The one thing General George Hammond absolutely hated to do was wait. He did it every day, countless times. Even when things were hectic, he still waited. He waited to get reports from the people he trusted. He waited for the president to have the time to speak to him. He waited for straggling civilian team members to wander into mission briefings. He waited to see when the other shoe would drop when it came to the rogue NID team. He waited for the next attack from one Goa'uld system lord or another. He waited to see when Senator Kinsey would make his next move. He waited for the SG teams to come back through the gate, preferably unharmed. He waited for the inevitable arguments that erupted when Colonel O'Neill and Doctor Jackson disagreed about one point or another.

But, waiting for the gate to start turning was the worst—especially in the early morning hours when there was only a skeleton staff on duty. In the hours just before dawn, time seemed to slow. It was as if the air itself thickened—hampering movement and rational thinking. Sometimes, he was convinced that if he let go of his cup it would take hours to drop to the floor, its liquid cooling in the mug before it finally splattered over the military gray cement floor.

It was nearly three o'clock in the morning and he was standing in the darkened briefing room staring down at the huge monolith below him. The Stargate was silent now, but even as he stood there waiting, he willed it to start turning. He wanted to see SG1 return victorious, its missing member well and accounted for.

Unfortunately, Hammond didn't think that that would be the case this time around.

He didn't know how long he had been standing there, looking down, lost in his thoughts. He didn't even remember the last time he had eaten properly or the last time he had had an uninterrupted night of sleep. Tonight, for some reason, it proved to be impossible for him to wind down, to relax his mind, to calm his wild thoughts. Tonight—or in the reality of time, this morning—something was going to happen. He could feel it in his bones. He could feel it from the crown of his bald head down to the tip of his pinky toe. Normally, he wasn't one who put much faith in premonitions or feelings—weird or otherwise. He was more of a man who relied on facts and figures, tangible things. Things he could see or hear or wrap his fingers around. When it came to the Stargate program, he sometimes found it difficult because he had to rely on half-formed ideas and feelings, many times flying by the seat of his pants, trying to save the world with a half-baked idea and a roll of duct tape.

Hammond chuckled to himself, picturing Major Carter running into the control room holding a roll of duct tape high in the air proclaiming it to be the only thing that would save the mountain from certain destruction. As humorous as it seemed now, who knew but one day it might prove to be true.

If it were only that easy.

Hammond sighed, rubbing a hand across his weary face. He wasn't too surprised to hear a single set of footfalls approach his office. Without turning, he could tell who it was. Lately, no one had been sleeping well.

"Doctor, I'm in here," he called quietly, his voice carrying easily through the silent rooms.

The sound of approaching footsteps came closer until they finally stopped alongside him and he could see Doctor Fraiser's reflection in the window. Her face was drawn and haggard, reflecting the same emotions and internal battles he had been waging.

"General," Fraiser said in greeting, meeting his eyes in the glass reflection. "Can I ask what you're doing up so late? I did recommend for you to get some sleep."

Her tone was mildly scolding, but he didn't mind. She meant well. "I could ask you the same question, Doctor," he said, turning his head to offer her a weary smile, which she returned in kind.

A comfortable silence descended between them as they gazed out across the empty gateroom below. This wasn't the first time they'd done this and probably wouldn't be the last. When she spoke again, her tone was thoughtful. "Do you think they found him?"

"I hope so, Doctor. For all our sakes, I hope so."

Fraiser nodded, the gesture echoing his solemn words that seem to hover in the air between them, as if they had a life of their own.

Several beats later, the inner track of the Stargate started spinning, the klaxon sounding unnaturally loud in the silence of the base, echoing strangely off the hard, concrete walls. Hammond and Fraiser raced down the single flight of metal stairs to the control room, their eyes wide, their pulse racing.

No one was due back.

"Incoming travelers," the Stargate operator reported as soon as Hammond's booted feet touched the control room floor.

"Close the iris," Hammond barked coming up behind the operator, his attention split between the Stargate and the computer screens before him. Armed guards entered the gate room at a dead run, taking up defensive positions facing the now closed iris. If something got through the iris, what would armed soldiers really be able to do about it? Hammond considered the thought briefly before shaking his head to clear his mind. He was just proud to see that even, at three in the morning, everything worked like clockwork.

