Klaxons and alarms sounded simultaneously, announcing the arrival of incoming traveller’s through the Stargate. In the embarkation room, General George Hammond stood patiently at the end of the ramp.

'Let’s hope that SG1 returns from this mission unscathed', he thought to himself as he patiently waited for the wormhole to engage and the traveller’s to return. Not a superstitious man, he mentally crossed his fingers in the hope that the team would return intact. He had to admit to himself that SG1 was either prone to accidents,or to use it's Commanding Officer's favorite phrase, 'SG1did not have a good day.' Hammond had never seen a team get so repeatedly beat up, yet instead of discouraging them, it helped the team become one of the more cohesive teams he had.

The team returned through the wormhole and Hammond resignedly shook his head as he saw Teal’c, O'Neill, and Daniel come through the wormhole together, literally as one, followed immediately by Major Carter. Teal‘c and Daniel were supporting Jack who had one arm over each shoulder and appeared to be hobbling on one leg. As a threesome, they came down the ramp and stopped in front of the General.

As the Colonel opened his mouth to talk, Hammond shook his head "SG1 report to the infirmary." He sighed inwardly. O'Neill, caught off guard, closed his open mouth, and with an odd look to the General, hobbled off.

In the infirmary, Dr. Janet Frasier paused for a moment outside of the treatment area to collect her thoughts and marshal her arguments. She had some bad news to report and was not looking forward to it.

Collecting her thoughts 'or should I say ammunition?' thought Janet as she moved through the door to where SG1 was waiting. Surveying the room, she was not surprised to find all the team members present, despite medical clearances for three out of the four. While Teal’c, Daniel and Sam lounged at different spots in the room, Jack was doing a poor impression of sitting on a gurney with his left leg extended in front of him.

'Poor man,' laughed Janet as she saw him with one leg on the floor and the other on the gurney. 'He looks like he's ready to bolt.'

The bantering conversation gave way to silence as Janet approached the gurney half containing Jack.

"Okay, Colonel, I have all your test results back and it looks like you’ve finally blown your knee, she stated all in one breath, feeling it was best to get part of the bad news out quickly.

Daniel stepped slightly toward them; his face a study in concentration as he absentmindly pushed his glasses up his nose. "Blown his knee?" He asked cautiously, "Exactly what does that mean, Janet?" changing his posture to crossing his arms across his chest.

"It means, Daniel' that the old knee left the body. You know, no longer connected." Came the dry voice of the Colonel.

Daniel continued to look somewhat puzzled but took Jack’s explanation, such as it was, at face value. Looking to Sam and Teal’c, he raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, Janet, what does this mean? Light duty for a couple of days? Physical torture, I mean physical therapy?" Jack asked, absently rubbing the knee in question.

Janet contemplated the man in front of her and wished it would be that easy. She did not miss the slight rubbing of his knee and the tight lines around his eyes that indicated pain. Glancing briefly at his chart, she was not surprised he had refused any painkillers. Looking him directly in the eye she continued, no Jack, it means this time, we have to do surgery. There is enough damage done to the musculature that supports the knee that I need to go in and repair it. There is probably scar tissue that needs to be cleaned out from your previous injuries too, she stated quietly. Janet never thought she would see the Colonel speechless and when she did, she was sorry she had to be the one to render him so.

"Come on, doc, don’t be so melodramatic. It’s just a sprain like usual. See I can walk on it if I want to." He said and to demonstrate, he pulled his leg off the gurney and placed his full weight on it. Luckily, Teal’c and Sam were close enough to catch him as he began to fall, the knee giving out. Daniel and Janet were both ready to jump in and help as they saw their team leader collapse.

"Careful, Colonel, sit back down." Sam stated, with concern in her voice and on her face.

As he eased himself to a half laying position, the pain evident in his voice, Jack looked to Janet pleadingly.

"Come on, Janet, can’t we try the other way first?"

This was as close to begging as Janet hoped to ever see the Colonel. His voice was strong and steady, but the depths of his eyes spoke of the despair and dislike of being incapacitated. Going to the side of the gurney, she placed her hand gently on his arm and looking him straight in the eye and with a firm voice, she replied. "I’m sorry, Jack. I’m afraid not."

He stared at her for what felt like an eternity, the pit of his stomach beginning to churn. Finally in resignation, he briefly closed his eyes before he looked back at her and quipped, "as Nike says ‘Just Do It.’"

Three Days Later

"I will not work with that man again. Not so soon! He drives me crazy! " came a very frustrated voice in the small office.

I looked up from the computer I was typing at when Tom, the third person in the room looked up from his work and spoke.

"Who....? No, wait, I know," he said as he started to laugh," I saw the surgery schedule. I know who you’re talking about!"

Puzzled, I continued to listen to the conversation as Katie sat down in her chair, swivelling it back and forth with one foot.

"Now don’t laugh. It's not funny! I went to evaluate him today to start therapy and he drove me nuts! Not only would he not do as I asked, but he would overdo what I asked him not to do! The man is nuts!" She exclaimed.

I wanted to laugh along with Tom, but I wasn’t about to draw attention to myself this early in the game. I knew now who they were talking about; Colonel Jack O'Neill; well known in the physical therapy department, even to a newbie like me.

I had just started working on the base a couple of weeks ago. I was a physical therapist, as were Tom and Katie. Tom, the senior member of our group was considered the department head. Katie, was preparing to leave in the next few months, so for awhile, we were doing crossover training. As a therapist, we have to be licensed in the state we work in. Unfortunately for me, the state had yet to grant me my license due to red tape. Therefore, I could work as a therapist, but I had to have a licensed therapist supervise my work. It placed me in a tenuous position; one where I was trained to be independent, but was unable to work that way until my license was granted. Usually, in this kind of situation, the therapist ended up with some of the patients the others just didn't want to work with for one reason or another. As I realized they were talking about Colonel O'Neill, and noticing the way Katie had reacted to him earlier, I was sure I would end up with him as my patient. Wanting to gain as much background information as I could, I silently listened, drawing my own conclusions

"Oh," started out Tom, "you mean he wanted to take control of the session as usual. And you were surprised at this?" he asked with exaggerated incredulity in his voice, teasing Katie.

"Yeah, well, I was hoping she’d have him drugged this time," muttered Katie, realizing she would get no sympathy from one who had been there and done that.

Before anyone could say more, the klaxons and alarms went off, causing me to literally jump in my seat, dribbling diet coke down the front of my shirt. As I was attempting to regain my composure and clean myself up I heard in unison the word I was beginning to dread.

"Jumpy!" Katie continued with a smile, "You can work with the Colonel. You haven’t had the pleasure yet.

Why on God’s Green Earth was I blessed with an overactive startle reflex to loud noises and then put on a military base I’ll never know, but since I had started working here, my coworkers had nicknamed me Jumpy. Mentally rolling my eyes and knowing my cover was blown, so to speak, I joined the conversation.

"Yeah right, like I wouldn’t have the pleasure anyway." I said with false bravado. Even with only being here for two weeks, I had heard O'Neill horror stories. "You have the easy part. Evaluate them and throw the new one to the wolves. Or is that wolf?." I replied Katie just gave a smile that I knew meant trouble, and replied before turning to her computer, "Let me write up the evaluation and then we’ll talk about it, okay, Jumpy?"

Speaking of patients, I was prepared to begin seeing Colonel O'Neill. After glancing through his chart, I noted he had a pretty routine procedure done, although there did seem to be rather extensive scar tissue that Dr. Fraiser had to remove. As a matter of practice, I checked his medication list to see what he was on, knowing that effective pain control was the best addition to therapy. I was somewhat apprehensive that he had been refusing a lot of pain meds. That could be trouble, but I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. Quickly glancing through the nurses notes, I found what I expected; one cranky Colonel. Mentally gathering my resolve, along with the crutches I was going to use today, I headed toward the Colonel’s room.

As I approached the door, some of the conversation drifted out and it sounded like two little kids arguing.

"Daniel, I did not cheat."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Did so."

As I knocked on the open door to announce my presence, I could see that the man in the bed was the Colonel, and I assumed the other to be Dr. Daniel Jackson; they had been playing cards. Upon seeing me, Dr. Jackson quickly swung his feet off the bed where they had been resting, and stood up with a questioning look. This slight pause gave me a minute to assess the man in the bed.

Overall, he appeared to be well conditioned and in good physical shape. His coloring under his tan was slightly pale, not unusual after having a trauma such as surgery. Looking closely at his face, one could see fine lines of tension indicating pain that apparently he was not acknowledging to the staff. The bedsheet was tucked around the left leg, revealing a long soft splint that covered his leg from the thigh to just below the knee. His leg was elevated on a pillow to reduce the swelling, completing the picture. Stepping into the room, I introduced myself.

"Hi, I’m Lisa Kilburn, the physical therapist who will be working with the Colonel, " I stated as I walked toward the bed. The look I got could have been the definition of surly. Oh boy, let the games begin.

"What are you doing here? I already had one of you guys in here bugging me this morning."

I went ahead and approached the side of the bed but not before I saw his companion cringe at the Colonel’s eloquent statement.

"Dr. Fraiser wants you to have therapy twice a day. That will get you back on your feet quicker and out of here." I continued in my "therapist voice."

One eyebrow shot straight up on the scowling face as he met me eye for eye.

"And they sent you? How can you help me when you’re barely tall enough to look over the edge of the bed?" came the sarcastic reply.

"Ahh, Jack," the other man started to say, but he was quickly silenced with, what I would call a even more deadlier look. One which did not seem to phase him, surprisingly enough.

Not releasing his gaze, I continued "yes, Colonel, they sent me. If you want to walk and get stronger, you won’t care how tall I am." The words were delivered with more arrogance than I felt, but I was not about to let him know that!

Daniel broke the stare down as he stifled what could only be called a chuckle as he prepared to leave the room. "Well, Jack, looks like I’d better go." With that, he left the room rather quickly.

I thought I heard O'Neill mutter "traitor" under his breath before I went ahead.

"Okay, Colonel, Dr. Fraiser has allowed you to get up on crutches today, with therapy." I always tend to emphasis to patients who are young and healthy "with therapy" so they won’t get any wild ideas about running around on their own. Little did I know whom I was dealing with.

"I already know how to use crutches so you don’t need to help me. And anyway, why can’t you just give me the crutches and let me walk around on my own. That’s what has always been done before.

"Colonel, this situation is different because of the surgery. You’re not going to be able to put any weight on that leg for awhile, which is why you have a full leg brace on. The musculature around the knee has been slightly damaged by the surgery. It will, in time, have to be strengthened."

"For crying out loud. Let’s just get this done then."

I shut the door for some privacy as I helped him sit on the side of the bed. As I pulled the covers away, I thanked God he had hospital pants on, not wanting to fight the battle of "cheeks flapping in the wind."

"Ahh, I see you’re into belts?" he quipped with a sarcastic look on his face.

"Colonel O'Neill, this is called a gait belt. I’m sure you have experienced the use of one before. If you recall, it goes around your waist so I can hold on to the belt and not you as you begin to walk." I couldn’t resist the slight dig of his numerous trips to the therapy department. Needless to say, it did not go unnoticed.

As I prepared him to stand, I ran through the last minute instructions with him. "When you stand up, do not put any weight on your left leg yet. Dr. Fraiser left strict orders to not do so for a couple of days. I gather you know how to use crutches?" 'If looks could kill.' "Okay, on the count of three, you’re going to stand."

"Ya think? With you and who else?"

"You know, Colonel, walking with a patient is a lot like Tae Kwon Do; it’s not necessarily strength, but technique. Trust me, I’ve done this before with men taller than you." Well, my last comment didn’t win friends, but I was already in the hole, so who’s counting.

Gingerly he eased himself off the bed, using it to support himself as he adjusted the crutches. Looking down at me, literally, he indicated readiness.

"I’m going to hold on to the belt behind you and help you balance. We’re not going to go too far. Today we just want you to get a feel for being up." With no sarcastic comment being returned, I assumed he was ready. Grasping a hold of the belt in one hand and placing my other in the air in front of his body, I tentatively ushered him forward, slowly. I was not surprised at how quickly he tried to move. All therapy patients, below 70, try to move too fast it seemed. I pulled back on the belt a little, not giving him as much reign, when he looked at me in irritation.

"Don’t do that. You’ll pull me off balance. I know how to do this. Let’s just go."

"Colonel, if you start out too fast, you could fall. Even though you are strong, you have been in bed for three days and your body needs to adjust to being upright. I won’t hold on as tight, is that better?" Again, no response, so I took that for a "yes". Slowly, we hobbled to the closed door. When I stopped; he looked down at me expectantly.

"We’re not going any farther than this?"

"Well, you get to go back to bed,." came my reply. A frustrated snort was the only answer I got as he turned to make his way back to the bed.

Needless to say, by the time we got back to the bed and had him lying down again, he was breathing hard and his face was a touch paler. As I helped him settle in, I decided to cross the next minefield.

"Colonel, when did you last have anything for pain?" I asked quietly as I arranged the blankets around him.

"Don’t take anything," was the soft and actually first civil reply I had received from him thus far. Taking the lead, after making sure he had my attention, I went into my usual pain speech.

"It’s very important for you to take pain medication. It helps to relax the body and to enable the patient to go farther and work harder. You may feel as if you can tough it out, but in the long run it may slow down your therapy because we can’t proceed as quickly."

Silence greeted me. Not exactly the reply I expected, but who was I to argue? He turned his head to once again look at me directly. I felt he was looking for some type of trick or lie in my face. I held his gaze seriously and as impassively as possible. When he remained quiet, I continued. "Even if you don’t want to take it all the time, please take some before therapy and at night. If you are tired from being up all night in pain, you won’t work as well.

That still face continued to regard me. I knew I kind of had him between the proverbial rock and a hard place. It was well known he did not like pain meds, but in this case, it would really be beneficial in the long run it he took them as we suggested. I suspected that deep down he knew this, but wasn’t about to give in easily. Nodding his head once, he replied softly, with not even a hint of sarcasm, "I’ll think about it."

"Okay. That’s all we’re going to do for today, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll let the nurses know my schedule, so if you want the medication, they’ll know when to give it to you."

He closed his eyes, either in acceptance, or as a way to shut me out, as I gathered my things and left the room.

It was common practice for the therapist to report directly to the doctor treating the patient, especially in rehabilitation therapy. I knew from Katie that Dr. Fraiser expected a progress report every few days; sooner if there was a problem. So, having completed the first session, I approached her office to see if she was free to talk for a minute. When I saw her at her desk, I cautiously knocked on the door.

She looked up from the chart she had been studying and stared at me for a moment, shifting gears from what she was doing, to assimilating who I was and why I was there. Smiling slightly, she indicated I come in and sit down across from her desk.

Nervously, I did as she requested. Although she was a petite woman, she had a very commanding presence about her. To say I was frightened of her did not adequately express what I felt; maybe more apprehensive was a better word. A therapist never knew how a doctor would respond to what you had to say, even if they requested frequent updates.

"Dr. Fraiser, I'm Lisa Kilburn, the physical therapist assigned to work with Colonel O'Neill. I just completed my first session with him and I wanted to give you a quick update."

"Hi Lisa, I recognized you from your interview. I noticed in the chart that Katie had been the one to evaluate Colonel O'Neill. I assumed she would continue with the treatment."

"She did complete the evaluation, but we agreed it would be a good experience for me to work with the Colonel this time." I didn't want to tell her that Katie all but refused to work with O'Neill.

She nodded knowingly, contuing, "I see. How did the first session go?"

I recounted our session with her and informed her of the concern I had about him not taking his pain medication as ordered. When I said this she caught me off guard when she laughed a small laugh before commenting on my report.

"I have been Colonel O'Neill's physician for a few years now, and I can attest to his resistance to taking pain medication. I'll see what I can do to alleviate that problem. I understand the benefits it will bring to his therapy sessions. Otherwise, it sounds like he's doing as expected. Remember to try and keep the weight off his leg. I had to place some stitches in the outer layer of skin in order to clean out the adhesions from previous injuries."

"Yes, Ma,m. So far, that was not a problem."

"Good. Sounds like you"re off to a good start. We'll talk again in a couple days. Thank you for stopping by."

Leaving her office, I thought about our conversation. With just a few words, she revealed a strong attachment for the Colonel's welfare. Now being the CMO she would, but I got the feeling the caring went beyond doctor/patient relationship. I surmised she must have seen him through many rough times to develop that level of friendship.

The next morning when I entered the therapy office, both Tom and Katie were waiting expectantly. As I walked in, I greeted them and slowly sat my things down on my desk and opened my diet coke. I knew they were dying to ask how yesterday’s session went, but I could play this game too!

Finally, Katie broke. "Come on, Jumpy, tell us. How did it go yesterday with the Colonel? I had to leave before you got back, but I guess it must not have been too bad since you did come in this morning," she said with a smile.

Aware that Tom was also waiting my reply, I was half tempted not to tell them, especially when I heard that blasted nickname, but I gave in and repeated how the session went.

"Sounds like you did well, was all Tom said as he turned back to his desk to look through some papers.

I nodded and turned to my computer as the thought 'if good meant coming out alive' crossed my mind. It was about an hour later that I went to see O'Neill. I quickly checked with the nurses to see how he was doing just, to get an indicator of how our session might go.

"Well, let me put it this way. He slept about two hours last night and has practically bit the head off of anything that moves this morning" came the duty nurse’s reply.

"Just taking a guess here, he hasn’t taken his pain meds, has he?" I asked, to which I got knowing smiles.

When I entered his room, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his left leg stretched out in front of him, touching the floor. He at least had the decency to look slightly guilty when he looked up.

