With the help of a surgeon, he might yet recover, and prove an ass.
Shakespeare: A Midsummer-Night's Dream
"What an ass!" The expletive was punctuated by the slamming of the office door as Doctor Janet Fraiser headed for the sanctuary of her office. Two on duty nurses shared an uneasy glance. It was a chance in a lifetime to work for Doctor Fraiser. She was demanding yet fair, challenging without being autocratic, and definitely brought out the best in those who worked with her. But woe betide the person who found themselves on Janet's bad side, and apparently someone was well and truly stuck in that very location.
Just as the door slammed, Daniel and Sam had strolled in together to visit Jack who was recovering from the staff weapon wound he had received on Netu. The wound had been nasty by any measure, septic and awash with infection. Left untreated in less than sterile conditions, Janet was unable to mask her concern as the Colonel had limped back through the gate, supported carefully by Teal'c and Daniel.
After a strong course of antibiotics and many painful debriding treatments, Janet had announced to the worried team that she was guardedly optimistic. Colonel O'Neill would regain the full use of his leg. One anxious general and three concerned teammates let out a collective sigh of relief. The task now became how to keep the notoriously restless Colonel in bed and off his injured leg until he was released. It was a task in which they had, unfortunately, had far too much practice.
"Wonder what Jack did to make Janet so mad?" Daniel queried. "It must have been something major. Usually, Janet doesn't lose it with him, like that. She just threatens with sharp pointy objects, and by snapping those rubber gloves of hers." He shuddered at the thought.
Sam laughed at his mournful expression. "Guess I better go talk to Janet and see what the Colonel's done this time. You go ahead and relieve Teal'c. I'll be there soon."
Daniel nodded and walked towards the curtained area, as he plotted strategies for another round of the game of 'Keep The Injured Colonel In Bed As Long As Possible Without Anyone Actually Killing Each Other'?' Patting his pocket to make sure he had batteries for Jack's Gameboy, Daniel felt better armed than had he been carrying a gun. Daunting as it could be, Jack's boredom was one enemy he didn't mind facing.
As she walked towards the office, Sam thought furiously, trying to recall a time Jack had ever succeeded in pushing Janet to this point. It was true the two had an accepted running exchange, rivaling that of the Dow Jones in its peaks and troughs, concerning when the Colonel was fit for duty. But Janet knew Jack O'Neill well, sometimes, Sam thought, better than O'Neill knew himself. She was sensitive to his needs. His need for space, for privacy, for movement. She knew his background and the dark secrets that gnawed at his soul. She understood his restless nature, his short-temper, his impatience- especially with himself. And through the whole irritating package Janet saw the real man, hidden so often behind the façade the Colonel portrayed. There was respect between the O'Neill and Janet, a mutual respect. After working almost daily alongside the Colonel, Sam was aware that respect was a gift rarely given by him, at least to the degree she knew he had presented it to Doctor Fraiser.
For that reason Sam simply couldn't imagine what could have prompted the outburst. Tapping tentatively on the door, Sam flinched at the sound of books slamming and threatening mutterings which filtered out.
"Is it safe to come in?" she asked only half in jest as she knocked and walked into the office.
Janet glanced up from the stack of papers she was in the process of mutilating as she stacked and restacked the pile of files on her desk.
"Hi Sam," she said and she gave a heated sigh. "Come on in."
Sam gingerly made her way over to the chaair in front of the universal metal desk and perched on the edge. "What's going on, Janet?" she asked her friend.
For a moment the petite volcano was silent as she looked down at the files clenched in her fists and then came the eruption. "I am so mad, Sam, I don't know what to do with myself. I'd like to take a certain colonel and teach him the finer points of enemas."
From the fire snapping in her eyes, Sam didn't doubt it for a moment.
"Even by his standards the man was a complete bastard," Janet ranted. And in my infirmary, Sam. He did it in my infirmary. Remind me to put my rectal thermometer in the refrigerator."
"God Janet, what the heck did Colonel O'Neill do to make you so mad?" Sam knew Janet had a personal code of ethics which never wavered. She shunned gossip, discouraged rumors, and most especially never discussed a patient. She guarded Colonel O'Neill's file and its contents like a pit bull. It was just one of the bricks which built the foundation of trust between she and the Colonel. Therefore Sam was surprised when Janet stopped her vicious paper destruction and stared at her with her rich brown eyes.
"Colonel O'Neill? Sam, what are you talking about?," she demanded in surprise.