"Is anyone due back?" Fraiser asked, standing close, her body tense and her expression troubled.

"No, ma'am," the operator replied, answering her question. "SG6 isn't due back until noon." He looked up quickly at the General and back down at the screen as if to confirm what he saw. "Sir, I'm getting an iris code. It's SG1."

"Open the iris," Hammond ordered, rushing to the stairs and into the gateroom, his final orders thrown over his shoulders. "I want a full medical team in the gate room right now."

Fraiser even didn't wait to see if the operator fulfilled his orders. She was right on his heels as he made the final turn into the gateroom as the iris opened, the swirling blue and white of the open wormhole brightening the room immediately. Apparently, she felt the same thing he had—he needed to be in the gateroom right now.

Major Samantha Carter stepped through first, patches of dried blood and sweat clinging to her from head to toe. Her booted feet hit the ramp hard and she stepped far enough down the ramp to allow the others room to follow. Hammond took her dour expression and the broad sword—sword?—at her hip to be a bad sign. He didn't have time to comprehend anything more before the vortex shimmered once again and another body, actually two people, were spit out.

Daniel Jackson stepped through, his hand on the elbow of another man, someone Hammond didn't recognize. The man was tall and muscular and moved with a grace that belied his size. His hair, which should have hung down to his shoulders, was matted to his head by sweat and blood. What wasn't pressed close to his head hung in a stringy, sweaty mess, perspiration still dripping from its ends. His long filthy cloak skimmed the floor and was torn in several places. His sword still bore the stains of recent fighting.

Jackson, Hammond noted, was moving with a slight limp and Hammond immediately spotted the red gash across his mid-section although Jackson tried to hide it, turning immediately to face the open wormhole, waiting, just as Carter was waiting.

Jacob Carter stepped through next, his light colored Tok'ra uniform covered in blood and dirt. As much as Jake tried to give him a neutral expression, George knew his friend too well. George could see the weariness and lethargy just below the surface. Jake stepped down alongside his daughter, turning his back to Hammond and the control room, his entire being focused on the wormhole before him.

Finally, Teal'c stepped through, carrying the limp form of Colonel O'Neill. For a few seconds before the gate closed with a snap-hiss, the bluish-white light of the open wormhole silhouetted Teal'c, giving him an extraordinary, unearthly halo. O'Neill, clothed in long, flowing, white robes, reflected the same bright light—too bright for such a somber occasion. The fluid robes draped strangely off the Jaffa's muscular arms, contrasting harshly with his dark skin.

At first glance, things didn't look good. Hammond didn't think it possible, but as he got closer, edging slowly up the ramp to where Teal'c stood, things started looking even worse.

Colonel O'Neill—his second-in-command and his friend—was gaunt, dirty, and covered with blood; his hair was longer than Hammond had ever seen it and a salt-and-pepper beard covered his face. Even in unconsciousness, O'Neill's face told a story of torture and abuse, of hard days spent alone, fighting an enemy whom he might not defeat.

"General Hammond, we have fulfilled our mission," Teal'c said, his deep timbered voice carrying through the heavy air in the gateroom, shaking everyone from the tragic sight before them. "O'Neill is injured. I would recommend conveying him to the infirmary at once."

Fraiser shoved past Hammond, moving quickly to her most needy patient—O'Neill.

She started firing off orders as soon as her eyes touched O'Neill's drawn and emaciated face. Her hand immediately went to his neck; her fingers looking for the pulse everyone desperately wanted her to feel. When she looked up her eyes were grim, her voice as tight as the muscles on her shoulders and back. "I need to get him to the infirmary right away. Teal'c, can you bring him? I'd rather not wait for the stretcher. Can someone tell me what I should expect?"

No one objected as Fraiser gently but firmly took Teal'c by the arm and led him away. Teal'c's boots and Fraiser's heeled shoes clicked and clanked down the metal ramp. Everyone looked shell shocked, tired past the point of exhaustion. But in the depths of their eyes, Hammond saw relief. They had found O'Neill and had brought him home.

Now, they just had to fix what was broken.