"Colonel O'Neill, planning to go somewhere?" I asked trying to keep my voice neutral. The last thing I needed was for this man to try and stand on his own. Even letting his leg down in that position would increase the swelling and I had no idea how long he had been sitting like that.

His answer was short and to the point. "Tired of lying down."

"Well, let’s see how you do walking today then." I replied. A noncommittal grunt was all I heard as I checked his leg before preparing him to stand. Apparently he hadn’t been sitting there too long as there wasn’t much of an increase in the swelling. Good, that would have made walking difficult, it not impossible.

We slowly made it through another therapy session. He became cranky and irritable when we only went the same distance as before.

"How come you won’t let me go any farther than the door?" he demanded to know.

"Colonel, you are already beginning to show signs of fatigue from being up on that leg, and you still need to make it back to the bed. I can’t allow you to go any farther until you are stronger." 'Or in control of your pain', I thought to myself. We finished up for the morning and I told him when I would be back.

Later that afternoon, when I went back to continue with him, things had changed slightly. At least this time he was lying in bed. After I had left him this morning, he had sat back up despite my warnings and let his knee become so swollen that the temporary brace the doctor had put on it had to be loosened to accommodate the increased size. The scowling face gave me a pretty good indicator of where his pain level was.

"Colonel, there is no way we can get you up this afternoon. The swelling has to come back down before I can even attempt to move you." I tried to say it in an even, nonjudgemental voice. He only looked at me and glared. Once again I gave the short version of the importance of taking pain medication before beating hasty retreat, frustrated for having wasted an afternoon.

The next morning, I quickly checked with the nurses to see how O'Neill was doing and was surprised at the answer.

"I went in this morning to give him his breakfast and told him when therapy would be. About an hour ago, I took in some morphine, expecting him to turn it down. To my surprise, he took it! What did you say to him yesterday?"

"It wasn’t my doing," I replied, "it was his decision." I tried to appear nonchalant, but inside I was jumping up and down. Yeah! One small victory!

Walking into his room, I rapped on the door as I entered then walked over to the bed. One blearily eye looked at me for a moment before comprehension sank in. Knowing I had woken him from a drugged sleep, I waited him out.

"Sweet, the morning torture session."

"Good morning to you too, Colonel. Are you ready to walk a little farther today?" That one eye continued to pursue me.

"How come you wear civies?" He asked, catching me off guard. Startled for a second, I had to catch up to the conversation.

"Well, ‘cause I’m not in the military." Well, it was the truth. That got both eyes open and as he looked at me, I felt like the enemy caught in the crosshairs.

"Oh yeah, I remember seeing a new employee on the list I received. I guess that must have been you. How come the military recruited a civilian for this position? Couldn’t we fill it with one of our own?"

I mentally cringed at the slight, but when I looked at his earnest face, I realized it was unintended, the dig at my not being military. He truly did not understand.

"Main reason is, there is a shortage of therapists, and not everyone is willing to work for the military. The way the job market has been, not too many therapist need to go into the military to guarantee themselves a good, steady job. Besides, I only have the vaguest idea of what goes on here and I’m restricted to certain areas. All in all, I guess they don’t consider me a security threat."

"News to me, was the cryptic remark. I wasn’t sure which part though, where I said I didn’t know much of the base or where I said I wasn’t a security risk. Oh well, I didn’t have time to think about it as he quickly came to life and we progressed through the therapy session. We were going along well, until a very loud noise occurred outside the room and I jumped about ten feet.

"Shit," he said, startled. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. I just don’t react well to loud noises."

"And you chose to work at a military base?" The incredibility could have dripped off those words.

"Uh, huh," I said with a sigh, "Gotta work somewhere" to which he actually laughed. Well sort of. I’m still not sure if it was a laugh with me or at me kind of thing.

"Kind of jumpy aren’t you?" he asked. My first instinct was that he found out my nickname; something which I knew he would not let me live down. Then I realized it was an innocent comment.

"Always have been, always will be. You know how it goes." I was shooting for nonchalanche here.

"For crying out loud. As jumpy as you are, it’s a good thing they don’t give you a gun!"

As I stared at the smirking face, I tried to decide if any therapist had killed a patient, and if so, were they convicted? I was beginning to wonder which Colonel I liked better, the one on drugs or the one not.

"Yeah, yeah, let’s finish these exercises." That smirking face remained throughout the rest of our session.

Over the next few days, we developed a real working relationship. We both learned to judge the others moods and actions, and with each session, we became a little more comfortable with each other. Obviously he was in great physical condition because he was recovering from the surgery quickly. I found it interesting that whenever I went to get him for therapy, there was always someone with him. Asking Katie and Tom about it, I found out that they were the other members of his team. I guess they had a reputation for being very close. That I could attest to. Everyday it was either Dr. Carter, Dr. Jackson or the big guy. People in my area claimed to not know his name. I wasn’t sure if that was the truth, or because I was still on limited security clearance. So I referred to him as "the big guy" to myself.

Just when I was getting semi comfortable with our working relationship, the unexpected happened. That’s why it was always said that in the world of therapy, things can change quickly.

Walking into the room as I rapped on the door, I called out my usual greeting. "Colonel O'Neill, ready for therapy today?"

As I approached the bed, he sluggishly turned to look at me, squinting his eyes slightly and drawing his eyebrows together.

"Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute." This was not the usual response I had been getting. Alarm bells started going off in my head, but I tried to ignore them, especially since I had just talked to the nurses and they had said he was fine. He'd even had his pain medication. I assisted him into the wheelchair to take him down to the therapy department. He had progressed to the point where we were doing some exercises to strengthen the musculature around the knee and it was easier to work in the department where all the equipment was located. Plus we had the parallel bars to work on balance and coordination; not standard equipment in the infirmary! Once there, I helped him lay on one of our flat exercise mats where we usually began each session. Most days, he started right away, whether I was ready or not, but today, he just laid there for a minute, blinking his eyes.

As I arranged a couple pillows under his head, I asked him, concerned about him. "Sir, you okay?"

"Yeah. Fine."

This was new. We hadn’t spoken in monosyllables since the first day or so.

"Are you in pain?" I asked, pushing further, convinced that something was not right.

"No. Took the shot. Let’s just get this over with."

Knowing I could press no further, I went ahead and started the session. We did his exercises, which he knew by heart. He was working slower than usual, but not enough to raise any alarms.

"Why is it so hot in here?" he asked querulously. His face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

This was a totally new complaint. Usually the department was comfortable, despite being underground, and he had never complained about being hot before, even when he worked hard. Assessing the situation, I noticed his face seemed slightly flushed. As I watched, I noticed the more he moved the left leg, the more pain he seemed to be in.

"Colonel, I want you to stop for a minute and see if you can't cool down. Would you like a drink of water?" He didn’t answer, but stopped working as a look of relief crossed his face. I decided then that we had a problem.

"Colonel, you rest for a minute, I’ll get you a drink." His eyebrow cocked at my statement and I quickly added, "water, Colonel," hoping to get some kind of sarcastic reply. When none was forthcoming, I left him and went into the office. I met Tom who had just finished with a patient.

"Tom, I think I’ve got a problem here." I said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Something's not right with the Colonel. He’s really sluggish today. He seems to be in pain and he’s actually complaining about it being hot in here."

"Sounds like something could be going on, alright. Have you taken his BP and pulse?" When I shook my head he went on. "Go ahead and do that. Let's check the incision, too just as a precaution."

When I returned to the mat, he was laying with his eyes closed. I sat down beside him and told him what I was going to do.

"Colonel, I haven’t taken your blood pressure or pulse for awhile. Let's make sure you’re still alive." I said as I started to wrap the cuff around his upper arm.

"Don’t count on it." He muttered causing me to raise my eyebrows.

He was amazingly compliant as I performed my tasks. I moved to the other side of the mat, speaking to him as I begin to unwrap his incision. Throughout this time he didn't complain or fuss over what I was doing which went even farther in convincing me that something was wrong.

"We’re going to take a look at your incision to make sure it’s healing okay." I knew it sounded like a feeble excuse. The nursing staff and Dr. Frasier checked it daily, but sometimes things could creep up quickly.

I finished unwrapping the incision as Tom walked up. We looked at each other and Tom quietly told me he was going to call the floor and have them send someone down to look at it.

The incision was roughly four inches long, crossing vertically over the center of the knee. Although it had been healing well,but was now an angry red and was warm to the touch. In addition, the area around the incision was inflamed and had a puffy, plastic look to it. It was something I had seen before; in fact, I had experienced it a couple of times myself. I was not allowed to diagnosis, but I would bet money the Colonel had cellulitis, and a pretty full blown case of it too. Cellulitis was an infection in a wound that spreads to the skin around the site. It comes on quickly and can be painful. The cause isn’t really known, but if not treated quickly, serious complications can arise. It generally requires antibiotics to treat. Unfortunately, if I was right, it would also delay his therapy. Tom came back in the room, indicating someone was coming down and to save the vitals I had taken.

Going back to the other side of the mat, I sat down by the Colonel and explained to him what was going on.

"It looks like there may be a problem with the area around your incision. We’ve called the floor and they are sending someone down to take a look at it, but I think we are probably done for the day." A small nod was the only response I got. I had just finished my sentence when I turned in surprise. Someone came down from the floor all right, Dr. Fraiser herself.

It was unusual to have a doctor come directly to the department, especially the CMO. I quickly vacated my spot and filled her in on what had happened.

"Dr. Fraiser, when the Colonel came down to the department he was acting sluggish and eventually complained of it being hot in here. Typically that is not a problem with him. In addition, I noticed that he looked slightly flushed. I alerted my supervisor and when we unwrapped the incision, we thought it best to call the floor."

Standing toe to toe, she smiled briefly before she took up my spot by his side. Stepping a few paces away to give her room, I couldn’t pull myself away and found myself eavesdropping on the conversation.

"Not a good day, Jack?" She asked quietly as she sat down.

From where I stood, I could see her eyes mentally assessing the situation. As she reached for his hand to take his pulse, he responded.

"You could say that." Pointing vaguely in my direction he went on, "she just did that."

I was surprised when she asked me the results of what I had done. In most instances, the doctor’s simply completed the task themselves unless it had been previously done by the nursing staff.

"His pulse was strong at 70 and his blood pressure was a little lower than usual at 100/74." I replied somewhat hesitantly. Being new to the base, I sure didn’t want to get in trouble with the CMO for doing something wrong. I breathed a sigh of relief when she nodded her head and turned back to the Colonel who had continue to lie quietly, although his eyes were open now.

"Beating a little fast huh, Jack?". These therapy people been working you too hard?" As she asked, she placed her hand against his forehead and briefly touched his check. Next she turned to look at the incision.

His snort at her comment quickly turned into a grimace of pain that he quickly squelched

as she went on to gently probe the area around the wound. I could tell from the look on her face that she had not missed the grimace. As she finished checking the site, I knew she was not happy.

"Okay, Jack. Let’s get you back to your room. It looks like you have an infection brewing. It's causing a fever and I would bet some increased pain well." Their eyes met briefly as they each acknowledged the pain. A disappointed look settled on the Colonel's face as he realized this would be a setback in therapy.

I showed her to the office and watched quietly as they came from the infirmary to load him up and take him back upstairs. I watched, transfixed as the airman prepared to move him. I could hear Dr. Fraiser's quiet voice giving directions.

"Jack, we need to move you to the stretcher. I don't want you to try and help; let us do the work, okay?" She paused briefly, maintaining eye contact with the Colonel. "Jack, it's going to hurt."

"Wait, why do I have to go on a stretcher, why can't I go in a wheelchair with my leg straight?"

"Jack, given the combination of your fever, low blood pressure and infection, I would feel more comfortable with you on the stretcher."

"Sweet."

Looking at the airman/orderlies, she continued with her instructions. "Let's do this as quickly and efficiently as we can." Each man nodded and with practiced precision, they had the Colonel settled on the stretcher. Even from where I was standing, I flinched, almost feeling his pain. Apparently, so could Dr. Fraiser, as she stopped to talk to Colonel O'Neill before they left. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder and spoke to him softly. In our quiet department, her voice carried to where I was standing.

"Jack, it's okay. I know it hurts. Just try to relax. We'll get you back to your room quickly and see if we can do something about that pain." She brushed his sweaty brow with a clean towel we had been using with the exercises, as she gave the command for the airman/orderlies to take the Colonel to the infirmary.

Slowly I walked into the office, heading for my desk. Sitting down, I couldn't erase the picture in my mind of the Colonel in pain as he was moved. Needless to say, part of my mind left with that stretcher.

"So, what’s up?" Asked Tom, concern in his voice.

"Well, we were right. He has cellulitis. I think she said she was going to put him on IV antibiotics. I thought oral antibiotics were used over IV ones." I replied quietly, feeling somewhat subdued.

"From the looks of that incision, the IV ones would probably be the best thing. That way it will kick in faster and he can get over this quicker. It’s too bad; it seems he always has some kind of set back." When I didn’t reply immediately, he continued. "You okay, Jumpy?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to wait for a few days before I have Katie discharge him. Usually this kind of thing run it’s course quickly with antibiotics."

"Good idea, but this is the Colonel we’re dealing with. He has had some weird infections in the past and it may take more than usual to get him over this even if this is usually a pretty uncomplicated one. Anyway, I gotta go. See you later."

He walked out of the office and I sat at my desk for a minute, staring at the wall in front of me. It’s a funny thing about therapist and their patients; even the most obnoxious ones have a way of getting under your skin. It really upset me to know O'Neill was ill, and I felt an odd kind of sadness that therapists experience but no one can quite explain. Sighing, I tried to turn my thoughts toward other things, but all I could see was the look of pain that briefly crossed O'Neill’s face when the doctor examined his wound. After a few minutes, I realized I was staring blankly at a chart. Finally I gave in to what was bothering me.

Why could he not show pain? Most men and women in his situation would have at least said "it hurts" or acknowledged it in some way. I was curious as to what it was in the Colonel that prevented him from doing this. Tapping my pen on my desk, my thoughts continued. Was it masochism that made him act that way? I quickly discarded that thought as soon as it crossed my mind; he just wasn’t the type. Continuing to tap my pen I came to a startling conclusion.

I had heard all the stories about the Colonel’s escapades while on base, and I knew that he was a military man from way back, having recently joined this project, whatever it was, to forgo retirement. Rumor had it that he was in special ops, or black ops to use the slang term, and that he had served in the Gulf War. Thinking this over, I could only think that his past experiences had taught him not to release pain, that for some reason, he had to keep it all inside. My imagination ran wild as to what he had endured, and I was sure that did not even skim the surface of what really happened. I got up and left for the day, my somber mood staying with me as I felt I had gained new insight to the man who was so full of sarcasm; pain and sarcasm so closely linked.

The next two days were quiet. Too quiet in fact. Finally, near the end of the second day, I broke down and decided to find out how the Colonel was. Since I was on the floor anyway, I dropped by his room.

The door was half way shut but I could hear voices coming from the inside. Not wanting to interrupt, I was about to knock when the conversation drifted out the door. Intrigued in spite of myself, I stopped to listen. Guiltily, I realized I was getting good at eavesdropping.

"Colonel, General Hammond has ordered Teal’c, Daniel and I to accompany SG3 to Planet PN3687. Unfortunately, the inhabitants having been having trouble with the Goa'uld and Hammond thought we might be able to assist SG3."

"More snakeheads, huh? Sweet." Came the soft reply. "Daniel, why are you going if it’s to fight those bastards? No offence, Teal’c."

"Well, Jack, Apparently there are some ruins there and the archeologist assigned to the team is rather new and needs some help."

"What a go, Danny-boy? Get to play with some rocks?"

"Artifacts, Jack, Artifacts." The way the reply was worded, it appeared to be two people enjoying an old joke.

"Colonel, Janet said that even with the infection, you are doing well and should be back on your feet soon."

"Yeah. Before you guys go..."

Suddenly I realized where I was and what I was listening to. Just replaying the conversation in my mind, I realized that either my security clearance would jump up a few notches, or I’d get fired for listening in on a private conversation. First though, I had to get caught. Still, I couldn't help thinking about what I had heard. Whoa, goaulds? Snakeheads? What did they do at this base?

I went to work with my next patient, my mind preoccupied with what I had heard. Not just the content, but the way the other team members interacted with the Colonel. I had never heard of a team who came to the infirmary to tell their teammate they were going on a new mission. In fact, rarely did any of the other team members come in contact with each other off base from what I had heard. Interestingly, enough, it wasn’t just that "reporting to the commanding officer" kind of thing; it was genueine concern for the Colonel that seemed to have brought them there. It was like they were trying to reassure him that they would be okay while they were gone. Although unspoken, the undercurrent was definitely a 'do not worry' one.

I was getting a whole new insight into O'Neill, not a totally surprising one though. In working with him, I had begun to see the little cracks of humanity behind the sarcasm and wit. This conversation confirmed what I was beginning to formulate on my own; O'Neill was human. And not only was he human, but possessed with intense emotions.

Since my patient wasn’t ready, I made my way back to O'Neill’s room. The conversation sounded as if it was wrapping up, so I decided to go ahead and check on him.

I knocked softly on the door as I walked in, belatedly realizing that I had walked in on the tail end of a continued conversation.

"I will do so, O'Neill."

Unfortunately, my momentum carried me into the room before I could stop. I ended up seeing not only O'Neill, but the "big guy". I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw him face to face. He was huge, and had this weird looking gold tattoo on his forehead. But he carried himself with great dignity, and I sensed a calmness about him.

"Oh I’m sorry. I just came by to see how you were doing Colonel O'Neill; I’ll come back later," I managed to stammer out, my face turning red with embarrassment. As I went to back out quickly but not so gracefully, O'Neill stopped me

"No, it’s okay, Teal’c needs to get going anyway." Boy, talk about a command voice. I felt as if my feet were planted in the cement foundation. I could only nod as the giant unfolded himself from the chair, and with a slight bow of his head to O'Neill, he walked out of the room.