Now it was blue eyes that held confusion as Sam stammered, "Aren't you angry at the Colonel?"
"A colonel, yes, Colonel O'Neill, no, at least not this time," Janet explained as she plopped into her desk chair with a sigh. "It was Colonel Makepeace. The man is such an ass!"
"Yeah, so everyone heard you say earlier," Sam giggled. "So what's going on? Come on, spill it, Janet."
Janet grinned, "I suppose I was a bit vocal with my irritation, wasn't I?"
"Just a bit," Sam laughed. "NORAD'S still tracking the fallout."
"It was really my own fault," Janet began with a frown. "Makepeace and his merry band of SG-3 marines were scheduled for routine pre-mission checkups. They showed up and everything was fine, no problems. It was all status quo. That is until Colonel O'Neill started having a nightmare." She paused and sorrow flashed across her face. "I should have had the Colonel in a private area," she said quietly. "He has been having problems with severe nightmares since you got back from Netu."
"The Colonel's always been prone to have nightmares," Sam shared confidentially. "Ever since SG-1 was formed we've all been aware of it. It is something we've gotten used to on missions. It never effects his performance of his duties," she added quickly.
Janet nodded in understanding. She had dealt with her share of nightmares on O'Neill Street while Jack was recovering from his various injuries over the years.
"Do you think that Blood of Sokar stuff made it worse? It was pretty nasty stuff, Janet." Sam couldn't suppress the shudder as she thought of her own vivid nightmares thanks to Apophis posing as the boogieman. Reliving one of the worst days of her life had shaken her more than she cared to share even with one of her best friends. "It was bad," she added lamely, hoping Janet would understand.
She did.
Clenching her hands tightly together under her chin, Janet swallowed hard and continued, "My nurses and I were working our way through the exams when Colonel O'Neill began screaming. He was calling for Charlie."
Sam's eyes filled and threatened to spill over as she thought of the Colonel and his son, and what Daniel had reluctantly shared a couple of years ago when SG-1 had been newly formed. Not that the Colonel had ever shared much other than an off hand comment or two about his kid. But thanks to the nightmares that plagued the colonel, Sam knew, just as did Daniel and Teal'c, that the incident still haunted O'Neill. It was just something the team never talked about.
"I started in to wake him," Janet continued. "Colonel Makepeace followed me. Jack was thrashing around, calling out. I woke him and then I thought I would give him a few minutes to calm down privately. I hadn't realized Colonel Makepeace was standing there watching the whole episode. I asked him to wait for me out in the examining area. I was just offering Colonel O'Neill some water, and making sure he was okay, when I overheard Makepeace making a huge joke to his team about Flyboys having bad dreams and crying for their mamas." Janet's eyes dropped to her desk as she recalled the incident.
Sam's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "Did Colonel O'Neill hear him?"
"Oh yeah," Janet said with anger, "Makepeace made sure of that. The marines were having a high heel old time at the Colonel's expense. Damn them. Why the hell can't they leave the man alone? Why add to his torment? Why can't they look at his decorations and realize what he has done for his country? It's bad enough that he's had to endure..." She stopped aware that she had almost said too much. "He shouldn't have to deal with this kind of crap from people who are supposed to be on the same side," she added quietly.
"I better go and help Daniel," Sam whispered. "I'll talk to you later."
She rose quickly and headed towards the curtained area where the Colonel was staying. Her attention was immediately captured as she joined the rest of SG-1. Jack lay completely still, one hand covered his eyes, and the other fist was clenched tightly at his side on top of the starched white sheet. Watching those still hands would have told Sam there was a problem even if the distress writing a novel on Daniel's face had not. Even Teal'c's normally impassive features registered his displeasure with the situation.
Walking over to the bed, Sam chose to ignore O'Neill's obvious effort to shut out his team. "Colonel, can I get you anything?"
She was half surprised when he answered.
Without removing his arm he growled, "Yeah, Carter, like I told Daniel and Teal'c, you can get me the hell out of here."
"Sorry, no can do, Colonel," Janet said as she joined the group. "That leg wound is healing, notice I said *is*, sir. You get up and put unnecessary weight on it and we'll be back to square one again. That infection is just now starting to clear up. You're going to have to be patient, sir."
Four pair of eyes held a silent meeting over the rigid form laying in their midst.