Hammond just wondered if there was a way to fix a broken soul.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Sam, can you tell me what happened?" Janet Fraiser asked again, trying to drag information out of her friend as they hurried along the corridor on level 21 to the infirmary. To her professional eye, they all looked like they were in shock—even General Hammond. He had allowed a complete stranger to accompany Daniel and the rest of SG1 to the infirmary without a second glance. To her, it showed his true state of mind and it just compounded her own bad feelings.

O'Neill did not look good.

"He was zatted about an hour ago and he hasn't regained consciousness all the way to the Stargate," Sam said, her voice breaking at the last word, her eyes firmly fixed on her clasped hands. "We...we tried to get here as quick as we could, but it was dark and it wasn't easy trying to go over uneven terrain at night."

"Sam, it's okay," Janet said, gently placing a hand on Sam's arm, trying to calm her down. Right now she could only deal with one patient and Sam wasn't it. "I know you did everything you could. Is there anything else I should know?"

Sam shook her head, her eyes filled with pain and worry. "No. I don't know. We were too late, weren't we? He looked so still on the way back to the gate, so peaceful. We were worried that he was already dead but we couldn't stop. We had to get him here to you."

"He's still alive, for now," Janet said, her hand instinctively going to feel O'Neill's neck for what seemed like the hundredth time, immediately finding a pulse. It was weak and thready, but it was there. She didn't like the sounds of his breathing. It was shallow, but at least it was regular. "You did the right thing in getting him back," Janet said, finally tuning into the infirmary, directing Teal'c to place O'Neill on the nearest bed.

Her work was just beginning. She took a deep breath as two of her nurses—Anne Matthews and Marie Miller—started to efficiently strip O'Neill of his dirty gray robes, leaving him in something that passed as boxer shorts. They immediately started an IV running fluids to the obviously dehydrated Colonel. Her nurses were good—even better than she could ever wish for. Sometimes—make that most times—she was grateful for their level heads and quick reaction times—especially when dealing with alien viruses and various off-world injuries.

Even with a quick glance, Janet didn't like the way O'Neill looked—he'd lost muscle and was much too gaunt, the skin stretched across his ribs, his body bearing a few new scars to add to the vast number already littering his skin.

Janet turned to glare at the audience that had followed her. "The party's over," she said, trying to usher them out the door. "Let's give him some privacy and I need room to work. I can't very well have either if you are all standing here gawking."

"Doctor Fraiser," Matthews said, her voice trembling slightly. "He's coming around."

Janet shoved her way past the nurses, ignoring the group that had refused to budge—the same group whose attention was firmly fixed on the drama playing out before them. "Colonel O'Neill," she said, taking his right hand in hers, leaning over him as best she could. In times like this, she really wished she was taller—a few inches would help tremendously in her line of work. O'Neill's eyes were flickering slightly, his brow creasing a little. Matthews was right. Colonel O'Neill was dragging himself back to consciousness.

"Colonel O'Neill? Can you hear me? Sir, if you can hear me I need you to squeeze my hand. Do you understand what I'm saying?" said Janet, her words becoming a familiar mantra. She glanced up, her eyes locking with Daniel's across the room. Daniel was hugging himself, his arms crossed in front of him in typical Daniel-style. It was a gesture of comfort. He always did it when he was worried or uneasy.

Janet pulled her attention back to her patient. O'Neill's eyelids were opening, revealing a pair of cloudy chocolate brown eyes. He stared up at the ceiling above his head, his forehead creasing in obvious confusion. With her free hand, Janet gently turned his head to her, trying to get him to focus on her voice, her face, and her words. "Colonel O'Neill," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Colonel, if you can understand me I need you to squeeze my hand. Can you squeeze my hand, sir?"

Faintly, she felt him squeeze her hand with barely any pressure, but it lifted her spirits. At least he was responding. That was a good sign. Janet shot a relieved smile over his body toward Daniel and the rest of group, before turning back once again, forcing all her attention on the man lying before her. "That's great, Colonel. Now, I need you to focus on me. Do you know where you are? Can you tell me what happened?"

His eyes, although bleary, were clearing a little, focusing on her face, on her eyes.