The loss of his presence from the room was palpable as I walked to the bed. "Colonel O'Neill, how are you doing?" I asked, trying to normalize my voice, my emotions, and attempt to get some control back of the situation.

He had that sarcastic grin on his face and I knew he could see right through me; he knew exactly what I was thinking. Ignoring my question he answered with one of his own. "Guess your security clearance needs to be checked, ya think?"

"I’m sorry, Colonel O'Neill. I didn’t mean to walk in on a private conversation. I was just on the floor and since things in my department had been a little quiet lately, I thought I stop and see how you were doing." I stumbled through my sentence, rambling as I spoke at a rapid pace. Panic was beginning to engulf me as thoughts of unemployment went through my head. Or did the military shoot you when you heard or saw classified information? Darn him, he was enjoying my discomfiture.

"Don’t worry about it, Lisa. It was an accident. It’ll be okay."

His voice was reassuring. Taking a deep breath, I tried to settle down and regain my composure.

"You didn’t answer my question." Oh yeah, I had command of the situation.

"Doc has me hooked up to gigantic bug killers, so I guess I’ll live." He finally replied, absently waving an arm that contained an IV site. Glancing up, I saw two small bags hanging down. Those usually indicated antibiotics. Uhmm, usually a two bagger meant serious trouble. I looked back to O'Neill, just in time to catch a fleeting grimace of pain cross his face.

"Are you still taking your pain medication?" I asked without thinking. The look I got would have stopped traffic.Okay, don’t go there, I thought to myself . "Well, I’d better go, still have other patients to see."

"Wait a minute. Before you go, can you help me for a second?"

I looked at him warily. Having been a therapist for awhile, I had been caught in this trap before. The definition of "help" to patients could be anything from getting a magazine to getting them out of there. Regarding the Colonel, I suspected the latter as I replied. "Depends. What do you need me to do?"

"I want to lie on my side, but Fraiser threatened me that if I pull out the IV line, she'll kill me. It's tangled, and every time I try to move, I pull on it or tangle it more."

Ahh, I thought, the medical version of tying the patient to the bed to keep him in place for

treatment.

"Sure," I said, "That’s easy. Can you hang on for just a second? I need to go finish up with another patient."

"Yeah, sure." As I walked out of the room, I swear I heard him mutter, "like I have a choice." Smiling, I finished up with the other person and came back to the room. He was so quiet and withdrawn, I began to wonder if I had mad him angry.

As I began to untangle the tubing, I looked at him cautiously. He didn’t have the expression of someone really angry or annoyed, just kind of a lost look on his face. "Colonel.....Colonel?" I wasn’t getting an answer, or even a change of expression. Suddenly he realized I had been trying to talk to him.

"What?....I’m sorry, I guess my mind was somewhere else."

I went ahead and helped him turn on his side. He seemed more comfortable, but he still had that odd look on his face, and he was so quiet. Suddenly it dawned on me! During that short passage of time, his team must have left on their mission. I realized then that mentally, he was with them, wishing desperately to be with them physically. Quietly, I made sure he was comfortable and left the room, aware the Colonel had already left, at least in his mind.

Later that day, I was sitting at the nurse’s station trying to write my weekly notes in the patient’s charts when a loud beep caused me to jump. Looking up from what I was writing, I saw that the noise had also drawn the attention of the nurse’s and I found out why as Dr. Fraiser approached the desk, turning off her pager as she did.

"Doctor, that’s our page. O'Neill’s temperature has spiked in the last hour. I went ahead and gave him the medicine for the fever and the pain, but we just checked it again and it was still high," reported the nurse.

"Let’s do some blood cultures to make sure we know what we’re dealing with. The combination of antibiotics should be taking care of the cellulitis. I’ll go take a look at him," replied Fraiser, picking up his chart and disappearing down the hall.

Now it was even harder to concentrate on writing my notes. If he was spiking a fever, that meant the infection was either spreading and/or not responding to the antibiotics at all. Either way, the news was not good. Although I wanted to stay to hear what was happening, I had no other excuses to keep me at the nurse’s station. Sighing in resignation, I grabbed my equipment and headed for the office.

Later that evening, as I was getting ready to leave work, I decided I had some notes to add to the charts. At least that was the excuse I was going to use if I got caught on the floor after "typical therapy hours". The nurse’s station was quiet when I got there and I was able to accomplish my real goal, which was to look at O'Neill’s chart. I hoped I didn’t look as guilty as I felt as I grabbed his chart from the rack and sat down. Reading through the notations in his chart was not encouraging. He was continuing to run a high fever, the source as yet unknown. I tried reading Dr. Fraiser's latest entry, but it really did not give any more information that what I knew. Unfortunately, the medical school she went to must have given classes in how to write sloppily, so no one could read it! Glancing quickly at the laboratory results, I noted that some of his lab values were off, indicative of an infection, but although the blood cultures were drawn, it would take up to three days to get the final results back. As I went to put his chart away, a voice from behind startled me.

"I didn’t know therapists stayed this late." came the friendly voice of the duty nurse.

Smiling at her, I answered easily, "I tend to because I’m slow at getting my work done. And often it’s quieter in the department when no one else is there."

"I know what you mean, there are some days I’d like to go write my notes in the john, just to have some piece and quiet."

We shared a small laugh and I tried to appear nonchalant as I asked, so how’s the Colonel doing? He got sick on us and I haven’t heard anything since." Well, small lie but whose counting?

"His fever has gone up and Dr. Fraiser is doing some testing to try and find the reason. You know, usually we can treat cellulitis with oral antibiotics, but leave it to the Colonel to make it difficult on us."

Finally, a chance to see if I could get some history on him. "So, he’s been here a lot?"

The nurse laughed as she replied, "Between him and Dr. Jackson, we’re considering giving them frequent flyer miles."

Just when I thought I could get more information, a patient’s call light went off and the duty nurse had to go answer it. I was left standing at the nurse’s station in frustration, thinking 'so close'.

I tried to go home then, but I couldn’t. I was drawn to his room like a magnet. I finally gave in and went to see him. I stood in the doorway for a minute, trying to rationalize why I was there, when he happened to look up and see me.

"Hey, come on in. Are you here to do therapy this late?"

I walked in the room and up to his bed, my mind quickly formulating a reason to be there; one that a military colonel would believe. "You know, Colonel, you found one way to get out of therapy. Effective, but not too original." I said in a teasing voice.

"Ya think? I’ll try harder next time."

Ahh, the sarcasm was back. Maybe he wasn’t as sick as I had feared. Just then, his supper tray was brought in and placed on his bedside table. He had to move some to sit up straighter, and I saw him clench his teeth together to keep from expressing the pain he had to feel.

"Here, let me help you." I started to reach for the bed control.

"Don’t need help. I can do it," was the terse reply.

I stood back, startled. This was a side of him I had not yet seen. Oh sure, he didn’t want help in therapy, but that was different. I mean, the man was in obvious pain, and trying to move was making it worse, yet, he still rejected my offer of help. I let him struggle for a minute, knowing that he could have been settled by now. When it looked like he was going to stay where he was, I didn’t say a word, but moved to the bedside, found the controls for the bed and as it began to lower the head of it.

"Colonel, if you want to move around in bed, it’s always easier to do so with the head of the bed down. Let gravity help you. You don‘t have to fight everything all at once." Once his head was lowered a bit, he was able to scoot up using his good leg and his arms. I gave him the controls as he readjusted his bed to a semi sitting position.

"Thank you." Was a quiet reply and I almost didn’t hear it over the noise in the hallway.

"Well, I’d better go. You need to eat your supper." I looked at his food dubiously. It was another universal truth, hospital food was awful.

"You got a dog?"

"No, I have cats, why?" I replied with a puzzled expression.

"Think they’d eat this stuff?" He asked gesturing to his food.

"Uh, no, I think you have the pleasure."

"Sweet."

"You won’t be in therapy for a couple days, so I guess I’ll see you later."

"Yeah." He let the sentence trail off and while I felt there was more to be said, he wasn’t going to do so.

With a wave of my hand, I left his room.

When I was in school and working as a new therapist, I was always taught not to get emotionally involved with your patients. Just treat them and move on. Some therapists I have worked with in the past were like that. Even when a patient died, they showed little remorse. I guess I have always been different. There are some patients who I can intuitively reach out to and make a connection with. There was something about the Colonel that made me feel this way.

I could feel a need from him that I can only describe as an emotional one. It appeared he was bottled and packaged up so tight that no one could get in, but at the same time, I felt him reaching out tentatively, as if he did not know how. Was he so militarily trained that he was able to stuff all his emotions and pain down into a neat little package; to never be opened by anyone? Was he afraid to share his emotions and pain for fear that the force of them would overwhelm everyone else? I had a feeling that beneath the veneer of sarcasm, was a very lonely man; one who instinctively protected others from his emotions and pain for fear of chasing them away. How sad to spend your life locked up inside yourself. What made it even worse, was that I felt as though on some level, he did this purposely. It showed in his refusal to take pain medication or to ask for help in moving up in bed, when he obviously needed both. It was as if physical hurt and discomfort were a way to remind himself that he was indeed still alive.

When I came into the office the next morning, I decided to see if I could get any information from Tom or Katie about the Colonel and his personality. Sitting at my desk with my ever present diet coke, I asked Katie about her experiences with O'Neill.

"Oh, yeah, I’ve worked with him a number of times. It seems he is always getting injured on a mission. Despite his surly attitude and sarcastic comments though, he is a hard worker and usually doesn’t spend much time down here. Thank god!"

"Why do you suppose he gets hurt all the time?" I asked, trying to appear innocent.

"Oh, I don’t know. Some people are accident prone. Take Dr. Jackson. Rumor has it that he has even been listed as deceased, only to turn up alive. He has had his share of visits down here too. Must be an occupational hazard given the line of work they are in. Why do you ask?"

"I don’t know. I was just curious. Sometimes it just seems there is more to O'Neill then he let’s on."

"No. He's one of those what you see is what you get types. You’re not totally familiar with the military type yet. They all hate taking "orders" from someone else. They always want to be in charge. The Colonel is a prime example of that. I hear he even bucks orders from General Hammond himself. Now that’s arrogance! Don’t get too involved with these patients. You never know when they won’t come back from a mission."

"Oh, I’m not," I lied, "I was just asking."

Oh, such sage advice I thought as I returned to my work. How many times in my career have I heard the phrase don’t get too emotionally involved with your patients. You’ll only live to regret it. It’ll impair your thinking process. Yeah right, and my cats speak English.

Throughout my years in this line of work, I have grown so tired of hearing the no emotion speech that I could just scream. So many therapists work that way and see no problem with it. But I have always questioned how can you really make a difference in that person’s life, even physically, if you don’t know where they are coming from. Taking O'Neill at face value did him a grave injustice, because you never got to what motivated him. It only allows you to see him as a cranky man who felt that following someone else’s instructions were meant for someone else not him, just because he was a Colonel. Wow, I felt that was such a limited view.

I managed to be at the nurse’s station looking over charts just as Dr. Fraiser was beginning her morning rounds. Gee, what a coincidence! Unfortunately, the news was not good. As the duty nurse gave her report, I listened, captivated.

"Dr. Fraiser, O'Neill had a restless night, his temperature staying up around 102. His vitals remained stable, but night staff reported he was awake whenever they went in to check on him. He continued to refuse all medications until finally about 0400 when they cajoled him into taking a pain shot. It didn’t appear to have much impact though as he continued to be restless."

I watched as Dr. Fraiser picked up his chart before asking, "are the blood culture results back yet? Has he been disorientated at all?"

"I was just getting ready to call the lab for results on the first culture, and there have been no reports of disorientation."

When the nurse went to reach for the phone, I decided to exit the station, feeling I was becoming a little conspicuous, especially since I was overtly listening to the conversation. I guess my experience with the Colonel was refining my eavesdropping skills if nothing else.

It’s amazing how short the hallways can be in the SGC. Lately it seemed everyone I walked down went right by O'Neill’s door. Reflexively, I glanced in on him and stopped dead in my tracks at what I saw.

Colonel O'Neill was half in bed and half out of bed. As per habit, the lower bedrail had been left down, and apparently he thought he could get up. Unfortunately, from the lost look on his face, I could tell he had no idea what he was doing or even where he thought he was going. I approached the bed, speaking gently to him as I did.

"Colonel O'Neill, you need to get back in bed," I said as I held his shoulders to keep him from trying to stand up. Briefly he struggled with me, but weakness and confusion overpowered him and I was able to keep him from rising.

"No..gotta find Daniel.." He muttered briefly struggling with me again.

My main concern was to get him back to bed safely, and having been in this position with a patient before, I learned to lie. "Daniel’s okay, Sir. We have him safe. Let’s get you lying back down" He looked at me in confusion, a brief frown crossing his face. To my relief, he sat back on the bed a little but my relief was short lived. With a burst of energy that had to be born from adrenaline, he pushed against me to stand, only to collapse from the pain in his left leg from the surgery and the infection. As I stood there, with my hands full of Colonel, I took a few seconds to decide what to do. Talking out loud to myself seemed to do the trick. It served to distract the Colonel long enough for me to act.

"Okay," I started slightly shifting O'Neill’s weight so I could look around him, "call light is...ah there, right smack in the middle of the bed where I can’t reach it. Unless..." Quickly thinking through a couple options, the only one I could come up with was to push his weight more toward my left arm and hand as I reached for the call light with my right.

"That might give me enough room to just reach it." I continued to think out loud. Colonel O'Neill, was fairly quiet during this time. In his confusion, he may have thought I was talking to him.

As I shifted his weight slightly, balancing him the bed and the rail, the weight of his body pushing against my left side, I went to duck under his left arm to reach for the call light I quickly discovered the flaw in my plan. A sharp piercing pain shot through my wrist as I began to inch toward the call light.

"Oh shit," I muttered to myself, "maybe not such a good plan after all." O'Neill, sensing the change in position and apparently not liking it much, began to try and move once again.

"Okay, here it goes." Ignoring the pain, I reached as far under him as I could, just barely snagging the cord to the call light. With a yank of the already taut cord, I stretched my fingers far enough to hit the emergency button. Breathing a sigh of relief, I heard the calm words of the nurse float through the air.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I need help now!" I said as forcefully as I could. Certain rules in hospitals did not let you scream unless the patient was dying or dead, but I was ready to amend those rules if someone would just help me.

"On our way." Was the quick reply.

Well, thank God! I thought. I untangled myself from under his arm and stood straight once again. As I did so, I was able to shift his weight back to be more evenly distributed. Looking up at his face, I could see the paleness and the sheen of sweat from fever. In his eyes though, I thought I was seeing the beginings of some comprehension, so I tried to get him to follow simple automatic movement commands.

"Come on, O'Neill, you need to lay back down." I said as I heard footsteps in the corridor. Luckily for me, O'Neill was still confused, but semi coherent as helped arrived in full force.

If the situation would not have been as grave, the look on his face in finding himself half standing, with me holding him up would have been priceless. As it was, I was just grateful he could once again follow simple commands, albeit sluggishly and confusedly as multiple hands reaching for him to help ease him back in bed.

Relieved of my burden, I stepped away from the bed, still caught up in the drama unfolding before me. Dr. Frasier had been one of the people who came in and she was quickly asking for vitals, even as she was taking out her stethoscope. I could hear her quiet voice talking to O'Neill as she began to examine him.

"Jack, can you hear me?"

He sluggishly turned his head toward her, nodding slightly.

"What were you trying to do?" The question was meant to come out in concern, but there was a heavy dose of exasperation in it also. He struggled to answer as she went on to complete a perfunctory exam.

"Daniel...I heard him...had to get to him. He was lost." He said slowly and looked around the room searching for the man in question. Not finding him, his eyes briefly rested on me, then travelled around the room once again only to come back to my gaze and stop. Mesmerized by the bleary stare, I could no more turn away from it than walk away from him. In his confusion, he seemed to mutter "Carter?" Through the background noise, I mentally catalogued the information the nurse was giving as I continued to be captivated in his stare.

"Blood pressure is 100/65, pulse is thready at 75, temp. 103.8"

"Let’s get him to ICU. He’s going into septic shock." I heard Dr. Frasier talking as if she were at the other end of a tunnel.

They prepared to move him bed, and all. The movement caused the break in our stare, but not before I saw recognition and confusion battle for control of his expression.

When the bed had cleared the door, Dr. Frasier stopped and turned to me, stating in a voice that made my blood run cold. "I want to see you later, in my office." The sterness in her voice concerned me and I could only mutely nod an affirmative answer as she hurried out of the room.

After they left, the silence in the room was so deafening it almost hurt. I stood in the center of the room that had just been the scene of chaos, as my mind tried to comprehend the events that had just occurred. I did not regret my actions and I knew that Dr. Fraiser was probably not mad, but when you are in the tenuous position of waiting for your license, it’s really hard to feel secure about your job. It left a feeling of self doubt that encompassed my entire body. With a sigh, I was suddenly aware of the pain in my left wrist. Unlike the Colonel, I did show pain and I grimaced as I looked as the wrist which was already beginning to swell and show signs of bruising. Great, I thought. Now I have to fill out an incident report, as if my day hasn’t been bad enough already!

Returning to the office, I found Katie sitting at her desk. I approached her desk and leaned up against it getting her attention.

"I’ve got good news and bad news." I began. She raised an inquiring eyebrow at me so I continued. "The good news is Colonel O'Neill didn’t fall, the bad news is you have to do a discharge report."