"I do not believe, patience, is one of O'Neill's favored activities," Teal'c said in his serious manner. Daniel and Sam were quick to realize that the Jaffa hoped to stir his friend from what was clearly a state of depression. Teal'c was aware that O'Neill was a complex person. Much more so than most people gave the Colonel credit for. He, himself, had hidden behind enough masks while in the service of Apophis, to recognize the façade O'Neill presented. His friend's anger, Teal'c could easily deal with. It was an emotion with which he was very familiar, even though he had carefully schooled himself never to show it. Master Bra'tac had taught him, and later he had himself perfected, the channeling of anger to make one strong against the enemy. Pain, not of the body, but of the soul, the kalach, he could understand. In some ways he could even understand O'Neill's childish behavior and love of jokes, as means of guarding his own soul. Although he would never allow his "brother" to know this fact.
What Teal'c could not understand was O'Neill's tendency for depression. This was an emotion with which he was unfamiliar. As a Jaffa warrior he had been trained to put aside emotions which would hinder the service to his god. Although he no longer worshipped the Goa'uld and saw them for the parasites they were, this early training remained ingrained. This depression could not be used. It by its very nature was a user, draining the life and spirit from its victim. It became the master, as surely as if one had been taken as a host. And now it held O'Neill in its grasp.
"Colonel, do you need something for the pain? I could give you a mild sedative," Janet suggested softly. She knew better than to bring up the incident with Makepeace and his team. In this case it was much better to let sleeping colonels lie, than risk the chance of having your head bitten off.
"Just leave me alone, Doc," O'Neill muttered. "All of you just get out of here and leave me alone."
At Janet's subtle nod, the remainder of SG-1 filed silently out. "Give him some time," Janet told them. "Sam can fill you in on what happened." Suddenly Janet was very glad SG-3 was off-world as she looked up at Teal'c and thought of the damage he could inflict on the insolent marines who had brought about the Colonel's depressed state. She just didn't need a roomful of broken marines to deal with right now. Hopefully, Jack would snap out of this before SG-3 returned. Maybe Jaffa had short memories, but she wasn't counting on it.
As the others left, Janet drifted back to her office. It had been a hell of an afternoon. Well, Mama said there'd be days like this. Although she sincerely doubted Mama had any clue of the kind of days that were on her calendar. She felt terrible about her inadvertent part in the whole incident, but she knew it would just make it worse to try and apologize to O'Neill. Maybe another time. Perhaps when he stopped over to play with Cassie. With a drink or two under her belt for courage. Maybe then she could tell him just how sorry she was for allowing him to be seen in such a vulnerable position by such an insensitive shithead.
Janet could feel the anger building up inside her again. Grabbing her keys, she decided to leave early and take Cassie bowling. Maybe knocking the hell out of a few pins would still her urge to order brain scans for Makepeace and his team. Taking time to glance in quietly on O'Neill, Janet saw that he hadn't moved. His ragged breathing told her that he was failing to get the sleep he needed, but she hoped that eventually he would drift off. If not, Doctor Warner could prescribe a mild sedative. The Colonel need never know.
*~*~*~*
It was quiet in the ward. Lieutenant Kayes was resting comfortably in the iso ward after SG-8 had come back from a medical mission to aid the natives of PX3-43J. Apparently the Lieutenant hadn't been quite as diligent as ordered About medical procedures. After he recovered from his bout of alien flu he would no doubt hear a few choice words from his very pissed CO, who had already heard a few choice words from a very, very pissed general. The Lieutenant had no idea just how sick he was going to feel once he was released.
The only other patient was Colonel O'Neill who was due his meds, but Doctor Fraiser had left instructions that he was not to be disturbed unless Doctor Warner saw a need. Checking her list, the nurse peeked around the curtain. The bed was empty. The colonel was gone.
*~*~*~*
Jack was breathing heavily as he heaved himself from the cab of his truck. Despite the cool night air he was sweating. Using the hood as an impromptu crutch, Jack limped towards his goal. Shit his leg hurt. Leaning against the truck to catch his breath, Jack glanced down the familiar street. Old Mr. Anderson was gone now. Jack couldn't begin to guess how many Sunday afternoons he and Charlie had spent in the Andersons' den listening to exciting tales from the Second World War. The old man was a gifted story teller who knew instinctively how to draw his audience into the adventure with the perfect balance of quips and quotes.
