . . he’s a good friend. Yeah. I will. Thanks, Warren. And if you’re ever out this way . . .," she smiled tiredly, even though he couldn’t see her. "Yeah. Thanks again."

Janet replaced the phone and stared at the wall. He was right. She knew it could be worse. She just wasn’t sure exactly how. The Colonel’s sickness had a name. Unfortunately, that name meant that they were now involved in a waiting game. And she and the Colonel had one thing in common - they both sucked at waiting. Janet pushed herself to her feet. She had to tell them. She had to go over his charts; double-check the dosages; educate her staff. But, mostly, she would wait.

When she arrived at the infirmary, she asked that Hammond and SG-1 be called to the observation booth. Then, she entered the isolation room. Bill and Cindy were still there, at the tail-end of their shift.

"Doctor?" Bill was stunned to see her enter with none of the usual precautions, not even a mask and gloves.

"It’s okay. We’ve identified the virus. There’s no risk of contagion."

Almost immediately, both nurses stripped off the hot, suffocating masks. Janet approached the bed, studied the monitors. He seemed to be in a holding pattern. Perhaps that was a good sign. Sighing, she leaned over the bed and stroked the hot, sweaty forehead. She bent closer, her mouth nearly brushing his ear, and clutched his limp, right hand in hers, squeezing gently.

"Colonel? It’s Janet. I don’t know if you can hear me, but . . . we’ve figured out what’s wrong with you. You said we would, and we did. Sir . . .," she felt her throat tighten and she pressed her forehead against his temple, uncaring who saw. "Jack," she whispered, "the two of us, we’ve always had an agreement. You would never tell me what hurts, and I would never lie to you. Well, I’m not going to start now." She glanced down at the limp body, studied the artificial rise and fall of his chest. "It’s not good and it’s not fair, but I’m afraid it’s all up to you, sir. You’re going to have to fight your way out of this one." Janet shut her eyes. Why was he always left to fend for himself? "I’m sorry."

She suddenly remembered the confusion, the fear she’d seen on his face earlier when he’d thought he was back there, about to be hauled off to the Tok’ra. "But I’ll be right here. The whole time. I won’t leave you, and I won’t let them have you. I swear it." And she meant it. The Tok’ra had been suspiciously MIA the last two days when the Colonel needed them most, and she’d be damned if they would come in here now and haul him out of her hands again. Not after last time.

Once more she brushed his forehead, then squeezed his hand again, harder this time. "Jack O’Neill, you are the most stubborn, exasperating, mule-headed, infuriating son-of-a-bitch I have ever known. If anyone can do this, you can. Do you hear me?" She shook his hand gently. The ventilator hissed quietly in response. His chest rose, fell. "If you don’t do this, I’ll . . . I’ll hunt you down myself. And believe me, you don’t want to see me when I’m pissed off. Ask Cassie. So just . . . just do this. Please."

"Dr. Fraiser?"

She flinched at Hammond’s voice, then pulled herself upright and looked up at the four people gathered behind the observation window. Sam frowned and Daniel leaned into the microphone.

"Janet, what’s wrong?"

She kept her hand wrapped around the Colonel’s. "I received a call from the CDC. They’ve identified the virus. Colonel O’Neill has HPS." At their obvious confusion, she clarified. "Hantavirus pulmonary syndrome."

Sam blinked slowly, then leaned close to Daniel and the microphone. "He has hantavirus?" She sounded shocked.

"Well, that’s good, right?" Daniel waved towards the bank of machinery. "I mean, now you can do whatever, you need to do to make him better."

Janet smiled tightly and shook her head. "No, Daniel. There is no cure."

"So . . . what? He’s going to die?"

For some reason his question infuriated her, and she wanted to scream that, no, he wasn’t going to die. Not if she could help it. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath, because the truth was, he was dying and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. "All we can do is keep him on life support. Keep doing what we’re doing. The rest is up to the Colonel."

Now Daniel was the angry one. "You mean, you have all that equipment and there’s nothing you can do?"

Janet inwardly cringed as she was reminded of another time when she’d heard those very same words. That time, they had come from the Colonel as they’d helplessly stood by while the little Reetou boy, Charlie, lay dying. However unintentional, the words had hurt then, as now, and the Colonel had apologized to her later. He’d admitted that his words had been unkind and unfair. Jack O’Neill might sometimes be an asshole, but at least he was a polite one who could admit when he was wrong.

Janet squeezed the Colonel’s hand again, for support this time. "Yes, Daniel, that’s exactly what I’m saying."

* * * * *

When he opened his eyes, she was there, leaning over him, smiling.

"Hey."

He blinked. He felt sleepy, oddly disjointed, confused.

"You’re in the infirmary."

His chest ached. Hell, his whole body ached. And he had a headache.

"You’ve been ill."

He felt like he’d been blind-sided by a mother ship. Or maybe by Bra’tac.

"But you’re going to be fine."

Yeah? He blinked again, his eyes heavy. Fine, huh? Could have fooled him.

* * * * *

"Ready to stay awake this time?"

She was there again. He stared up at her. She looked tired. He opened his mouth to tell her, but something was caught in his throat. Then he remembered choking, coughing, drowning. He panicked just a little and tried to reach for his throat but something or somebody was holding his wrists. She grabbed his hand and squeezed, her touch gentle and calming.

"It’s okay. You have a breathing tube. We need to leave it in for just a little while longer, but we’ll take it out soon. I promise."