"Oh really.." She said, her voice inviting an explanation. I recalled the events from the morning for her and she sat shocked at what happened. "I can’t believe someone left the bedrail down. Oh man, O'Neill was lucky you walked by when you did or he be having full reconstruction surgery on his knee!"

"I know! However, there is still one problem." Her eyes widened as she saw the swelling and bruising on my wrist. "Did you see a doctor?"

"No, it’s just a sprain. I’ll put an ice pack on it and later you can help me wrap it." Being therapists, we had an arsenal of ice, ice packs and ace wraps at our disposal. So, I grabbed a couple of ice packs and sat down at my desk to fill out the dreaded incident report.

Incident reports are universal, no matter what hospital or clinic you work in. If an accident involving a patient happens and no one gets hurt, you still have to fill out this long boring form. Something to do with quality control. Either way, it was a nuisance and time consuming. I had just finished doing that when Dr. Fraiser called the department, requesting my presence in her office. Looking at Katie with trepidation, I got up to walk out.

"Wish me luck."

"It’ll be okay, don't worry about it. She just needs to know what happened. Just relax. She doesn’t bite."

Easy for her to say, I thought as I entered Dr. Fraiser’s office. I stood in front of the desk, pulling my sleeve down over my wrist as I waited for her to speak.

"Tell me exactly what happened this morning?" Her voice was not accusing but uncompromising.

I once again retold my tale, watching her face carefully for reaction. She was good at schooling her expression, and although I never really knew what she thought, I had a pretty good idea as I finished my story and heard her comment.

"Colonel O'Neill was lucky you walked by when you did."

I swear I almost sagged in relief. Without thinking, I ran my left hand through my hair in a nervous gesture when she caught sight of the bruising and swelling on my wrist.

"Did you do that this morning?" She asked, in a tone that suggested I not lie to her.

"Uhh..well,.. kind of. Sometime when I had a hold of the Colonel." I managed to stammer out. I hate being put on the spot!

"Did you have Dr. Warner look at it?"

"Uh, no, I just went back to the department and treated it. It’s just a sprain." I answered, trying to convince her.

Her eyebrows raised as she came around the desk. "And you x-rayed it to know for certain there are no broken bones?" She asked, her manner purely professional.

Well, of course she had me there. "No ma'm. We didn’t." Might as well use plural, I wasn’t sinking in this ship all alone.

Next thing I knew, I was the one sitting on the gurney as she reached for my forearm. Again, not able to withhold pain, I yelped as she tried to move my wrist.

"Easy." She said in a quiet soothing voice. "You have a lot of bruising and swelling going on here. Let’s get an x-ray of this just to be sure. You know, there are a number of little bones in that area. We don’t want to cause trouble later because we didn’t take care of them now. This happened when you were with Colonel O'Neill." A flat statement, not a question.

Talk about the deer caught in front of the headlights syndrome. I knew I had to say yes, partly because she would have to sigh off on the incident report and because it did. But the problem was, I didn’t want him to find out via the office grapevine. I thought he would blame himself,despite the fact he couldn’t help what happened. I guess I took too long to answer, with my mouth hanging slightly open, as she let me off the hook with a compassionate gaze.

"I see. That’s what I thought." Our eye’s held momentarily and a look of mutual communication passed between us. I inadvertently let out the breath I didn’t know I had been holding as she went on. "Let’s get you to x-ray."

"Wait, Dr. Fraiser? How is Colonel O'Neill?" I mustered enough courage to ask. I felt I deserved an explanation after all I had invested in him.

Her face grew serious as she once again met my eyes. "Right now he’s holding his own. He has sepsis from the cellulitis and I have him on some aggressive antibiotics. I think we may have caught the sepsis quickly enough that he should be better within a couple of days."

"Thank you." I stated as the full weight of her words settled around me. Sepsis was a serious bacterial infection in the blood. If it wasn’t caught soon enough patients have been known to die.Quickly I said a silent prayer that he would be okay, as I was led off to x-ray.

After I came back, Dr. Fraiser showed me the developed film. "I wanted you to see this for yourself," she began, holding the x-ray up to the light. "You have a hairline fracture in the radius. If you had pushed it any farther you would have probably ended up with a classic Colle's fracture. Can you see it, right there?" She asked, pointing with her finger. As I nodded, she continued. "I’m only going to put a light cast on it. In your line of work, you rely so heavily on the use of your hands and the cast will provide more support than a soft splint."

No wonder I thought I heard a pop, I thought to myself. Thirty minutes later, I was sporting a cast and she was giving me final instructions.

"You know the routine, don’t get it wet, etc.. I want to see you back here in two days. Until that time, consider yourself on medical leave. I want you to take two prescriptions, one for pain and one an anti inflammatory to help control the swelling." She handed me four pills in a small cup.

I looked at them dubiously, then back to her. I didn’t know how to put this without sounding obstinate, but being new to my job, I didn’t have any leave time and I sure couldn’t go two days without pay. In addition, I wasn’t done with my work yet for the day and since I had come in extra early to work do some paperwork, I was already tired. Given the combination of the events of the day thus far and the pills she was handing me, I knew I would be out like a light in about an hour. I felt her watching me, as I chewed on the inside of my lip, lost in thought.

"You’ve been around Colonel O'Neill too long." She said with a smile on her face.

I looked up at her and thought the best thing was to tell her the truth. So I did.

"No, it’s not that. It's just I just recently started this job, and I don’t have leave time. Couldn’t I do light duty around the department and help out Katie and Tom? That way I can still be here, but not work on my own."

"Well, it’s not the best situation, but it will work. But," she began her voice stern "if I catch you using that wrist in a way you’re not supposed to, the deal’s off."

"Okay. About the drugs.." As I started to speak, her eyebrows raised dangerously. "I can take the anti inflammatory stuff here, but can I just take the others at home? I mean, I’ve already been here a long time today and I do have to drive down that blasted mountain to get home. Since my car is fairly new, I would like to make it in one piece." Do you think she could tell I was begging at this point?

"Well, we could have you stay here tonight." I guess she’s heard begging before. Seeing me cringe, she let up. "We’ll try it and see how it goes. Do you work this weekend?" When I nodded my head, she continued, "Good. Try it tomorrow and see how it goes. Be sure to take the pills as ordered over the weekend, and we’ll see how you’re doing on Tuesday."

"Yes, m'am" I said, hopping off the gurney in relief. Like all therapists, I don’t mind working in the hospital, as long as I’m not the one getting the treatment!

Luckily, Tom and Katie both had patients I could co-treat with them, so light duty work was not a problem. I was helping Tom out the next day when I managed to sneak a break. Of course I headed for the ICU.

Once there, I could see O'Neill through the class cubicles that surround the rooms. Having been there a number of times to work with patients, I was used to all the equipment and noise that accompanied that area. However, seeing O'Neill hooked up to a heart monitor, IV’s, oxygen and a oxygen saturation measure, hit me almost like a physical blow. Although his eyes were closed, he was thrashing around in the bed, looking as if he were fighting demons. Why he hadn’t set off the alarms on the equipment yet, I had no idea, given how much as he was moving. Without thinking I went into the room to try and quiet him, my mind automatically blocking out the noises of the various machines.

When I approached the bed, his face was pale and wet with what I quickly realized was a mixture of both sweat and tears. Caught in some terrible nightmare he couldn’t escape, he struggled to move in the bed and mumbling incoherently.

Suddenly a hoarse strangled "NO!" was audible, causing me to jump. Automatically, I reached for his hand with my right hand, my left barely touching his head. "Colonel, wake up!" I tried quietly. My only response was a weak shove to push me away; his agitation continued along with the muttering under his breath. Repositioning myself to lean over the bedrail, I was able to grip his hand. I placed my other hand on his forehead to stop his head from moving I tried again to wake him.

"O'Neill! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!" the words coming more forcefully this time. I felt his fingers grab my hand and the movements of his head and body begin to slow as he felt the presence of my hand on his forehead.

"Alone...can’t find Daniel..Carter..Teal’c!" his voice raising slightly as if in attempt to call for them.

"O'Neill, you are not alone, it’s okay, but you need to wake up! You’re in the infirmary in the SGC! Come on, Colonel, wake up!" I said, my voice steadily growing louder.

Suddenly, his eyes jerked open, with a wild look in them. He looked around, trying to get his bearings, finally settling on me.

"You?" he whispered.

"Yeah me." I said as I saw recognition in his eyes. Relieved he was awake, I began to pull my hand away when his grip became tighter, forcing me to remain.

"Alone?"

"No, Sir. You're in the infirmary.." I again reminded him. Apparently that was not the answer he wanted as he shook his head in irritation.

"Where’s Daniel?" he asked, still confused "Is he alright? Did he get hurt?"

"Daniel’s fine. He's just not here right now."

"Carter?"

No, Sir, she’s gone also." The look of dejection was growing on his face and I felt like I was taking candy away from a child. The last piece of candy was taken with the last question.

"Whata ‘bout Teal’c" He asked as if he already knew the answer.

"He's not here either." I wasn’t going to even try and wrap my tongue around that name!

Briefly a sad look crossed his face as he tried to determine where his friends were. He composed himself as he found the answer he sought. "Oh yeah, they went on a mission to fight snakeheads." He mumbled slightly, quickly becoming exhausted by the effort to carry on a semi-coherent conversation.

"Colonel, your, team is on a mission, yes, but you are not alone. You will never be alone. I‘m sure they are as worried about you as you are about them." I tried to sound as reassuring as I could as I thought of the cohesiveness of his team. It must have worked, because his eyes closed again, and he succumbed to what seemed like a more peaceful sleep. I continued to leave my hand near his forehead and the other in his grip until I felt his hand go limp. Straightening up, I stood for a moment, lost in thought, tears threatening to fill my eyes.

It was at that point that the noises in the room returned and I realized we were not alone. Dr. Fraiser stood quietly in the doorway. Flustered, I blushed, pulling myself away and tried to beat a hasty exit. Her small stance, as powerful as any army, kept me from leaving. As I reached the doorway, she placed her hand on my shoulder as she spoke.

"Thank you He's such a stubborn man. He does need all the friends he can get. Especially now with his team on a mission. This illness is hard on him, especially with the periods of confusion and agitation. He wakes up not knowing where he is and no one close to help ground him. It's rare to find one of the team in the infirmary without the rest around to offer support."

I could only nod, not trusting my voice to speak. What had just happened was having a profound effect on me. With her quiet words, she revealed her deep concern and friendship for the Colonel.

She let me go on then, and I brushed past her in my hasty exit out the door.

I went to a secluded hallway and slid down the wall, resting my elbows on my knees, my head on my hands. I knew I had to get back to help Tom, but first, I had to regain my composure.

Alone. The single word he spoke kept reverberating in my mind until I felt the despair behind it almost consume me. I felt so sorry for O’Neill; so sick and his team, his friends,shoot, his family in away. I could only imagine what he felt as he lay there, hooked to the machines, drifting in and out of awareness. No one to touch you unless it was medically based, no one really to talk to. How he must feel almost abandoned and lost, especially when he probably couldn’t quite get his bearings. Lost in his own thoughts of the past, whatever they may be, and from the way he was thrashing around on the bed, there must be big demons there. I settled my emotions, trying to add this new piece to the puzzle that was Colonel O'Neill. On the most basic level, I saw vulnerability and the wanting to reach out but being unable to. I shook my head in exasperation; vulnerability in the Colonel? No way, the logical part of my mind screamed. But I could not shake the feeling that again, under all that sarcasm and wit was pain, and yes, vulnerability. What great lengths that man went to protect himself and others from his pain. Only when his defences where down, such as when he was sick, could he keep it from surfacing. Taking a shaky breath, I stood up and prepared to go back to work.

Monday passed quickly. A couple teams came through back from their missions over the weekend and we had a lot of referrals for little things, such as crutch training and shoulder exercise programs. It was enough to keep us busy, but I still managed to find out that O'Neill was doing better. I was relieved when I heard that. I had been afraid all weekend I would come back on Monday and find that he had died. It was Tuesday when Katie came into the office, drawing my attention.

"Hey Jumpy, we have a referral today. He’s baaack." She finished in that sing song voice that people imitate from that movie.

"Really? So soon?" I tried not to show the excitement I felt at hearing the news.

"Yeah. Apparently Dr. Frasier let him out of the ICU on Sunday evening and decided today to go ahead and restart therapy. So," she said, eyeing the schedule board, "since you still don't have your license, we need a time to fit him in."

As therapists, we were required to complete the evaluation within 24 hours of receiving a referral. It sounds like a long time, until you put in the time to work with the patient, review the chart, and finally, write up the report. Especially after a day like yesterday when the bookwork part of the job tended to get a little backed up. We agreed on a time to reevaluate him and then we would be able to see how much progress was lost during his illness.

At the specified time, we met at the nurses desk to look over his chart, making sure nothing drastic had changed. It looked like he was doing pretty good, all things considered, but would still be on IV’s for a few days anyway. One little catch though; Dr. Fraiser requested we do not allow any weight bearing on that leg at all. Now crutch walking wasn’t that difficult and he taken to it like a duck to water, but a lot of swelling caused the leg to stay straight, making it hard to keep that foot off the floor, and consequently, the weight off the leg. Judging from the nurse’s notes and given the amount of swelling that was present, he was going to have a hard time.

"Well, first order of business, let’s see if we can ice that puppy so we can get some movement out of it. I’ll write the order to ask Dr. Fraiser. Why don’t you go warn the Colonel we’re coming?"

Nodding, I moved off toward the Colonel’s room. They had put him back in the same room as before and as I approached the door, I could see him lying with his eyes closed. By outward appearances, he still looked pretty rough. His face was pale, and from where I stood, I could see the lines of pain in his face. I tapped on the door to get his attention. My first thought was, "Here we go again on the pain med routine."

"Hey, Colonel O'Neill," I said as I approached the bed, "how are you feeling?"

He smiled slightly as he answered. " Just call me Jack. Peachy, and you?"

Laughing slightly at his answer, I replied I was doing well. His smile grew even bigger. "Are you here to start bugging me again?"

"Well, actually yes." I replied. "After your little vacation, you should be ready for us again."

"Some vacation. ICU, the hotspot of SGC. Everyone should try it at least once. At least I wasn’t alone." His eyes held mine speaking volumes despite the attempted quip.

I knew then that something had changed in our relationship. It was a subtle shift, but I knew that even though I had already regarded him as a friend, I felt that finally I was achieving that status with him too. Just as I started to speak, Katie bounded into the room, breaking our uneasy perusal of each other, neither knowing where to go next.

"Colonel O'Neill, I’m Katie, in case you’ve forgotten. You already know Lisa. We’re going to re-evaluate you so we can get you started in physical therapy again." Without waiting for him to answer, she went up to the bed and pulled back the sheet to look at his knee. "Okay, your incision is looking better, but you still have a lot of swelling. I’ve asked Dr. Fraiser to let us put ice on it to help bring the swelling down. It’ll make it a lot easier for you to move. How are you doing on pain?" She asked as she actually looked at him for the first time.

'What a stupid question' I thought.'You could see by just looking at him that he was in pain, duhh'. Apparently he wasn’t too thrilled with her question either.

"I can manage." Was the terse reply.

"Now, Colonel, you know the rules. We don’t want you to just manage, we need you to be as close to pain free as we can get you before therapy." She went on in that cheerful therapist voice. "On a scale of 1-10, with one being pain free and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever had, where would you rate yourself?"

"Three. I can manage." Those words were spoken quietly but with force. Katie, not hiding her exasperation, shook her head in disbelief, answering him with more therapy talk. "Now, Colonel. You know we’re only trying to help you." She went ahead and started with the evaluation. I helped where I could, still being one handed, so to speak. As we started to get him up on his feet, he noticed the cast.

"What'd you do?" he asked, looking directly at me. Embarrassed and not wanting him to know what really happened, I told the first lie that came to my head.

"Uh, I was riding my bike last week, and took a header. Landed on my wrist. Dr. Fraiser said I just cracked a bone in there." Did I say I was a good liar? And to make matters worse, Katie started to open her mouth with a look of incredibility on her face. I quickly caught her attention and mouthed "NO" to her, behind the Colonel’s back. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, but thankfully didn’t say anything.

As she was giving him the usual instructions for standing, he turned to look at me with the weirdest expression on his face. I could visualize the little wheels in his mind trying to click the information I gave him into place with what he thought he remembered. When they didn’t seem to mesh, he gave me the oddest look of confusion before turning to Katie, who was just finishing.

"....okay, on the count of three. Ready,? One, two, three." We paused for a moment while he got the crutches under his arms and began to move toward the door. Katie had him place his foot on hers so she would know if he put any weight on his leg. A lot of therapists do this; I don’t, I don’t want my foot stepped on. Anyway, visually you can tell if the patient is putting to much weight on the leg. We made it to the door and back; albeit shakey, the Colonel, two therapist, IV poles and all.Once we had him back in bed, he leaned against the pillows, his face slightly beaded with sweat and his breath coming hard.

"See, Colonel? This is why we want you to take your pain medication." Katie stated in a slightly condescending tone. "Again, on a scale of 1-10, where would you rate your pain?" I don’t know why therapists ask that. It’s a standard question and so subjective. I almost laughed out loud at the Colonel’s answer.

"Two." he stated curtly.

'Good answer' I thought as I watched his eyes close in a face even more pale than when we started.

Katie didn’t find it amusing. She just rolled her eyes at me and marked it down on her form. "For the rest of the time.."

Before she could finish her sentence, the klaxons and alarms announcing incoming travellers sounded. Of course I jumped, and I swear the Colonel turned even paler. Katie ignored them as she went on, not thinking.