Jack could still see Charlie's eyes shining with anticipation as he sat in curled comfort on his dad's lap. Those were special afternoons where the three of them would share a love of adventure which refused to be divided by a generation gap. It was a time when Jack and Charlie could live the excitement of bygone missions.
And in every story told, a child's imagination had replaced the old man telling the story with the face of his father, his hero. A hero who couldn't tell his son of his own far more recent missions.
New folks had moved in after Mr. Anderson passed away. Jack didn't know them. By that time he was gone, as was Charlie, so none of them would Ever again experience those coveted afternoons of sharing. What had so bridged a difference in years had been destroyed by a bullet; which had destroyed so much more besides.
Lurching away from the truck and from the flood of memories, Jack limped slowly into the dark privacy of the backyard. He stopped and soaked in the solitude. He had so needed this, a chance to regroup, to sort out the nightmares in his mind from the nightmares in reality, away from prying eyes, and jeering jarheads. Shadows danced in the moonlight through Sara's garden like rabbits engaged in a primitive mating dance. The porch looked as if it had been freshly painted. There were no more flaking scabs of paint waiting to be removed. It was one of those jobs he had always planned to get done during his infrequent time off, but never quite managed to accomplish. Mike had probably taken care of it. Or more likely Sara had done it herself.
He could picture Sara out there scraping the loose paint with a wire brush. Removing all the dead shavings, a frown of concentration puckering her face with her effort. After gently exposing the scars and gouges, the rot, left by the elements and time, she would then have filled in each and every one of those pock marks Carefully, and thoroughly, making sure none escaped her ministrations. And then she would have sanded and smoothed until the wood was constant. Of course, the scars could still be seen if you knew where to look, but they had been tended with her care until the wood was as whole again as was possible. Finally, Jack could imagine her carefully and painstakingly covering every scar, every board, with a fresh coat of new paint; doing her best to protect it from whatever the elements might bring in the future. The porch might not be the same as when it had first been built, but it was strong and solid again.
Sara had likely done it all herself. She had done it for him.
Jack swallowed hard and turned his back from the house. There, off to the left, stood Charlie's tree. Jack's mouth went dry as he thought of the day Charlie had determined he was big enough to scale its heights. He had picked his time perfectly while his dad was busy with some vastly important project Jack couldn't for the world remember. He would never forget the scream as the terrified child clung to the branch so far off the ground. How he scaled the tree was a blank, Jack could remember nothing until he held his son's trembling body safely in his arms. It was impossible to tell which of them was shaking more.
Over the years, Charlie had proven many times that he could climb the tree. It became Charlie's tree. The place they would find him when he wanted to dream little boy dreams and think his little boy thoughts. It was the cockpit of his airplane as he flew with his dad on missions to far away places. It was his conning tower signaling the end of a successful mission and waving his dad home. But now it was alone. No little boy clung tightly to its branches viewing the world from its lofty heights.
Jack sighed.
In the far corner of the yard he saw the fort, Charlie's fort. Built while Jack had been away on some nameless mission by his Charlie and his Grandpa Mike. Designed to help a little boy keepp his mind off his father whowas gone far too often. Taking a deep breath, Jack walked towards the silent structure. He ran his had over the rough boards. Leaning his forehead against the wood, Jack breathed in the sharp twang of pine.
Turning, Jack slid slowly to the ground with a muffled groan. Stretching his injured leg out, he drew the other up to his chest protectively. Glancing up he could see a small painted sign above him. 'Fort O'Neill, Charlie O'Neill, Commander.' Memories flooded his mind of armies of laughing neighborhood children, sleepovers, and wild games of king of the castle. There had been so many good times here. Closing his eyes as he rested his chin on his knee, Jack failed to block out the sounds of happier days.
Throwing his head back hard against the unforgiving wood, Jack welcomed the honest pain. Looking up at the stars, Jack's eyes automatically sought out their star, Sara's and his. Found one night early in their courtship, as they lay wound in each others' arms looking up at the night sky, and which then became Charlie's as well. The O'Neill Family Star. He found comfort in the star's never-changing constancy. He found beauty and in its continual observation. He found peace. What had begun a lifetime ago as a casual hobby, had become his salvation. He was drawn to the heavens and the order he found there. Each star, such a small part of the total picture, and yet so uniquely special. When a star died, did anyone notice? And even so the heavens were changed. Just as the death of one small boy in the vast constellation called humanity had changed his life forever.
'I know. Can't we just play catch?'