"Doc?" he whispered, his voice ragged and harsh, barely louder than a soft exhale.

"Yes, Colonel. Welcome back. Can you tell me where you are?"

As soon as O'Neill's eyes finally cleared, focused intently on hers, it happened. At first she didn't understand. At first, she simply let herself fall back, even the weak strength of his arm pushing her aside as his hands reached for his head and an ungodly scream ripped from his mouth.

She would never forget that sound for as long as she lived.

It was primal.

Pure fear.

Pure anguish.

Pure pain.

O'Neill's body arched off the bed, his head and feet digging into the mattress, the veins on his neck and forehead bulging.

It took a few seconds before Janet regained her feet and immediately she called for the nurses, demanding action. "He's seizing! I need a sedative! I need someone to hold him down before he hurts himself!" Teal'c and Daniel rushed over immediately, Teal'c trying to hold O'Neill's hands away from his head from where he was trying to dig his hands into his skull, drawing blood. Daniel tried to throw himself on O'Neill's wildly flailing legs and feet.

As quickly as it started, O'Neill collapsed, his eyes rolling up in his head, his head rolling slackly to lie on its side.

"Janet?" Daniel asked, his eyes wide as he straightened himself.

She quickly slid a hand along O'Neill's neck, trying desperately to find a pulse, her eyes widening, her movements becoming for frantic when she felt nothing.

"I need the crash cart here, now!" Janet yelled, pulling the pillow from behind his head and climbing up on the bed, quickly finding the familiar place and starting chest compressions. One of the other night nurses stepped up immediately, checking the Colonel for a blocked airway before she started ventilating with an Ambu bag, synchronizing with Janet's compressions.

"Damnit, Colonel! Your team just traveled halfway across the galaxy to get your sorry ass back here. Don't you dare die on me now! I need you to fight," Janet said, trying to keep her voice even, her eyes firmly fixed on the heart monitor. Even as she was working frantically to get his heart started again, the nurses continued to swarm around them, connecting leads to the various monitors. As each lead was connected, the sounds just added to the chaos.

As the crash cart rolled up beside the bed, Daniel and Teal'c jumped out of the way giving the doctors and nurses room to work, to move, to save their friend's life.

"Ma'am, it's charged at 200," reported Miller.

"Good," Janet said, jumping down to grab the paddles, rubbing them together to spread the clear jelly. "Clear." Janet called, pressing them to O'Neill's chest, his body responding slightly, the heart monitor barely registering the jolt.

"Give me 300," Janet said, waiting for the crash cart to charge.

"300," Miller said, her voice, while professional, held a nervous tone.

"Clear," Janet yelled, the paddles coming down once again on O'Neill's lifeless form. The heart monitor beeped once, forming a single beat before flat lining once again.

"Give me 360."

"360."

The dull thud echoed once again throughout the room, everyone's eyes glued on the drama happening before them. This time the heart monitor showed several beats before flattening once again. O'Neill was giving up.

Janet did not take defeat easily.

"Give me 360 again and someone give him 2ccs of epinephrine IV push," Janet ordered, her eyes watching carefully as Nurse Matthews checked and then inserted the drug into his IV. Thankfully they had been able to insert the IV without a problem. Janet couldn't imagine what she would have done if she had been forced to do a cutdown.

"Epinephrine administered," Anne said, stepping back.

"360," Nurse Miller said, her eyes fixed firmly on the monitor.

"Clear," Janet called for the fourth time, a silent prayer sent heavenward. Janet held her breath as he finally responded, the heart monitor settling into a steady rhythm. "Okay, everyone," Janet said, eyeing the four nurses around the bed. "I need to draw labs. I want some stat gases. We also need to finish getting him hooked up to the monitors. I need someone to place the Foley catheter and get the pulse oximeter in place. I'll decide later if I need to put in a Swan-Ganz catheter. Right now, I want a total body CT. I need to see what's going on in there. Marie, can you prep him?"

"Yes," she said, immediately responding, moving quickly to get the items she needed from the cabinets, brushing by Teal'c and Daniel, still standing to the side, huddled against the adjacent bed.

Janet took a deep breath, finally looking at the people stacked three-deep in her infirmary, staring at their unconscious friend. "Okay, people. I need this room cleared. I still have a lot of work to do and I very well can't get it all done with you clogging the room. Out!"