"Jumpy?,"

I flashed a quick glare at her, hoping O'Neill didn’t catch her use of my nickname. The last thing I needed was for him to be in possession of that bit of information! "Ah, Lisa will work with you from now on. I’ll see you off and on to measure your progress, okay?" When he didn’t immediately respond, she began to gather her things to leave.

I stood there for a moment, puzzled. Here was a prime opportunity for him to tease me but he was letting it go? As I looked at his face, pinched with pain and with some other emotion I couldn’t place, it suddenly occurred to me. Of course! His team was still on their mission, fighting the things he had said before! I wondered to myself if they were past due. From the look on his face, I didn’t think it would be wise to ask him, but I bet a fair guess would be to say they were. His mind was elsewhere, having shut us out a long time ago. I doubt he knew I left. I was walking down the hall to return to the office when I was caught by Dr. Fraiser.

"Lisa, don’t we need to recheck your wrist today?"

"Oh, yeah," I nodded, and followed her into the exam area. Now if I could just get the right opening. I could ask about the Colonel’s team. As luck would have it, the opportunity fell right into me lap. Well, indirectly, but who was I to argue?

Looking at the new x-ray and holding it up for me to see, Dr. Fraiser showed me where the bone was in the correct place and most of the swelling had gone down.

"I still want you to keep taking the anti-inflammatories as directed. The pain pills can be decreased to whenever you need them. If it starts to swell again or you have an increase in pain, be sure to come back and see me. Otherwise, we’ll take the cast off in about a month.

Questions?" I shook my head no. "By the way, I saw the request for ice to Colonel O'Neill’s knee. For now, just do some in therapy. That should make it easier for you to work with him. I take it he has been re-evaluated?"

I briefly summarized our findings, which had been good. He had lost some endurance, but not a lot of strength. The battle would be with the pain medication and getting him to take it as he was supposed to. I decided as long as we were on the subject I might as well try for some answers of my own.

"He seems distracted. Is anything else going on we should know about?" It was a logical question, considering the circumstances. Many times a patient didn’t make progress in therapy because they were worried about something or someone at home.

"Not really, at least not physically. I believe the rest of his team hasn’t returned from their mission yet, so he might be a little worried. I’ll make sure he takes his pain medication as ordered, okay?"

I nodded and left the infirmary, thinking about what she said, and more importantly, what she did not say. I was almost certain from the look on her face and the way she answered my question, quickly changing the subject, that his team members were over due. She was the CMO; of all people, she would know what teams were back from their missions. Unfortunately, that was confirmed the next day.

Colonel O'Neill and I were trying to move a little in the hall when the klaxons and alarms sounded again. He didn’t notice me jump because right after the alarms sounded, the call came for medical personnel to go to the embarkment room. He froze in midstep, almost throwing me off balance.

"Whoa, Colonel, let me know next time you want to stop." I said jokingly. I looked up at his face and I could almost feel that shiver of anticipation radiating from him. He was standing in the middle of the hallway, leaning on his crutches, his eyes trained on the hallway in front of us; the one that leads to surgery and the ICU. Instead of trying to urge him either back or forward, I thought it was best to let him stay until he was ready to leave. Luckily, we were close enough to the wall that he could lean against it for support, not having to depend totally on me.

Voices were heard in the hallway as a stretcher with a multitude of medical personnel went running by. Disjointed bits of conversation where heard.

"Keep that IV running wide open" came one voice.

"I want updated vitals as soon as possible. Come on people, let’s go!" Came the strident voice of Dr. Fraiser as the entourage rolled past the intersection where we stood. All that could be seen of the patient was a flash of brown hair and I heard the Colonel mutter in a hoarse whisper. "Daniel." as he seemed to sag against the wall. Concerned he would fall, I grabbed a tighter hold on the gait belt and tried to speak to him.

"Colonel O'Neill, you don’t know for sure. Come on, Jack, come back to me. Please try to stand a little." I said as I struggled to keep him from slipping down the hall. The look on his face was not one I ever wanted to see on anyone’s again, as it spoke volumes of unexpressed emotions. I knew he was not hearing me; his mind focused on what he just saw. His exhaustion and weakness seemed to catch up with him as he sagged to the wall for more support . Although I was trained to handle people taller and bigger than me, a 6 foot plus something at a dead weight 40 ft. from his bed was just not going to work

"Come on, Jack" I said in a quiet, hopefully soothing, voice, "Come back to me here,I need your help. It’s okay,...he’ll be okay."

I thought I had him back as he turned to look at me, but the faraway look in his eyes and his quick glance back down the corridor made me certain he was still with that man on the gurney. Just when I thought I was going to have to call for help, the other two team members seemed to materialize in front of us. He was right; the body on the stretcher had been Dr. Jackson. Seeing the Colonel in his odd position, the big guy, Tilk, walked up and smoothly assisted the Colonel.

"O'Neill, it is good to see you up." He began in a sombre voice. I almost laughed at the absurdity of his statement. I wouldn’t exactly call the Colonel "up" at this point. He was joined by a blonde that I assumed to be Dr., Major, whatever, Carter. Whose voice I heard talking before they went on this mission.

She too quickly approached O'Neill, the dried blood on her uniform obvious, the emotions on her face more readable. Obviously they had had a rough time. Quickly, I made a decision since all of a sudden I had a lot of capable hands.

"Colonel O'Neill, let’s get you back to your room." I said as firmly as I could, trying to break through the fog he was in. It partially worked as he turned his head toward me.

"Jack, call me Jack." he replied in a stunned voice.

"Jack," ‘Okay, anything I thought, let’s just get you out of the stupid hallway!’ "Come on, you need to stand up straight, turn around and we’ll be at your room." I know I spoke to him as if he were a child, but it seemed to penetrate his fog as he stood up straight, swaying slightly as he did. As I went to adjust my stance to better control the situation, the big guy continued to hold on to his other arm. Between the two of us, we managed to steer the Colonel away from the now empty hallway and back to his room, Major Carter slowly following.

By the time I had him arranged back in bed, his was so pale he almost looked translucent. I quickly did what I needed to make sure everything was properly positioned before beating a hasty exit. I knew no one could talk, with me in the room. Luckily, they didn’t know I remained standing in the hallway. Carter, spoke first.

"Colonel, Daniel was injured in this last mission. We were caught in a Goa’uld attack and he was shot by a staff weapon. That was two days ago. By the time we made it back to the gate, an infection had set in. He has been unconscious for the past 24 hours.

"Shit! Should have been there!" came the grief stricken voice of O'Neill.

"Colonel O’Neill, it would not have mattered. Daniel Jackson fought valiantly alongside the team. We were vastly outnumbered. We managed to close the iris in time to prevent the Goa’uld from following us "

"What about the other’s?"

"Sir, we were the only ones to come back," came the quiet reply.

The silence in the room was so heavy that it was palpable from even the hallway. I quickly moved on, quietly grabbing my equipment as I went, trying to pretend I didn’t hear the things I did. Either way, I knew one thing; O'Neill had been given a terrible blow today, and not one he needed in his present condition.

Later, when I was sitting at the nurse’s desk, finishing up on some notes that we had fallen behind on, I stopped writing, pretending to look through the chart I was holding when I noticed the surgical nurse approaching the chart. I listened to the nurse discuss Dr. Jackson’s condition. It never ceased to amaze me that even though we all worked for the same institution, some nurses were cautious about relaying information about patients around new personnel. But, given enough time, we blended into the background of the busy station and they would tend to forget we were there.

"So, what’s the verdict?" asked the duty nurse as the surgical nurse handed her the chart for Dr. Jackson.

"Well, it was pretty messy. Dr. Fraiser had to debride some infection, but it appears like the wound will heal all right. He hadn’t woken up yet when I left. That was causing some concern, but the Doctor isn’t too worried yet. She said that with the trauma and the infection, he may be out for a day or too. At least his vitals are strong and he’s responding to the antibiotics. She placed him in ICU more as a precaution than anything."

"That’s great! I’ll tell you, Jackson has more lives than a cat!" The two shared a laugh for a minute before the surgical nurse continued.

"Does O'Neill know anything yet?"

"Yeah, apparently he was in the hall when we brought Jackson down from the ‘gate room. He’s been pretty quiet. Teal’c and Major Carter are in with him now. I assume Dr. Fraiser will go in and talk to them?" she replied quietly.

I heard her replying affirmatively as I inconspicuously got up from the desk and headed toward the office in our department. Man! My vocabulary had increased considerably today; staff weapons, goa’uld’s, ‘gate? I just wish I knew what they meant!

Back in the office, I wasn’t prepared for Katie’s cheerfulness, or Tom’s for that matter, but they were still there and I had to get to work.

"Hey, Jumpy? I heard they brought in nine lives Jackson. Did you hear anything?" asked Tom.

I related to them what I knew, carefully repeating only the "acceptable" parts of the nurses conversation. I didn't want them to know about my rapidly increasing vocabulary.

"Well, sounds as if he’ll be okay, which is more than I can say for this damm budget." He went back to writing down numbers, only to furiously erase them a minute later.

"I hope so. It really seemed to upset Colonel O'Neill." I said looking at Katie.

With a grimace on her face she replied, "yeah, it probably would. Although it surprise's me. I didn't think he cared about anyone. Just don’t let him use it as an excuse for getting out of therapy. He needs to get up and walk on that knee before it stiffens up."

‘Just when I thought she was getting human'. I turned to the paperwork still waiting completion on my desk. I stayed later than the others and on my way out, I could not stop myself from checking on O'Neill. Walking into his room, he again was trying to move around enough to get out of bed. ‘Dammit’ I thought quickly, ‘this was getting old! Couldn’t the man just stay put once?’

"O'Neill! What are you trying to do?" I asked, walking into the room and sounding harsher than I intended to.

He momentarily stopped his maneuvering and looked at me defiantly. "They won’t let me see him and I’m going to." He replied firmly.

"They aren’t letting you see him because right know I would say there is nothing you can do. You’ve been pretty sick yourself and you don’t need to be spreading your germs around to someone who is also injured." I said, my voice a little calmer. Moving to the left side of the bed, I forced him to look at me, thus breaking his concentration on the door and escaping. I nonchalantly began to reposition him in bed, effectively undoing what he had been trying to do. Luckily, I knew a few tricks that the nurse’s didn’t and I used them in make it harder for him to get out of bed on his own. Looking at his face, I saw the pain in the fine lines of his face and the wild look about his eyes. That look of desperate concern; knowing you need to be somewhere else but not able to get there.

"O'Neill, has Dr. Fraiser been in to talk with you?"

"Yeah, she said something about surgery and infection." He said, lowering his head back on the pillow, his voice harsh with emotions.

"Then he should be okay." I replied, hesitantly trying to invite him to share what was bothering him.

"Should be. But he won’t wake up. I’m always there when he wakes up. He hates being alone" Muttering to himself he continued, "must be something else their not telling me."

‘Ahh,’ I thought ‘Now we’re getting to the core of the problem. Noting the absence of the other two team members, I ventured a guess.

"What about the others? Aren’t they with him?" I knew it was a moot point. He was concerned about Dr. Jackson so much as he was about him being alone.

"Carter is with him I think." was the quiet reply.

"So" I said slowly and just as quietly "He is not alone."

"No" he started looking at me with his eyes flashing anger and defiance. "You don’t get it, it should be me! I’m his CO, I should be with him. You’re not military. You don’t understand."

The harshness of the words took me back slightly, but I went ahead anyway. "I may not be military, but I do know that if you don’t take care of yourself , you won’t do him any good." I wanted so badly to add that those keeping him from Dr. Jackson were not doing so for punishment. Before either of us could say any more a quiet voice spoke from the doorway.

"She is correct, Colonel O'Neill." He said as he entered the room and took up the chair in the room.

Even though his voice was quiet, I jumped about a mile at the presence of another in the room. How much he had heard of our conversation I did not know but I looked at him gratefully. I was glad for an intervention that O'Neill may be more likely to listen to. Teal’c responded to my unspoken words with a slight bow of his head.

"I am Teal’c." He said quietly introducing himself to me.

"I’m Lisa, from the physical therapy department."

"Teal’c, how is Daniel?" The Colonel’s anxious voice interrupted.

Before he could answer, I took my leave, informing the Colonel that Katie would see him in the morning and I would see him in the afternoon. Looking at me, he acknowledge what I was saying with a nod of his head. Just as I reached the door he spoke.

"Good night, Jumpy."

I quickly looked back, his face wearing a look of pure innocence all the while cocking one eyebrow, as if to challenge me. I beat a hasty exit as he quickly turned his attention to Teal’c who began to answer his earlier question.

I walked down the hall thinking 'That man has a memory like an elephant.' I was glad that Teal’c, what a name, was with him. At least it would guarantee that O'Neill would stay in bed. I doubted that even he would try and go up against that big a guy. But, he did need the emotional support that his team member could provide for him.

The next afternoon, I was getting the things I needed to take to O'Neill’s therapy session when I couldn’t find the crutches. ‘Oh God, Katie, please don’t have done what I think you did.’ I muttered to myself as I hurried up to the floor. Sure enough, the Colonel’s bed was empty and I knee just where to find him.

I quickly located Dr. Jackson and the Colonel in the same room in the ICU. Unfortunately, only one of them was in bed, but the other looked as if he should be. How O'Neill managed to get from his room to the ICU on crutches without anyone stopping him was beyond me, but I supposed that was what made him a Colonel.

He was sitting by the bed, his left leg stretched out to the side, the crutches propped up on the wall behind him. His eyes, which he wasn't taking off the man in the bed, where becoming lined with dark circles of fatigue that stood out starkly against his already pale face. I had no way of knowing how long he had been sitting there, but I did notice one hand was absently rubbing his left knee. It surprised me to see the other hand lightly touching Dr. Jackson’s forearm. I stood, transfixed, in the doorway, unspotted as yet, when O'Neill started to talk.

"Come on, Danny, wake up. I want to hear about your fight with the gould’s." He reached over and gently touched the wound the doctor had received during the battle. "Danny, when are you going to learn to duck?" he asked, a frustrated sigh escaping as the sleeping figure failed to respond. The Colonel seemed to slump in his seat and I decided at that point to intervene.

"Colonel O'Neill." I spoke quietly from the door. When he turned to look at me, I gained a better idea of how long he had been sitting there. His eyes were drooping, indicating exhaustion and there were slight beads of sweat on his face. Silently, I hoped to God that it was from pain and not fever as I realized that somewhere along the way he had ditched the IV’s. "You need to get back to your room. You’re not ready to be up on your own yet."

"I had to see Daniel." was all he said Simply stated, but with oh so much meaning. I walked over to the chair where he was sitting, and prepared to help him stand. The process of standing and getting the crutches in working order had already caused him to breathe hard. Noting this, I reconsidered the decision to let him walk back to his room.

Concerned, I commented, "hold on a minute. Let me get a wheelchair. It’ll be faster that way."

Again, that look of stubborn defiance came to his face, as he stated quietly, "I got here on my own, I’ll get back on my own."

"Not exactly," I said, "I’m going to help you back." I stared back at him. I can be stubborn too when I wanted to be. Neither of us actually could claim victory, each side just catapulted and we slowly made our way back to his room.

By this time, the nurses had figured out he wasn’t in his room and had alerted Dr. Fraiser. She was just coming out of his empty room as we approached. From the look on her face, it was apparent she was not happy.

"Uh oh" I heard a muttered whisper next to me.

"Yeah, now you’ve done it; you've got us both in trouble." I whispered back.

"Ya think?" came the sarcastic reply that would have caused me to smile, except by now we had drawn even with Dr. Fraiser, and it seemed inappropriate, given the circumstances.

"Colonel O'Neill, what do you think you are doing?" she asked as she helped manoeuvre him back into his room and into bed. I’ve often heard her call him by his first name, so when she used his formal title, I got the same feeling as I did when I was little and my mom called for me using my full name.

"But Doc, I didn’t put any weight on my leg," he quipped.

‘Not now, O'Neill’ I thought, glancing at the doctor as I helped position him in bed.

Ignoring his comment, she held up the disconnected IV tubing and looked at him with a glare that would kill. "I’m going to have to reinsert the needle, and we all know how much you love needles. Next time, I decide when to discontinue the IV, not you."

I was trying to arrange some ice packs on his overly swollen knee, yet remain inconspicuous, when I too came under her wrath.

"Lisa, I know where he was. Why did you let him walk back?" she asked. Although her words had been harsh, I noticed she was very gentle with him as she reinserted the IV needle and checked his vitals. Before I could say a word, O'Neill jumped in.

"Janet, it was my fault. She wanted to get a wheelchair and I wouldn’t let her. The blame is mine."

She seemed to accept his explanation, and in the end I didn’t have to respond, although I sure did owe one to the Colonel. When Dr. Fraiser turned her back for a second, I mouthed a quick "Thanks" in his direction. I went ahead to gather up my things to leave as she was turning back to him. Walking out the door, I heard her begin to talk with him again, her frustration and anger spent, her voice was again soft and caring.

"Jack you have to stay put. We can’t have you in Daniel’s room. I know you want to be, but your are dealing with you own illness that you haven't recovered from yet. You are in no condition to be putting yourself through this additional stress. I want you to rest. I’m going to give you some morphine to help you relax." He must have started to protest because she continued.

I had cleared the doorway but I couldn’t resist stopping for just a second to see what his response would be to being forced to take the pain medication. I heard her continue.

"No arguments. I know you didn’t sleep last night, but you are going to now, even if I have to sedate you into compliance, her voice suggesting she was only half teasing.

Walking away, I couldn't help but think that in most places, it’s illegal to use sedative medication to control patients, but I guess at a military base, what could they say? After all, it was the government who made the regulations and the government who ran the military base. Besides, the one’s making the rules and regulations hadn’t yet run into a stubborn Colonel O'Neill.