Oh God, what gave that sadistic son of a bitch the right to dig through his memories? What gave him the right to force him to remember? He had a whole shitload of freakin' bad memories, a cornucopia of crud to choose from. Why did it have to be that one?
Dammit why couldn't he had let Charlie have the water gun? It was only a toy, a damn toy. Maybe if he had allowed him to have the water gun his son wouldn't have been so curious about the real thing. And maybe theywouldn't have argued. And maybe his son would have been outside playing. And maybe his son wouldn't have died, his blood covering his father's hands and soul.
Maybe.
It was only a toy.
Hidden in the shadows of the fort, Jack watched as the patio door slid open and Sara stepped out into the backyard. He wasn't surprised. Sara often sought refuge in its peaceful solitude. He watched as she searched the night sky for the star, her hair golden in the moonlight. Sadness still touched her face, but Jack read peace there, too. Suddenly, as if she felt his stare, Sara turned and looked into the shadows.
"Sara, it's me. Don't be afraid," he said softly.
A soft gasp escaped before his words calmed her. "Jack," she said as she took a few steps towards the shadows of the fort. "What are you doing here?"
As the moonlight shifted, she could see him resting in the soft grass. His dark eyes were almost black in the shadows and she could see lines of fatigue creasing his face. His hair shone silver. Sadness clung to him like a shroud. Sara shivered.
"I needed to know what was real," Jack said, his voice the barest whisper above the night breeze. "Does that make sense?"
Sara walked over and slid down next to Jack. "It makes perfect sense," she said quietly. "Look around, Jack. There are good memories here, so many good memories." She gave him a sad smile. "You just have to look for them. Look beyond the obvious. They're here for you, if you'll reach out and take them, accept them for the gift they are."
"You've always been able to find the peace you needed here, Jack. Did you forget that? After missions you couldn't talk about, even after Iraq. I'd wake up and find you out here, watching the stars, seeking balance and peace. You needed this place."
"I guess I still do," he said softly.
*~*~*~*
Janet Fraiser walked around the house towards the back door. She had already rang the doorbell and received no answer. But the colonel's truck was parked out front and this was the address Daniel had given her. Hopefully, someone would hear her knocking on the back door. Just as she was about to climb the steps a voice stopped her.
"Hi Doc. Come to drag me back?"
Squinting in the pre-dawn semi-darkness, Janet could just make out Jack sitting on the ground as he leaned against a child's fort.
Relief and anger played a duet as Janet walked toward him. A blond woman, who had to be the Colonel's ex-wife, sat next to him sound asleep, her head resting on his shoulder.
"Colonel, what the hell did you think you were doing?" Janet asked. "I've got half the mountain out looking for you. Daniel gave me this address and .."
"You got lucky," Jack interrupted with that half smile that melted her heart.
"And I got lucky," Janet smiled back.
Turning his head slightly Jack whispered softly, "Sara, baby, wake up. The jig's up. I've been busted."
Sara woke with a start. Suddenly becoming aware that two people were watching her, she wiped her hands across her face and gasped, "Oh God, I wasn't drooling, was I?"
"Sara, this is Doc. Doc, Sara," Jack said in the briefest of introductions.
"Doctor Janet Fraiser," Janet added with a smile.
Looking up at the five foot woman standing over her, Sara returned the smile tentatively and said, "Take care of him, Doctor."
*~*~*~*
His leg had stiffened and it had taken a joint effort to get the Colonel into her car. With a promise to send someone to pick up Jack's truck, Janet turned the car towards the base. Fully intent on chewing the Colonel's butt for this latest act of stupidity Janet began, "Colonel, if you ever pull a stunt like this again ..." A soft snore stopped her.
Glancing over, Janet saw that Jack had fallen asleep. She could see the lines of fatigue written on his face, but she could also see the peace that had been missing before.
'Take care of him, Doctor.'
'I always do,' thought Janet, 'I always do' Because despite everything he said, and despite everything he did, Jack O'Neill understood that they were a team. 'I'll take care of him, because it's what I do. And no one gets left behind when they were on Janet Fraiser's team.' Casting another glance at the sleeping colonel, Janet smiled and murmured, "What an ass."
Author Notes: This is the fic that almost wasn't when my computer decided to have it for a midnight snack. Much thanks and appreciation goes to Karen who encourages me to do better than I did the last time and continually reach higher. Karen, you make rewriting a pleasure. Feedback as always, is very much appreciated.
© January 2003 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.