General Hammond was the first to respond, dragging his eyes reluctantly away from O'Neill's lifeless form and the nurses buzzing around it. "Yes, Doctor. Come on people, I believe now would be a good time for a briefing," Hammond said, stepping back and gesturing at the door.

"Actually, General," Janet said, gesturing for Doctor Warner to come forward. "SG1 needs to go through their post-mission checks and Doctor Warner can do those for you. Doctor Jackson looks like he might need a little special attention," Janet said, eyeing Daniel's cut critically.

"Of course, Doctor," Hammond said nodding. "I'll expect to see SG1 in the briefing room in 30 minutes."

They were about to protest, but the steely look from both Janet and General Hammond gave them pause.

"That should be fine," Janet said as SG1 meekly followed Doctor Warner leaving Jacob Carter and the tall stranger standing alongside Hammond.

"Well, George, I guess we need to talk," Jacob said, eyeing Hammond with a half-smile. "Oh, and I'd like you to meet Egan, Lord of Meath. General Hammond, Lord Egan."

"It is my please to meet you," Egan said, bowing deeply to Hammond. "Although I wish it could be under more pleasant circumstances."

"Likewise, Lord Egan," Hammond said, nodding slightly. "Jake, maybe you had better take a few minutes and get yourselves cleaned up. There should be some clothing available in the VIP quarters. If you need anything, just ask one of the SFs."

"Sounds good, George," Jacob said. "We'll be up in a few minutes. Come on, Egan. Let's get changed."

Egan nodded solemnly. "Very well, Jacob Carter. If this is what you desire, I shall accompany you."

Janet finally breathed a sigh of relief as they left. It was time to get to work.

But as she turned, she realized that Daniel hadn't moved a muscle, his eyes still firmly fixed on the unmoving body of his friend as the nurses rushed around him.

Janet approached him slowly, touching his arm lightly. "Daniel?"

"I'm fine, Janet. I can't leave him." Daniel's eyes hadn't budged, his arms still firmly fixed around him.

"Daniel, we need to get you cleaned up. We're going to take good care of him."

Daniel looked up, his blue eyes sending a heartfelt plea along with his words. "Janet, please...I need to be here."

She held his eyes for a minute before nodding her head slowly. She stopped Nurse Matthews as she buzzed by once again. "Anne? Can you get Daniel cleaned up and quickly take his bloodwork? I think we should have an extra shirt around here somewhere for him..."

"Sure, Doctor. It'll take a minute. Colonel O'Neill seems to have stabilized for now," Matthews said with a knowing smile. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you, Janet," Daniel said gratefully, flashing Janet a weak smile. After a long pause he continued, "Is he going to be okay?"

Janet glanced away, trying to school her expression into the professional mask she wore—much too often. "You know Colonel O'Neill. He always bounces back."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Daniel, we don't know what's wrong. Give us some time to figure it out and put a little faith in Jack. He's not one to give up easily."

"I know," Daniel said, his words a quiet whisper, his eyes closing slightly as a sigh escaped his lips.

"We're doing our best, Daniel. It may take some time, but he'll be fine. I promise."

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel wasn't sure how long it took Nurse Matthews to return with a new black shirt. He'd spent the time staring at the lifeless body of his friend, hoping that he'd be able to pull through, to bounce back from the edge again. He'd turned the events over and over again in his mind, trying to see where they went wrong, how they could have done things better, quicker.

Daniel sighed; feeling the brief twinge through his mid-section as his cut reminded him that it was still there. He didn't care about the pain—it reminded him that he was alive.

From the nurse's expression when she finally returned to clean him up, Daniel knew that she wasn't going to tolerate much from him—especially with Jack lying a few feet away. She had better things to do than baby-sit him. He was just grateful Janet had let him stay. Although, Daniel thought, if Janet had given in that easily, then it must mean that Jack was worse off then he thought.

Hopping onto the bed next to Jack, Daniel let Nurse Matthews do her job—taking blood samples, cleaning his various cuts—he'd gotten more than he realized—before finally handing him two pills and a glass of water.