He stared up at her eyes. Saw the truth there, burning brightly despite the tiredness. Breathing tubes . . . he hated them, but he’d been there before. He could live with it. He nodded once to let her know he understood.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He was tiring again and had to frown in concentration. He remembered feeling like shit. He remembered hauling his ass halfway across the galaxy only to be mistaken for his damn clone. A clone that was supposed to have destroyed the damn Stargate and stayed home where it belonged. Hell, a clone that hadn’t ‘belonged’ anywhere. Then he cringed as he remembered the clone’s fate. Obviously, considering his current whereabouts, his own fate hadn’t been far removed. But details? He shook his head wearily.

"Do you remember losing a bet with Siler?"

Losing? They’d won that game, fair and square. Okay, well, maybe fair was pushing it a bit, but Jack had just been pleased that Daniel’s clumsiness had finally paid off.

Janet smiled. "Do you remember cleaning out his shed?"

Oh. That bet. He nodded, his head suddenly pounding.

"Well, you’re suffering from hantavirus and it appears Siler’s shed was the culprit."

Hantavirus? Wasn’t that the mouse turd disease? People died from that, didn’t they? He squinted up at her.

"You’re going to be fine, sir. Apparently, being a stubborn asshole does have its advantages."

If he hadn’t been so sleepy, he would have been shocked.

* * * * *

A few days later, the breathing tube was finally removed and replaced with an oxygen mask. Looking slightly rested, Janet and his teammates gathered around his bed. Still feeling shaky and extremely weak, his lungs burning and his chest tight, Jack motioned towards Janet. She smiled at the others and leaned close.

"What? What is it, Colonel?"

"Who you . . . calling . . . a stubborn asshole?"

* * * * *

"Are you sure you’re up to this?"

Jack sat back on her sofa and smiled. Actually, he wasn’t sure. The trip here had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

"No problem."

"Because, you know, we could do this some other time. It doesn’t have to be today."

"Janet . . .," he coughed and she turned to stare at him. It was getting better, but he was still dealing with the remnants of the wicked little virus that had very nearly killed him. He waved a hand at her. "Calm down. I’m fine." She didn’t look convinced. "Really. Although . . . I could use a beer."

She smiled at that and left the room. Jack settled himself back against the cushions, long legs sprawled beneath the coffee table. Despite the fact that he was on medical leave, not even cleared for light duty yet, he’d worn his BDU’s. It felt good. Normal. Especially after four weeks in the infirmary with his ass on display every time he crawled out of bed. Okay, so the first few weeks, he’d been mostly unconscious. Still, even a few days of holding the back of your gown together made a man appreciate pants.

"Here you go, sir."

She handed him a cold bottle.

"Water?" He glared up at her. "I come all the way over here, sick as I am, to do you a favor and the best you can do is water?"

"No booze, Colonel. You know that."

"Yeah." He set the bottle on the coffee table. "So where’s Cass?"

"In her room. She’s a bit . . . miffed. Yes, miffed is a polite way to put it."

"Well, she can just get un-miffed."

Janet laughed softly. "You know, you’re right." She studied his long, lean form. "I think the Army green really does complete the whole ensemble. Gives you that ‘I could go over the edge any moment’ look."

He looked down at himself, tugging on his shirt. "Yeah. I look too nice in the blue ones, and the tan ones just look stupid unless you’re in the desert."

"But . . . maybe Cassie is right. Maybe you should tone it down just a bit. The last boy was afraid to even stand too close to her."

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "Your point being?"

"I’m just saying, what if you skip the part where you tell him how many ways you can kill a man with one hand?"

"Okay," he agreed too quickly.

Janet tilted her head at the sound of a car door.

Jack grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Is that our boy?"

She walked over to the door and peeked through the window, then turned to Jack, mouthing, ‘It’s him.’ A second later the doorbell rang. Janet counted to ten, then opened the door with a flourish. "Oh, hello. Kenny, isn’t it?"

"Ken."

As Jack watched, a tall, scrawny, teenaged boy entered the living room. He was wearing a pair of dirty, baggy jeans that looked like they were about ready to fall off his non-existent ass. He was also wearing a black t-shirt with a word printed on it that Jack still wasn’t allowed to say out loud in front of adults. The kid looked at him, grunted, then looked back at Janet.

"She ready yet?"

She? Jack mentally flinched.

"Uh, I’ll go check." Janet smiled politely. "Why don’t you wait here. This is Colonel Jack O’Neill. He’s a . . . a close friend of the family. Colonel, this is Ken."

As Janet left, Jack stared at the boy without speaking. The kid looked at him, then looked away. Jack stared. The boy fidgeted, sat on the arm of the sofa, then stood up. Jack stared. The kid looked right at him, met him eye to eye, then blinked and sat down on the arm of the chair again.

Finally, the kid screwed up his courage. "You got a problem, pops?"

Jack smiled evilly. "Just wondering."

The kid shrugged and gave Jack the du’h look.

"Kenny, did I ever tell you about the time I emasculated a man using duct tape and a Swiss army knife? You do know what ‘emasculated’ means, right? Cause if you don’t, the whole story is pointless, really."

The kid’s face went two shades of pale.

"Oh, goodie. You do know. That saves a lot of time."

Holding back a cough, Jack sat up on the sofa, prepared to give it everything he had.

Author’s Note: Special thanks to Judy, Brenda and Jodi Marie, and to all of the medical experts who volunteered their time and expertise. Hoo, it’s your fault Janet is humming that song.

© December 2003 Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author