Later, when I went back to collect the ice packs, I noticed he was asleep. Maybe it wasn’t a threat after all! Watching him, it amazed me how the lines of worry, fatigue and pain were erased from his face. Quietly, I gathered my things and left the room. Dr. Fraiser caught me in the hall and inside I cringed, remembering how angry she had been. Needless to say, I was surprised when she spoke.

"Lisa, I want to apologize for what I said earlier in Colonel O'Neill’s room. I realize that he can be difficult at the best of times and with Dr. Jackson down, it makes him that much harder to deal with." She let out a frustrated sigh, one that I’m sure she didn’t even realize she had released.

"Oh, that’s okay. With him, it’s a thin line for me when to push home a point and when to back off some. I gave in today because he really seemed to feel it was something he had to do."

"Well, that’s Colonel O'Neill for you in a nutshell. I’ll let you go, but I just wanted to talk with you first."

Before she walked off, I let her in on an idea I had been developing this afternoon and with her permission, I was going to be able to implement it tomorrow. She readily agreed with me, thinking it would take care of two problems at once.

The next morning, I arrived at the Colonel’s room with a wheelchair. He looked at it suspiciously, speaking up before I had a chance to explain what I had in mind.

"What the hell is that for? I told you I don’t need one of those."

"You do today, in order to get on your feet," I said as I went ahead and began preparing him for a transfer to the wheelchair. A slight bit of orneriness overtook me as I decided if this was the way today was going to go, I just wouldn’t let him in on my plans right away. If looks could kill, I’d been dead a hundred times over in a span of minutes as he let me help him out of bed and into the chair. As we entered the hallway, I grabbed the crutches I had left propped up against the wall and started down the hall; away from the therapy department.

"Wait a minute? Where are you taking me?" He was sounding a little belligerent by this point, so I thought I should give in and offer him an answer.

"Well, Colonel, if I had had the time to explain, I would have told you that since you want to spend time with your friend, I got approval from Dr. Fraiser to work with you in the hallway outside and around Dr. Jackson’s room." He was silent for a minute as I pushed the wheelchair into Dr. Jackson’s room. "If that’s okay with you." I added. "You can think of it as controlled pacing."

I went ahead and pushed the chair up to the bed so he could see his friend, while I prepared to step out for a minute. I still needed to go back and check O'Neill’s chart to see how he was doing on the pain medication, and I thought that this way he could spend a few minutes alone with Dr. Jackson.

"O'Neill" I said softly, touching him on the shoulder, "I’ll be back in a minute. I have to go check on something." Much to my surprise, he reached up to briefly touch my hand and I heard a very quiet "Thank you." as I turned to leave the room.

Back at the nurse’s desk, I scanned through his chart and saw that he had been taking his medication and had actually slept most of the night. I briefly wondered if he was taking his medication co-operatively or otherwise, but didn’t ask. Glancing at the doctor’s notes, I noticed that his little jaunt yesterday didn’t hurt the healing incision, although there did continue to be some residual swelling that should have been gone by now. She had also indicated that she would switch him to oral antibiotics tomorrow if today went well.

'Great!' I thought as I headed back to the Colonel.'Hopefully in a day or two she’ll advance him to full weight bearing and we’ll be at the point we should have been at, oh, roughly a week ago.'

He was still sitting where I left him, talking quietly to Daniel. When I approached, he quickly stopped talking and pulled his hand back from where it had been resting on Jackson’s forearm. We got ready to walk and he turned back to the bed briefly, speaking to Jackson.

"Hey Danny, you’re missing quite a sight here. A pixie named Jumpy is trying tell *me* how to walk on crutches." I resisted the urge to slap him as I replied. "Yeah, and if he’s not careful, he’ll land on his butt!" to which we started out one of our better therapy sessions.

Later that day, Katie stopped me and asked how I was doing with the Colonel, considering the shape Jackson was in. I related to her the events of the past 24 hours and what we had done today.

"I forgot until later that day that I had left the crutches in his room I never thought that he would actually get up and use them. God, he is so lucky he didn’t fall. Talk about stubborn. Well, sounds like you’re doing okay, I’ll check back with you later.

I stood in the hallway for a minute, staring after her, my mouth all but hanging open. What an idiot! She knew how concerned he was over Jackson, yet she blamed him for trying something that was her mistake to begin with! Yeah, talk about stubborn; no wonder those two couldn’t work together. One was just as bad as the other.

We were going through the same routine the next day, when a small voice was heard from the bed, as Dr. Jackson struggled to open his eyes.

"Jack, that you?" He asked slowly, coming out of his fog. In an instant, O'Neill and I were at the side of the bed.

"Danny, Danny, you going to wake up on us?" The excitement barely contained in his voice.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting to see better as O'Neill rested against the bedrail. He looked around the room before speaking again.

"Jack, what happened? Where am I?" He voice was hoarse after not being used for a few days. O'Neill reached for the water glass, giving him a few ice chips to soothe his throat.

O’Neill went to explain as I pushed the call light for the nurse to come in. They needed to let Dr. Fraiser know he was awake. O'Neill was balancing well by hanging on to the bedrail, so I stepped back a little to give the two friends some privacy. But knowing O'Neill, I elected to stay within "catching" distance.

"Where are Sam, and Teal’c? They okay?" His voice rising slightly with concern as he tried to raise up in bed a little.

O'Neill gently put a restraining hand on his shoulder as he answered him. "Yeah, Danny, they're fine. Shh, you be quiet and don’t move too much. Doc is on her way."

"Why are you dressed like that?" Reaching up to touch the hospital garb O'Neill wore. His fingers lightly touched the IV site in Jack's hand before continuing, "you okay?" Although he had been switched to oral antibiotics, the IV apparatus was left in place in case it was needed again.

"He’s fine, Daniel and you will be too." Dr. Fraiser entered the room and removed her stethoscope all in one fluid movement. "Now you be quiet and let me check you out, uhmm?" her actions beginning a rote procedure.

At this point, O'Neill went to back away. I had the wheelchair behind him, ready for him to sit in. He gratefully sat down, rubbing his hands over his face in a gesture that spoke volumes of hidden emotions. He did not complain as I returned him to his room and helped to settle him in bed. We worked quietly, having a routine established for getting him settled and as I was pulling the covers over him, his eyes slid closed in sleep, exhaustion overtaking him. 'Finally', I thought. 'He can rest.' Exiting the room, I ran into Major Carter who was in the hallway.

"How's he doing, ahh, Lisa." She added as she read the name badge around my neck.

"Well, he's doing pretty good considering his little walk yesterday. He just got back from visiting Dr. Jackson and fell asleep."

"I heard about his walk." She briefly laughed shaking her head in disbelief. "Only the Colonel would do something like that and come out of it unscathed."

"Yeah, he can have his bouts of luck, can't he?" I moved on down the hall and I noticed she went into the Colonel's room. I knew she would be sitting there quietly, not wanting to wake him up, but just to be near in case he did.

Later that afternoon as I was heading to O'Neill’s room, I passed the nurse’s station which had become a hive of activity. The flu bug had hit the base with a vengeance and they were busy with a deluge of patients. Just like any other building with circulated ventilation and few outside windows, once a virus got hold, it ran rampant. Carrying the ice packs to place on his knee, I tapped on the door as I entered. I noted that Major Carter had left.

"O'Neill, you ready to get frozen?" He was lying on his side, his head facing the door and I swear I saw him shudder at my comment. At first I was amused, thinking I had finally found a way to tease the Colonel! As I approached the bed however, I heard him mutter "no ice, too cold already." He was already trying to turn onto his back, as if to move away from me.

"O'Neill, it’s just an icepack for your knee." I said quietly to remind him. "We won’t keep it on very long. We just need to control the swelling from you little jaunt the other day."

"Oh yeah, go ahead." he said with little emotion.

Looking at his face, I saw that he was pale and had the dark circles of fatigue still under his eyes. He kept his eyes shut as I arranged the ice pack and was quiet throughout the whole procedure. That in itself was unusual. He was always one to make quick comments on how or what I was doing. Just when I was beginning to wish I had stopped at the nurse’s desk, Dr. Fraiser came in, holding his chart in her hands.

"Lisa, why don’t we give the Colonel a break this afternoon and not do therapy." She stated somewhat distractedly as she looked at the chart. 'Uh,oh' I thought. 'A doctor excusing a patient from therapy that easily? Something was wrong.'

"Uh, Dr. Fraiser," Not wanting to break into her concentration, I'd waited until she looked up. When she did, I continued. "I’ve already put an icepack on the knee. Do you want me to take it off or go ahead and leave it."

"That should be alright. Let’s just not get him up on his feet."

"I’m here you know. I really hate it when people talk about me like I’m not here."

Smiling at him, I turned to leave, "How could we forget. It's you we were talking about! Anyway, I’ll be back in a little while to take off the pack." As I was leaving the room, I heard the doctor start talking to him.

"Jack, what trouble are you giving my nurses now?" She asked him, laying the chart down near his feet and taking out of her pocket what looked like an aural thermometer.. "I hear you’re running a fever again."

Out in the hallway, I stopped dead in my tracks and thought "Oh, shit,! Here we go again." Needless to say, I stayed to listen to what she had to say.

"Your nurse’s exaggerate." Was his only reply.

I heard the beep of the aural thermometer as she continued to speak. "Well, they exaggerate pretty good, your temperature is 100.7. What's going on?" When no reply was heard, she went on, "Looks like your incision isn’t the problem this time, it’s healing well. Come on, Jack, let me help you, tell me what's wrong."

Although she spoke quietly and conversationally, I knew she was pressing him for answers. Answers to questions she could have just rattled off unemotionally like a lot of doctor’s do, instead of taking the time to listen to their patients.

"Nothing. Just a little sick to my stomach."

"Oh, great" I thought, going ahead and walking down the hall, "I bet he has the flu. In his weakened state and with his escapades with Dr. Jackson, it wouldn’t be a far stretch for him to have picked up the bug." With a sigh, I headed towards our office.

Sitting at my desk, having the extra time that all therapists hope for, I found I could not concentrate on my work. My mind kept wandering back to O'Neill; gee what a surprise. 'How ironic' I thought, to just get to a point physically when we were ready to take off and really make some progress, his friend getting better, relieving that particular worry, and he gets sick with the flu bug. How many setbacks was this poor man going to have? Frustrated, I threw my pen down on the desk and went back up to the floor to retrieve my ice pack from the Colonel. Apparently Dr. Fraiser had left him sometime ago, and my suspicions about the flu where answered as soon as I entered the room.

O'Neill was sitting up in bed, looking both confused and surprised. From the looks of things, he had just thrown up all over himself and the bed. When he saw me his first reaction was one of extreme embarrassment.

"Not now." spoken tersely and with anger. Anger at what I wasn’t sure, but I had a feeling it was not aimed at me but at himself. Not letting that stop me, I went ahead and approached the bed, grabbing a towel from the bathroom as I did.

"Here, go ahead and wipe your face. Let’s get someone in here to help get you cleaned up."

"Sweet. More company."

Pushing the call light, I went ahead and took the ice pack off his knee. "Not feeling to good, huh?"

"Ya think?" Was his tired reply as the nurse’s aide came in and started to ask what we needed. Seeing the situation, she indicated she’d be right back with clean linens and a fresh change of clothes.

"Yeah, I think. Looks like you’ll get out of therapy tomorrow too. You know, if you didn't want to see me, there are easier ways to go about it." Trying to gently tease him. I knew how awful it was to get the flu; everybody does. It’s an easy illness to sympathise with. He only rolled his eyes in response and as the nurse’s aide came back, I grabbed my stuff to leave.

"See ya later. I’ll stop by tomorrow and see how you’re doing. If you’re feeling better, maybe we can at least continue the ice packs to work on the swelling."

He vaguely waved a hand in acknowledgement as I went ahead and left the room, closing the door behind me. Once in the hallway, I ran into Teal'c who had been coming to see the Colonel. Seeing the door closed, he stopped for a minute before entering, cocking one eyebrow at me inquisitvely. Catching his eye, I spoke. "It’s okay. He just had a little problem with something he ate. The aide is getting him straightened out. It’ll be just a few minutes."

He didn't verbally reply, simply nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. I wasn't surprised to see him there, I remembered how they had come to visit before their mission. I suddenly realised that between he and Major Carter, they had been team tagging the Colonel and Dr. Jackson’s rooms.

Realising they hadn’t been here when O'Neill got so sick the first time around must have really caused some mixed emotions. Guilt at not being there when he needed them, along with the apprehension of overloading him with worry about Dr. Jackson’s condition. What a tight rope they walked, and yet strangely enough, from the things I had been learning about the Colonel, I had a feeling that not only had he done the same for them, but each would continue to protect and support the other. I knew some families that were not that close. How lucky for this group of people that had been more or less randomly thrown together that they were able to form this cohesive little group that few strangers were allowed in. Not due to them being in a kind of a clique or anything as juvenile as that, but because few people could really understand the depth of emotion these four felt for each other.

Katie was down with the flu the next morning when I got to work, and Tom and I were deciding what patients to see.

"Looks like it’ll be a light day, Jumpy. Lot of patients down with the flu."

"What about O'Neill?" I asked with a trepidation that turned out to be well founded.

"Yeah, the floor called on him also. Bad night. He's also out for today.You might be able to go ahead and ice the knee though, so we can continue to control the swelling. Why don’t you see how he’s feeling and what Dr. Fraiser says."

"Sure, I’ll go check on it right now." I left the office, glad to have an errand to do. A day like today, with few patients and too many therapists, meant a day of catching up on paperwork. I was never sure if those days were considered a blessing or a curse. Going up to the nurse’s desk, I snagged O'Neill’s chart and began reading the nurse’s notes. Mentally I cringed when I read what kind of evening and night he had.

Apparently, from what the nurse’s had written, the first incident of vomiting was not the last. From what I read, it looked like once he got started, he was not able to stop, even when he was only enduring dry heaves. They tried different medications designed to help the nausea and vomiting but nothing had been totally effective. Early this morning he became dehydrated and an IV solution was added along with the continuation of the antibiotics he was already on to keep the virus from turning into an infection, which was a very real possibility in his weakened state. It appeared that so far, they had only been able to control the vomiting for up to four hours before he would start in again. Not only did he have the flu, he had it with a vengeance. I shut the chart and didn’t even ask about the ice, knowing it would be useless. If they couldn’t get his vomiting under control, he was quickly going to deteriorate to the point where his electrolytes would be effected, which in turn could affect his heart and once again land him back in ICU. 'It's too bad Dr. Jackson just got moved, otherwise they could have shared a room.' I thought a little sarcastically. Thinking he would probably be asleep, I still went by his room to check on him.

Much to my surprise, as I approached the door, he was awake and he had company. He motioned for me to come in, indicating I should be quiet. I slipped over to the left side of the bed because the right side was temporarily being used, by Dr. Carter’s head. She was sound asleep, her head resting on a pillow, the chair she was sitting on pulled up close to the bed so all she had to do was bend at the waist. The quiet sound of her breathing accompanied our whispered conversation.

"How long has she been here?

"I don’t know for sure. All night I think." Even whispering, his voice sounded weak and heavy with fatigue.

"As many drugs as you have in your system, you should be out like a light. How do you do it?"

Raising one eyebrow and smiling sarcastically, he replied. "Practice."

"How you feeling?"

"Peachy." Shrugging his shoulders in that noncommittal way that suggested nothing more was forthcoming. "What did you say you did?" He asked, tapping gently on my cast.

Caught completely off guard, I panicked for a minute, not remembering what I had said earlier. I’m not a good liar, let alone keeping track of the lies I had previously told! "I tripped over a wedge in the sidewalk when I was out walking and fell on it." I said, praying he had been to confused to remember the first lie. Unfortunately he hadn’t been.

"That’s not what you said the first time I asked." he said, somewhat triumphantly.

Caught, I knew I could no longer lie. Heck, I couldn’t even lie the first time around, let alone try it yet again. So I tried to change the subject.

"How’s Dr. Jackson?"

"It happened with me, didn’t it? What did I do?"

'God, he was as tenacious as a pit bull' I thought in frustration. 'No wonder the man was a Colonel'. Quickly I told him a kind of watered down version of what happened. The last thing I wanted to do was to have him feel guilty for something he couldn’t have helped.

"Sorry." He said the guilt showing in his face. Seeing that, I felt it was time to put an end to it if I could.

"You know, O'Neill, sometimes things just happen. There is no reason, no one to blame. If I had positioned you better to begin with, then maybe it could have been avoided. Or if I had immediately gone for help or you hadn’t been sick to begin with or, I don’t know, maybe there was a full moon that day. Sometimes things just happen." By this point I was whispering and gesturing with my arms trying to get my point across. I must have looked like a cross between a red faced leprechaun and a windmill. Still, I persisted. " It’ll be okay. Shoot, my brother cracked a bone in my arm when I was little."

"She’s right, Sir." A new voice spoke out loud and broke into our whispered conversation. Major Carter lifted her head from the pillow and looked at us both, startling me.

"Oh, you think so, Major?" O'Neill asked sternly, but with a look of affection on his face.

"Yes, Sir, I do." She said looking straight at me. "Of course, being a scientist at heart, I hate to admit that sometimes things just happen out of probability." She finished with a smile at O'Neill.

"I’m going to remember you saying that, Carter." O'Neill replied with an evil grin.

"I’m sure you will, Sir." She included me with her smile as she continued, "I’m Major Samantha Carter. We keep running into each other but haven't actually met."

"Yes, Lisa Kilburn." I replied nervously.

"Also known as Jumpy," came a third, unsolicited voice. I shot him an evil glare as I prepared to leave. The calmness of the mood was abruptly shattered as O'Neill clenched his hands into fists, pushing his head back on the pillow.