"What's this?" Daniel asked, tearing his eyes from his friend to stare accusingly at the nurse.

"Tylenol to help with the headache you apparently have," she said, her tone patient and kind.

"Oh," Daniel said, looking sheepish. "Thanks."

Janet Fraiser picked that minute to walk back into the infirmary. "They're ready for us in x-ray. Let's move him," she ordered. Four nurses quickly unhooked Jack from the various monitors, the room dropping into silence. Snapping up the sides of the gurney, they started rolling him out the door. Daniel rose to his feet intending to follow Jack every step of the way until Janet placed a hand on his chest stopping him in his tracks.

"Janet," Daniel said, his voice tense, warning her not to stop him.

"Daniel, getting yourself all worked up will not help matters," Janet said, her voice quiet and reassuring, but firm.

"I have to stay with him, Janet. I can't..." Daniel looked away, unable to finish his sentence. His emotions were still to close to the surface.

Janet spoke again once Daniel had composed himself. "Don't you have a briefing?"

"Screw the briefing. This is more important."

"I'll make sure to remind you that you said that when General Hammond comes up here to chew your butt," Janet said, smiling warmly, her hand sliding to his shoulder offering support and comfort.

"Thanks, Janet," Daniel said. "Don't you have some x-rays to do?"

"Yes, Daniel," she said, her eyes rolling heavenward before turning on her heel and walking out the door following the wake of the gurney.

The CT scans went quickly—especially with Jack unconscious. Normally, Jack would end up complaining and squirming until Janet or one of the other doctors had finally had enough and started threatening him with needles—really big needles. Then he'd settle down, allowing the nurses to do their work, but giving them long dangerous looks and glances.

Just as they were finishing up with the MRI and pulling Jack out of the machine, the attending nurse noticed that he was starting to come back to consciousness again. Daniel, who had been standing in the small control room adjacent to the CT room, raced in with Janet close at his heels. Daniel leaned down, grabbing Jack's hand in his, trying to reassure his friend. Daniel knew from first-hand experience how disconcerting it could be to wake up in a strange place.

"Jack? Jack, can you hear me?" Daniel asked, trying to keep his voice calm and his tone measured. But even so, Daniel knew it wasn't working. To his own ears he sounded worried, scared even.

Jack was fidgeting a little, his eyes starting to flutter until they finally opened, revealing the brown eyes to which Daniel was accustomed. "Hey Jack. Welcome back," Daniel said, smiling for the first time in a long time as Jack finally focused his eyes on his friend's face.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, his voice so quiet Daniel had to lean down, nearly placing his ear on Jack's mouth to hear the uttered words.

"Yes, Jack. I'm here. You're home and you're safe," Daniel said, giving Jack's hand a reassuring squeeze which was returned with the barest of pressure.

"Daniel..." Jack said, his eyes clearly focused on Daniel's face, but reflecting an emotion Daniel couldn't place.

"What Jack? I'm here. Janet's going to take good care of you, just take it easy."

"...I'm...I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? For what? You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm the one who should be sorry—"Daniel said, but cutting himself off when he finally recognized the look in Jack's eyes—a look Daniel never thought he'd ever see.

"...Tell...I'm...sorry..." Jack said, his body stiffening in pain before a cry, a hoarse scream, filled the room.

"Jack," Daniel said in horror, his eyes widening with fear as his friend's body convulsed in pain for the second time in an hour.

Janet reacted immediately, racing to the intercom and calling a Code Blue, summoning doctors and nurses to the small room. Just as she slammed the phone back on the hook, Jack's body collapsed, his eyes rolling back into his head. When Janet shoved Daniel out of the way, he didn't protest, too shocked at what had just happened before him.

Jack's dying words had been an apology—an apology he never had to give.

As Daniel watched from the sidelines, Janet and her team frantically worked over his friend, finally bringing him back to life before his eyes. But for the first time in his life, Daniel wasn't sure if Janet should have—he wasn't sure that was the best idea. He'd seen the look in Jack's eyes.

It was a mixture of sadness, of defeat, of acceptance.

Jack had given up.

Jack was ready to die.