"Oh, shit." Was all he managed to say as an episode of dry heaves began to rack his body.

Carter managed to grab the small container sitting on the nightstand and was holding it in front of her CO as he continued to dry heave. The look of pain was echoed on all three of our faces as we watched him ride it out. Finally spent, he lay his head back on the pillow, his face wet with sweat and his body shaking from the left over tremors the force of dry heaving left him with. Major Carter grabbed a washcloth and began to wipe off his face as I quickly made my way to the exit. Leaving, I heard her talking to him quietly, telling him it would be all right. I listened as I walked out the door, I couldn’t help but wonder who she was trying to convince, him or herself?

Boredom can lead you to do the same things over and over, just for something semi constructive to do. It was late in the afternoon of a way too quiet day in the therapy department and I was at the nurse’s desk finishing up on some charts. I was wanting to get my hands on O'Neill's chart to see how he had been doing. Asking someone got such limited information! The duty nurse, one who had always been friendly to me, stopped to talk.

"Pretty quiet day for you guys, I bet."

"Too quiet. Katie is out sick and Tom went home early to use up some extra time he had accumulated."

"So they left you to hold down the fort, huh?" She said with a smile.

"Relatively speaking. There hasn’t been much of a fort to hold down today."

"Well, at least you guys got a break today. We sure didn’t!"

"I bet not." I could truly sympathise with her. There had to be nothing worse than a bunch of people down with the flu. Quickly thinking of Dr. Jackson and his exposure to O'Neill, I asked her. "How’s Dr. Jackson doing? Did he get sick?"

"No" She replied, "Not yet. In fact, he seems to be doing the best of all of them. Makes you wonder if they brought back something with them from their last mission." Distracted, she turned back to the notes she was working on.

Taking the opportunity, I once again grabbed O'Neill’s chart to see if he was any better. Unfortunately, from the nurse’s notes, he hadn’t. I read that he continued to not be able to hold anything down for the better part of the day, finally throwing off some of the values of his electrolytes. Even with the IV, he was still managing to become dehydrated. Luckily, a couple quick infusions of potassium and magnesium put him back in the normal range, but he was once again walking that fine line toward the ICU. I did notice however, that he had managed to get some sleep. 'Good" I thought 'That has to help if, nothing else.' Putting his chart away, I went toward his room.

Not surprisingly, Major Carter was gone, but Teal’c was in the room. From the hallway, O'Neill looked like he was resting and Teal’c was sitting in the chair as if standing guard. I hurried on by, not wanting to disturb them. Playing on a hunch, I went on down the hall and sure enough, Major Carter was talking to Dr. Jackson. Again their cohesiveness struck me and I thought of the type of commanding officer that could foster such deep caring among the four members of his team. Pretty incredible.

Katie was back to work the next day, which was nice, but there wasn’t much going on in the department due to the flu. I went up on to the floor to see how O'Neill was doing. Once again, I took up residence at the nurse’s station and began to read what was rapidly becoming a very thick chart. The night had not gone well for him. According to the nurse’s notes, he was vomiting despite the medication and was getting weak. They had to call Dr. Fraiser in during the middle of the night because the night duty nurse was afraid that his heart beat was becoming erratic. Apparently, a small dose of another medication fixed it, along with some more electrolytes. It was noted in each of the entries that Teal’c had remained by the Colonel’s side throughout the night. I noticed this must be a common occurrence as there was no indication that he was encouraged to leave. Sometimes, when a friend or family member isn’t doing well, they ask anyone in the room to leave until the situation is stabilised. It seemed O'Neill had also suffered from nightmares that disturbed his sleep. 'Uhm, amazing all the little details you can learn from the nurses notes.' I thought as I put the chart back. Not surprisingly, I found myself on the way to O'Neill’s room, almost by rote.

From the doorway, I could tell he had not been doing good. His color was bad and his face slightly flushed. His eyes were closed but I couldn’t tell if he was asleep or just laying there. Not surprising was that his arms were wrapped around his middle protectively. Looking in the room, I saw that he was alone. I must have made some noise without realising it, because his eyes were now opened and he saw me. Slowly, I walked to his bed, and in one of those reflexive actions that therapists do, I placed my hand on his arm. I could feel the warmth of his fevered skin radiating through the fabric.

"How you doing, O'Neill?"

"Somewhere between dead and left to rot." Was a whispered reply, his throat dry and hoarse.

"Hey, come on, you’ll get better." I reached for the glass to give him a sip of water. When I didn’t put my hand back down on his arm, he weakly brought his hand up to where mine were resting on the bedrail, touching me lightly, almost unperceptively if I hadn‘t seen him do it.

"Yeah, at this point, what choice do I have? Doc has already threatened to kill me if I don’t start getting better." He said with a tired smile.

"Well, see, there you go. Either way, you end up dead, so you might as well save us all the paperwork and just get better, okay?" I said jokingly.

"Working on it." His eyes fluttered close and I thought he was going to sleep when he suddenly jerked his eyes open. The look on his face was almost one of fear as he looked around the room.

"Where’s Teal’c?"

"I’m not sure, but I’m sure he or Major Carter will be right back. I bet they won’t mind if you go to sleep. You have to be tired after the night you had."

He didn’t have an answer but his fatigue overtook him and finally he succumbed to sleep. I continued standing there until I was sure he was as sound asleep as he was going to get. I could tell when his hand began to leave mine and I caught it to keep it from flopping down on the bed. It was at that moment I realised we were not alone. I turned to face Major Carter.

She was sitting in the chair, a small smile on her face. I wasn't sure how she got there without me hearing her. She looked as tired as I imagined she must be, running between O'Neill and Jackson. I had the feeling she was used to it, and from the stories I had already heard on the base, I knew that O'Neill and Jackson were frequently in the infirmary.

"When did he go to sleep?"

"Just a few minutes ago. We were talking and he just kind of dropped off."

She laughed a little as she replied, "he does that. He reminds me of the kid who won’t give into to sleep until they fall over in their tracks."

I smiled at the visualisation and mentally agreed with her. Taking a chance, I decided to find out how Dr. Jackson was. I wasn’t sure if she would tell me though.

"How’s Dr. Jackson? Is he getting better or did he get this stuff also?"

"No, actually he’s doing well. Janet said he could probably be up and around in a few days. He doesn’t seem to have this virus. And it's possible we brought it with us when we came through the ‘gate." Wistfully she added, "he keeps getting mad at Janet because she won’t let him see Jack. Considering what happened when we were on our mission, Daniel is feeling badly that Jack was alone. He wants to be here for him, especially after hearing how sick the Colonel is now.

'Dr. Jackson's not the only one who feels bad about being gone when O'Neill was sick.' It was obvious that Major Carter felt the same and although Teal'c was quiet in his presence, it seemed that he shared that sentiment also.

"I’m glad he’s better anyway. Now if O'Neill would just settle down, we could start moving things along again."

"Amen to that," interjected a third voice. Startled at the intrusion, I jumped and found that Dr. Fraiser had entered the room. Coming in quietly, so as not to disturb O'Neill, she had heard us talking. Feeling the room getting a little to crowded, military wise, I decided to make an exit. "I’d better go. Katie may need some help today after being sick yesterday."

Carter looked up as Dr. Fraiser went ahead and approached the bed and simply said "thanks". Silently I nodded my head and left the room.

Again I found my self confused. 'Thanks for what, being his friend?' I didn’t treat O'Neill any different than I did my other patients, but yet they seemed to see it as an exception. I wondered how many other times O'Neill had tried to get through to different people, only to be rejected at face value, until eventually, he quit trying? Thank God these three people from his team were patient enough to see the "real" O'Neill emerge. Thinking back over the last few days, I amended that to four people who cared for him as a friend. I realized Dr. Fraiser had to be added to that list also. It took time and effort, but I had a feeling it was worth it if you made the investment.

Later that day, I heard through the grapevine that O'Neill was finally getting a little better. It’s funny, probably some of the most gossipy people worked in medical facilities. Must be in our personality make up! I was sitting in our office doing paperwork, when Katie came in. Unfortunately, competitiveness was also part of our internal make up.

"So, I hear you and O'Neill are pretty close." Katie said with a snide tone as she sat in her chair facing me. Looking up from what I was doing, I could tell by the set of her face and her body language that I was going to have to tread softly through this minefield.

"What do you mean, Katie?" I asked, carefully keeping my voice neutral as I regarded her.

"Well, I hear that you’ve been a pretty frequent visitor to his room and his friends have gotten to know you. I guess you’ve even met that alien guy, what’s his name?"

"His name is Teal’c, and yes, I’ve gone to O'Neill’s room to check on him. I always do that when I have a patient down."

"Oh, is it O'Neill now?"

"Actually he told me to call him Jack." She was really getting on my nerves, and besides, there was no point to this conversation.

"Yeah, well, don’t get too involved. I’ll effect the way you approach your patient," she said in that obnoxious teacher voice that everyone carries inside them. " What is it with your license anyway? Since I still have to follow you around, I want to be sure and see progress with him when I get to reevaluate his goals."

'How will effect the way I treat my patient? I might slip and consider them human.' "I’m sure you will." Was all I could civilly reply, while biting my tongue to keep from lashing out at her.

"Well, we’ll see." With a huff, she gathered her things and left the office.

I continued to sit there, stunned, not only by what she said, but by the implication that I wouldn’t give my patient adequate treatment, just because I didn’t address him by his title. Almost immediately after her departure, Tom came walking in. I could tell from his face that he had heard the entire conversation. My stomach dropped to my feet and I sat frozen, not sure how he would interpret this little incident. He prolonged my agony by walking over to his desk and leaning against it with his arms crossed in front of him. I waited in dread. So far, body language was against me, and I sure couldn’t read the expression on his face. When he started to speak, I was so scared I almost didn’t comprehend his first words.

"Don’t worry about Katie. She gets this way sometimes. O'Neill has always been a burr in her craw so to speak, and she can’t understand how someone can actually get along with him. Just let it go and don’t worry about it. She’ll settle down and this will all blow over."

He spoke quietly and with confidence. Without waiting for my reply, he picked up some papers from his desk and left the office.

I leaned back in my chair and pretended I could breathe again. I hated it when people at work got so competitive. It was so stupid. It’s not like it’s a contest to be won. You go in and you work with the patient and hopefully they get better. All therapist worked differently; it just had to be accepted. With a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to go back to thinking about the note I had been writing. I couldn’t shake this feeling of being accused of something improper though, no matter how hard I tried. Needless to say, the next time Katie and I worked together, she was her usual cheerful self. I responded in kind, but unfortunately my view of her would forever be changed.

Unfortunately, when we were able to resume therapy with the Colonel, it appeared the flu bug had sent him for a loop. He was weak physically and mentally discouraged from another setback. The good news though, was that Dr. Fraiser was willing to let him bend his knee in it's full range of motion, and we were able to begin doing exercises to strengthen the muscles around the surgical site. He was down in the therapy department with me, laying on a flat mat, with his eyes closed as we did the passive exercises. In this situation, the therapist moves the leg for the patient in order to do some stretching, and also to informally test how far the joint would cooperate. It could be painful, and from looking at his pale, drawn face, I had a pretty good idea that was, even with the pain medication he had taken. Observing him as I worked, I noticed that he looked like he had lost weight, his cheekbones more prominent than they should be. In addition, he movements quickly became shaky, reminiscent of someone who has been ill.

Kneeling on the mat beside him, I picked up his leg in order to begin the exercises. In his typical Colonel way, he tried to outdo the movement, even as I tried to set the pace.

"Jack, let me move your leg. You just relax. You're wearing me out having to fight against your extra movements!" I stopped what I was doing until I felt his muscles relax. I understood that is was hard to let someone else move a limb without trying to help, unless you were totally paralyzed.

"I’m trying, came the exasperated reply.

"Come on," I gently shook his leg to help him relax and to keep him from involuntarily guarding the leg to prevent pain. When I felt his leg relax, I provided the encouragement so he could know what that relaxed position actually was. "Okay, that’s it, just let me do the work." As I moved on the mat and bent his knee more toward his chest, my knees popped which they have a tendency to do. One brown eye opened as his eyebrow crawled dangerously close to his hairline.

"I sure as hell hope that wasn’t me," was his sarcastic comment.

Smiling as I continued to work, my reply was easy. "Of course not. Just like when you fall, there is way too much extra paperwork to fill out if a therapist breaks a patient’s limb." Needless to say, that did not do much to calm the already irritated Colonel. With a small "Humph" he closed his eyes again. As I completed the movements required, I watched his face to look for pain or discomfort that would indicate the limb had been moved too far. Again, I was struck by his inability to allow himself to show pain. What we were doing had to hurt. The leg had been not only immobilized for a number of days, but operated on also. As I rested the calf of his leg on my shoulder with me still kneeling on the mat, I noticed his fist quietly hitting the mat. Feeling that was a pretty good indication of pain, I dropped off my knees into a sitting position and allowed the leg to rest there in a passive stretch. Keeping my eye on his hand, I noticed that after a few seconds, the fist slowly stopped moving and the hand relaxed. 'I finally had a indicator of pain' I thought, 'although not too a reliable of one.' It wasn’t my desire to actually put him in pain to reach our goals. After a few more exercises on the mat, I put some ice on his knee and let him rest before we actually walked. Sitting down on the mat next to him, I waited for his eyes to open and look at me. Observing him as I waited, I was relieved to finally see the IV apparatus removed. I knew from looking at the chart that he still wore the leg brace but mostly to remind him to not overuse his knee.

"This is how it goes." I said softly "this part of therapy is always painful, but in order for me to make sure I don’t hurt you, I need to know when to stop. The only way I can do that is for you to tell me." He stared at me without replying and closed his eyes again, shutting me out. Too bad for him, as I wasn’t finished. "Colonel, you’re weak because you have been so sick. It’s not unusual and it won’t last forever. You’re naturally strong enough that with a few more days of solid food, you should regain the strength you have lost. Trust me, it will get better." I waited for a second to see if I would get a reply, checking the ice pack to make sure I wasn’t freezing the skin. Satisfied with that, and convinced he would maintain his silence, I got up to go to the office for a minute. "I’m going to let you rest for a minute and let the ice work to prevent any swelling from the extra use today. I’ll be in the office, so if you need anything, just let me know. I’ll be back in about five minutes." As I stood to leave, I heard a small voice finally answer me.

"The pain I can manage. It’s just so hard to not have the strength you’re used to." His voice, although quiet, floated to my position a few feet away from the mat. I walked back over to where he lay. "I know it is, but you will come out of this in a little time."

"Sweet. Good thing I’m a patient man."

"Yeah, right!" I replied as I walked away. I noticed the whole time we talked, he never once opened his eyes to look directly at me.

In the office, I was sipping on my diet coke and I thought about that. It’s like talking to someone in the dark or on the computer; by not seeing them and trying to judge their reactions to your words, you can be more honest with your feelings. Although he didn’t say much, I knew he revealed a lot of himself to me today, and I felt privileged that he was able to do so.

When I took him back to his room, I still had the crutches in my hands that we had used in the hallway. One thing about the infirmary area, the halls were fairly long and straight. It made it much easier to practice with the crutches than in the small therapy department. I helped him settle in bed and as I went to grab the crutches to leave, I was stopped.

"You could leave those here you know." He said somewhat wistfully.

I looked at him with my 'you think I’m stupid' look, before replying. "Colonel, you remember what happened the last time that was done. Surely you don’t think I’m dumb enough to have it happen again." As he started to open his mouth, with an evil grin on his face, I interrupted him. "That was a rhetorical question," I said with a grin to match his. "And besides, Dr. Fraiser would kill me if I let that happen again!"

"I would kill whom for what?" came the question from the doorway. When I looked up, I saw Dr. Fraiser, and hoped she hadn’t heard what I said. Although not offensive, I really didn’t want to explain that awkward statement. Looking at the Colonel, I saw that sarcastic smirk and I knew I was in this alone.

"Nothing Dr. Fraiser. The Colonel and I were just discussing the possibility of leaving the crutches in the room." With a smirk of my own, I was quickly able to exit the room as she approached the helpless man laying on the bed.

"Don’t even go there, Colonel O'Neill." I heard her say as I made my quick escape. I silently laughed as I heard her use his formal title. "Hah!" I thought. "Gotcha on that one!"

For the first time in a number of days, I was able to leave the base, knowing that O'Neill was actually going to make it this time. Once outside, I let out a small sigh of relief and silently thanked whomever watched over wayward Colonel’s.

Needless to say, once we got some motion started in his knee, he began to handle the crutches much better and became adept at using them quickly. Being able to put the full weight of his foot down made it much safer for him.

Dr. Fraiser and I were back to having our meetings regarding the Colonel's progress. When I brought her up to date as to where we were, I could see the relief in her face as she spoke.

"Great. I did not imagine his rehab would take so long when I first did the surgery. Although, I should have been suspicious, knowing who I was dealing with."

"I was wondering if you felt he was ready for the crutches to be left in his room. He is quite steady and walking at least 100 feet or more each session."

"I think that would be alright. But we need to keep in mind, I've had to leave the remaining stitches in the outside area of the knee in place longer due to the infection. So long as he's careful, I don't see a problem with that."

"Okay, I'll let him know. And I'll warn him about the stitches."

"Great. I'll warn him too. He's had stitches enough times he should be aware of the precautions but given the Colonel, it wouldn't hurt for me to remind him."

Smiling, we ended what seemed our first meeting in a very long time. Realistically, it had only been a matter of days, but the Colonel had a way of making things seem longer! I knew he would welcome the slight bit of increased independence and I was relieved his therapy was progressing so quickly now.

I went to his room to tell him the good news but was once again stopped outside the door as I heard a soft voice speaking. I was relieved that Dr. Jackson had been wheeled down to see Jack. It had been attempted before, but with Jack in therapy, they both kept missing getting together.

"Jack, when Janet told us how sick you were when we were gone, we couldn't believe it. We all felt so bad not being here and all."

"Come on, Daniel, you know there wasn't anything you guys could have done. You had to leave and anyway, I got along fine." There was a gentle rebuff in his tone, it seemed as if he was embarrassed of his team worrying about him. I went on down the hall, leaving the two men to talk in private. Sometimes talking to a good friend was a healing process in its self.

Eventually, I got to tell him he could be up for short walks on his own. Needless to say, he was thrilled. Although for the next few days, I mentally cringed when coming into the office, expecting to hear that he had hurt himself overdoing it! Luckily for us, he was good and did as he was told. "Must have been some threat from Fraiser" I thought to myself. She must have limited him to walking only to Dr. Jackson's room.

Today as we were working on the mat, Katie came in to assess his progress. This was required for changes in condition, or in his case, for the rapid increase in his strength. She came to the mat where we were working and began a quick evaluation. Since he was already lying on the mat, she first checked his range of motion.

"Colonel O'Neill, I’m going to check and see how far your knee will bend and how strong your muscles are." She spoke and picked up his leg at the same time, not giving him time to prepare for the moving of the joint. She quickly and roughly stretched his leg farther than she needed to in order to assess his progress. She checked the muscle strength with the same lack of finesse, and I tried not to cringe as I saw that fist start to quietly hit the mat. Finally she was done. O'Neill had a fine sheen of sweat on his face that she had put there by pushing him farther than he could go. She was oblivious to this as she turned to me.

"Looks like he’s doing pretty good. Go ahead and be more aggressive with the strengthening and tomorrow let’s move him to using a cane." Without waiting for a reply, or saying anything to O'Neill, she exited the room into the office. I was left with a pissed off Colonel and a bad situation.

"Well, the good news is you can get rid of the crutches." I watched as the fist relaxed ever so slowly.

"Where did she get her training? From the Gould?" He muttered, partially to himself. Since I wasn’t totally sure what he was talking about, I went ahead and tried to salvage the situation.

"All therapists work differently. Unfortunately, she seems to work with her eyes closed and her mouth going." I spoke quietly so she wouldn’t hear me, not wanting to jepardisze my tenuous position. Even though her intention was to leave at some point until I had my license, it was best not to have one of your supervisor's angry at you. He laughed slightly and I was relieved to see his temper abate as quickly as it came.

"So, when do I finish up and get out of here?"

My reply was guarded, because I knew he was asking when his therapy be over. "Soon, Jack, if you keep progressing as well as you are now." Sitting up, he flashed me a glare, knowing I had fielded the question. I knew he was angry and since the first few days of therapy, I knew that anger was directed at me. I couldn't give him a more definite answer. I couldn't look into a magic ball and predict when he would be totally well. I refrained from saying any more as I knew all I had to say would be false platitudes; something he wouldn't want to hear anyway.

Instead, I got ready to take him back to his room, disappointed that for the first time in a long time I was ending the session on a less than satisfactory note. I was helping him get back into bed when I noticed blood on the splint he was still required to wear. Helping him lie down, I quickly removed the splint to find the outer incision.

"Colonel, why didn't you tell me something was wrong?" I grabbed a pair of gloves and a towel from the bathroom and laid it on the wound. "When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure."

Great. Just when I needed him to communicate with me, he was frustrated and angry and not about to say anything.

"I'm going to get Dr. Fraiser."

"No wait, it'll stop bleeding in a minute."

Mentally I rolled my eyes at him. From the looks of things, I was afraid he had popped some stitches and if that was the case, it would stop bleeding but it still needed treatment. Hitting the call button, I waited for the nurse to come in the room.

"Can I help you?" She asked entering the room. Seeing what I was doing, she quickly approached the bed and took a quick look. "I'll go get Dr. Fraiser." With that, she left the room, only to be back in a minute with the doctor. I stepped away from the bed to give them room to work.

Donning gloves, she looked at the incision, speaking curtly to the nurse. "I'm going to need a suture kit." Turning to me, I could see she was angry, her eyes flashing.

"What happened? This is exactly what I was afraid of. We had talked about this and you were aware of the precautions."

Each word seemed to hit me like a physical blow as I stood there, transfixed, unable to speak. Before she could demand an answer, the nurse returned with the suture kit and she turned her back on me, effectively dismissing me. Almost in shock over what happened, I blindly left the room not even looking at the Colonel as I left.

I returned to the department, sick to my stomach. In the matter of a couple hours, I had managed to get my whole little world mad at me. Alone, I sat in the department, trying to understand what happened. Mentally reviewing the therapy session, I realized we had not done anything unusual that day. Something was nagging at my mind and in my fear frozen state, I couldn't put my finger on it. Suddenly it came to me. I had a vivid mental picture of Katie pushing his leg beyond it's endurance and my minds eye fixtated on the fist I had seen hitting the mat. I knew then, that was when it happened. Needless to say, I have to admit I was relieved not to be the one to have caused the stitches to reopen, but at the same time, I was frustrated to realize the injury was the cause of negligence on the part of an employee. In order to salvage the situation, I knew I had to talk to Katie.

Unfortunately for me, it was the next day before I could talk with her. We were alone in the department when I confronted her. I took a deep breath and gathered what little courage I had around me as I approached her. Confrontation was not my strong suit, but it was about to be something I was going to learn. The hard way.

"You know, in football, what you did yesterday to Colonel O'Neill would be considered unnecessary roughness." I tried to keep my voice level, not wanting to anger her any more than I was sure I had. When she turned to face me, I knew I had already crossed the line, but the time had come to get it out in the open.

"What do you mean by that, Jumpy?"

I reminded myself to speak softly and try not to let my temper get the better of me. However, it was not going to be easy. The situation spiralled out of control before I could even approach her about the reopening of his wound.

"When you reassessed Colonel O'Neill, you were rough, causing him discomfort that was unnecessary. Also, when we got back to his room, I found out his stitches had been torn."

"I told you not to get involved with your patients. You can't see things objectively. I have worked with that man before; I know how he operates, you don’t. This is your first time with him and you don’t need to coddle him. What are you insinuating about the torn stitches? It could have just as easily happened when you were working with him. You're not going to blame me for that!" She was so angry her voice was rising.

"You know just as well as I do that O'Neill does not show pain. You have to look for it. He was in pain yesterday and you made it worse. He is not the type to sit around on his butt in therapy to keep from going back and doing his job. My God, he was the one who took himself to the ICU to see his teammate because of his concern."

"I’m sure that’s the way you see it." she started out, her voice almost a sneer, "but, as I have said before, he’s been in therapy long enough and you know how the insurance companies respond to this type of situation. Get him back on his feet and out of here."

I watched, stunned, as she stormed out of the office. I knew I had hit a raw nerve and I figured between this failed confrontation and Dr. Fraiser's belief I had caused the injury to O'Neill, I had just cinched my unemployment papers, but for once, I didn’t care. I was tired of dealing with people like her, and it was time I stood up for what I believed in without having to worry about the consequences. 'Well, sounds good anyway.' I thought, turning back to my desk, tears threatening, 'Wonder if my principles will feed me and pay my mortgage' A few tears slipped down my face. I was one of those who always got angry enough to cry. I couldn’t just turn red in the face and blow it off like most people; unfortunately it took a lot of emotion for me to confront someone and it always took it’s toll. Drinking my ever present diet coke, I was fiddling with the pen on my desk, trying to compose myself before I went to get O'Neill for his session when I heard a knock on the door. Startled, I quickly wiped my face to answer the knock. I knew my red nose couldn’t be hidden, so I was a little panicky and embarrassed.

"Come in." I called out, frustrated because my voice was still a little shaky.

"Hey, Jumpy. You going to sit around all day or get me off these things?"

Startled, and true to my nickname, I jumped as I heard O'Neill’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, balancing on his crutches and dressed in fatigues. Standing up quickly to hide my discomfort, I attempted a laugh as I walked toward him.

"Hey, who let you out? I wasn't sure you'd be able to come down today." I said with a weak grin. We stood eye to eye, so to speak, at the door and I for some odd reason felt trapped. I could feel him assessing me, taking in my red nose and eyes and the slight shaking of my hands as I tried to pull my hair back. Finally, he took a step back to let me leave the office and we made our way into the department. He answered me as we slowly made our way over to the mat.

"Naww, takes more than a few popped stitches to keep me in the infirmary."

"That's good. I was really worried that it was more than just that." Worried put it mildly. I had slept little the night before thinking of all the consequences of a reopened wound could be.

When he sat on the flat mat with me across from him, he reached forward and lightly tapped on the cast I still wore.

"We need to teach you to defend yourself with your hands when this comes off. Never know when it may come in handy.

I laughed at his attempt at humor, although I knew in the pit of my stomach that he had heard the exchange between Katie and I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Trying to cover up what happened, for her protection as much as mine, I went ahead and began the therapy session, working on strengthening exercises for his knee. As the session was winding up and he was walking back to the infirmary, now using the cane for support, he once again indirectly brought up the subject we had been avoiding.

"You’re pretty quiet today, Jumpy." He said softly as we made our way back to his room. "You know, around here, I have a reputation for spouting my mouth off before my brain catches up."

"Yeah? Oh, it's not you! I’ve got some things on my mind that I guess I’m trying to work through." I thought to myself, 'like how to find a job when you’re fired from a military base.'

"Well, Daniel, always says talking about it helps."

We had made it back to his room and I helped him lay down in bed. Although he was walking around in "real clothes", he was still being held in the infirmary due to the weight loss and weakness from his bout with the flu. Rumor had it that Dr. Fraiser didn’t trust him to take care of himself well enough to go home; which was probably well founded. The workout in therapy and the walk to and from the department had worn him out, and the fatigue could be seen in his face. I made sure he was settled and as I got ready to leave, I quietly answered him.

"Yeah, and sometimes talking just gets you into deeper trouble." I took a deep breath and told him I would see him tomorrow before exiting the room.

The next few days passed quickly and no more was said about Katie’s and my disagreement. Nor did I have the time or the energy to confront her again with what had happened. She treated me normally and acted as if nothing was wrong. I spent most of my days in the therapy department, trying to avoid Dr. Fraiser as much as possible, not wanting to see her disappointment in me. Or see the disappointment I felt in myself.

Needless to say, Colonel O'Neill made fast progress from this point on. We were finally ready to discharge him and he was only restricted to light duty. At our last session, I had been reviewing the exercises he still needed to do to keep his knee limber, and what he shouldn’t do to keep it healthy as I prepared to discharge him. He stood by the mat as we talked, and kept me laughing with his usual sarcastic comments. I held out my hand to him to congratulate him on "graduating" from therapy.

"Well, Colonel O'Neill, it has definitely been unusual working with you." I said with a evil grin, "You kept me on my toes and I’m glad to see you’re finally up and around."

"What, are you saying I was hard to work with?" He asked, his face the picture of innocence.

"No, not exactly. I just didn’t always know where I would find you. Your room , the ICU, someone else’s room...never a dull moment."

"That’s my job, to keep you guessing." He at least had the decency to look slightly chagrined.

"Okay, you do as instructed and you should do fine. We don’t need to see you any more and are officially dismissing you from physical therapy."

"Sweet. I’m sure you’ll find others to torture though."

We walked toward the door and I laughed in reply. "You bet, and if you don’t follow those instructions, it’ll be you again." Even I couldn’t resist a cheap shot when it was dropped in my lap!

With his usual sarcastic grin, he left, and I stood there for a moment thinking about how much I had enjoyed working with him.

It was three days later and I was in the office with Katie and Tom when the phone rang. Tom answered it and I could tell by his responses that it was serious. When he hung up, he turned to me, and I felt my heart drop to my toes with his announcement.

"General Hammond wants to see you in his office, Jumpy." His tone was serious and somber.

I swear I paled as I stood to leave the office. Katie stopped me briefly at the door.

"You remember how to get there?" I could only nod mutely, not trusting my voice. "Jumpy, it’s okay. It’ll be all right, I promise." She said softly, and encouragingly. Again I nodded as I left the room.

While walking the hallways to the General’s office, my sense of dread became stronger and stronger. I knocked on the door and was told to enter. I knew I was shaking from fear and my eyes were wide with fright. I entered his office and walked up to his desk. I had vaguely remembered interviewing with him when I started working here, but somehow he looked bigger and more foreboding today. When I saw Colonel O'Neill sitting calmly in the opposite chair at the desk, I almost hit full blown panic. I knew for sure I was going to get fired.

"Lisa, isn’t it?" The General asked as he looked up from the papers on his desk.

"Yes, Sir." I replied, resisting the urge to salute.

"Go ahead and have a seat. As I recall, when you started here there was a problem with you obtaining your State license, thus requiring the need for Katie Johnson to remain for an undetermined amount of time."

Mutely, I nodded sinking into a chair. I was happy to sit. I wasn’t sure my legs would support me much longer. . I was cold with dread, knowing I was about to be fired.

"Lisa, it has come to my attention that due to certain circumstances that where beyond your control, Colonel O'Neill suffered a minor setback in the past few days. The circumstances around that incident have been brought to my attention. In addition, I am aware of the work you did with Colonel O'Neill in expediting his recovery from his surgery. I understand that during this time, you became privy to some information that would be considered classified. I am also aware of your handling of the difficult situations that involved Colonel O'Neill and understand how that information was revealed to you. I have recently come into possession of you license to work as a physical therapist in the state of Colorado. Therefore, it is with the combined recommendations of Dr. Fraiser and Colonel O'Neill that I am pleased to offer you a permanent position as a physical therapist at Cheyenne Mountain. With your acceptance of this position......."

I sat, watching his mouth move, but not hearing the words. I couldn’t believe it, somehow I had been exonerated from the mishap the other day. When the words slowly sunk in that it had been determined what had actually happened that day and I wasn't to blame. Katie would be the one leaving the base! Finally, I was being offered a position at a job I loved! What a dream come true. My thought process was interrupted as I became aware of an unnatural silence in the room and realized I was to have responded by now. I glanced at Colonel O'Neill who sat with a "cat ate the canary" grin on his face, and I swallowed hard looking back at General Hammond.

"Yes, Sir, I accept." I replied, hoping it was the right answer. Before the General could

respond, a sarcastic drawl floated over towards me.

"Are you sure you know what you just accepted?" Turning to Hammond, he continued,

"Sir, I’m glad we finally filled that janitorial position. That one has been keeping me up at nights."

General Hammond grinned slightly as he replied. "Colonel O'Neill...." leaving the rest

of the sentence as an implied threat. "I believe you have a mission to get ready for."

He stood quickly, saluted the General and solemnly shook my hand. "Congratulations

Jumpy. Now, come with me."

Startled, I looked from the General to the Colonel with a puzzled frown on my face.

General Hammond stood, and we prepared to leave his office.

"Colonel O'Neill, in his less than eloquent way, would like you to view something as we

have now given you the proper security clearances."

Still puzzled, I followed O'Neill out the door and down the steps to a door that opened to a large room. I walked in, still confused, as I saw this gigantic circle like structure practically engulf the entire room. Coming into the room farther, I noticed Major Carter, Dr. Jackson and Teal’c gathered together at the base of a ramp leading to the circle. Still confused, I watched O'Neill don something I could only describe as a bullet proof vest, take a big gun from Dr. Jackson and make his way back over to where I stood. Suddenly I realized that General Hammond was no-where to be found, yet he had followed us out of the office. I jumped as I heard the General’s voice saying something I couldn't understand and watched with confusion as Colonel O'Neill approached me in full gear. Subconsciously, I took a step back, my mouth almost hanging open in shock. In full health and all his gear, he was quite an imposing figure. I was in awe of the transformation that seemed to have happened before me eyes.

O'Neill stopped in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder. Behind him, I could see the circle begin to turn and hear the announcement of the chevrons being locked into place. Like the tumblers on a safe, the wheel turned and stopped at each notch as it was announced the chevron was locked. Looking in confusion at O'Neill, I struggled not to be startled at each locking of the chevron. Quietly he spoke to me.

"Jumpy, this is the Stargate. The purpose will be explained to you later during a more in depth orientation." He felt me startle under his hand as he put a slight weight on my shoulders as if to contain the reflex. "There are seven chevrons or codes to be locked in place. If you jump at everyone of them, you’ll end up with your neck in traction. Just relax and enjoy the show."

Smiling slightly at his humor, I was grateful for his reassuring hand on my shoulder. As the seventh chevron locked in place, a magnificent blue pool erupted from the gate, causing me to gasp involuntarily. Looking at O'Neill, all I could say was "it’s beautiful."

"Ahh, Colonel? We need to get going," came the soft voice of Major Carter from the ramp. Catching my eye, she smiled, acknowledging my wonderment.

"Coming, Carter." O'Neill called over his shoulder, and with one last look directly into my eyes, he said "Lisa Kilburn, welcome to Stargate Command."

With a jaunty step, he walked up the ramp, following his other crew members as they went through what I now knew was the Stargate. As he approached the circle that had taken the others, I watched while he looked over our heads to an observation booth where I now realised General Hammond was. As I watched him follow his team through I heard the General's voice over the microphone.

"Godspeed, SG1."

I stood transfixed as I watched the Stargate return to its deceptively innocent clear circle, the room quieting down from it's previous activity. I realized I had earned not only a job but something more than I had bargained for; a place to call home.

The End

© January 15, 2001 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

This story would not be the one it is without my friend who is also my mentor and my beta; Tanya, thank you for your encouragement and support especially when I didn't know where I was going!! L