That small fact stunned Daniel more than the medical ballet before him. But deep within Daniel, anger surged—a righteous anger, a cleansing anger. This was not going to be the way his friend would die.

Daniel wouldn't permit it.

XXXXXXXXXX

By the time Sam managed to pull herself out of the briefing, she was worried about Daniel. The briefing had lasted a little longer than two hours and he'd never made it. Apparently, the cut he'd gotten was worse than anyone originally thought—unless he had chosen not to make it to the briefing. It was something that she wouldn't put past him, especially being a civilian and all.

She leaned heavily on the back wall of the elevator as it brought her up to level 21, back to the infirmary. Teal'c stood beside her, quietly calm, his hands clasped lightly behind his back—the picture of perfect calmness, her rock in the midst of a storm.

She closed her eyes, letting her body relax into the wall behind her, allowing it to support her.

"Major Carter, are you well?"

She took a long deep breath before answering. "I'm fine, Teal'c."

"You do not appear to be fine, Major Carter."

She opened her eyes, giving Teal'c a long look before turning her attention back to the elevator panel. At least that didn't stare back at her with such intensity. "I'm fine," she repeated, more to convince herself than her stoic protector.

Teal'c raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, allowing her to exit the elevator first as the doors slid open. He silently followed her through the infirmary, her constant companion, offering support in his own unique way. It was almost as if she had plugged herself into an infinite reservoir of strength and serenity.

But even with his support, she was starting to panic. Colonel O'Neill was nowhere to be found and Daniel was still missing. She had even visited the ICU, which was dark and empty. Sam finally had to ask. She had to know. "Ah, nurse," Sam said, grabbing a nurse who was passing by, charts in hand. "Have you seen Doctor Jackson or Colonel O'Neill?"

The nurse paused, her eyes flickering back and forth, never looking in Sam's eyes. The pit of fear in Sam's stomach churned, her mind coming up with the worst scenarios. "I don't know where they are right now, Major," the nurse answered carefully. "But, they were in the MRI room about thirty minutes ago. Doctor Fraiser called a Code Blue from there." She shrugged, offering Sam a sympathetic expression.

"Thank you," Sam said, already speeding away, her face pale. They might be too late.

At first when Sam arrived in the small room that housed the MRI machine, she thought that it was empty until she walked inside the dimly lit room. After a moment of adjustment, her eyes finally fell on the form of her friend sitting in the corner. Sam wasn't sure how long he had been sitting there staring into space. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his eyes unfocused, an obviously new oversized black shirt hanging loosely. It was as if Daniel was trying to become as small as he possibility could, crouched in the corner, willing himself to disappear. Sam's heart sank as she approached him, kneeling down beside him, her hand gently resting on his leg. "Daniel, are you okay?" Sam asked, her voice full of compassion and concern.

It took a minute before he focused his eyes on her face, before he spoke, his voice haggard.

"Jack said he was sorry."

"What?" Sam asked, leaning in so she could hear him better. Teal'c stood behind her, hovering over the two of them.

Daniel lifted his head, his blue eyes bloodshot. "He said he was sorry. He gave up, Sam. He was ready to die right there on the table," Daniel said, his hand gesturing to the center of the room, to the spot where Sam imagined Colonel O'Neill had once occupied.

"Daniel, are you okay? Where is Colonel O'Neill?"

Daniel expelled a breath quickly, offering Sam a weary chuckle. "I don't know where they took Jack. Probably the ICU. I'm fine. I just needed time to think."

"He's not in the ICU, we've been there already."

Daniel looked sharply her, his forehead furrowing. "One of the Iso rooms maybe?"

"Come on, Daniel," Sam said, offering Daniel her hand. "Let's go find him."

Daniel didn't argue, letting her pull him to his feet.

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel didn't know how he got to the isolation room, didn't remember how he'd made his way, nearly across the entire level, following Sam instinctively, trusting her to guide him. Teal'c trailed behind him, a gentle hand here and there helping him stay on his feet. The door to the Iso room was closed tight and SG1 was hesitant to barge in now that they were here. Instead, they chose to walk up the stairs to the observation level. At least there they would be able to see what was going on in the room before they walked in.

The sight struck a deep blow to all of them.

Daniel was convinced that Jack was hooked up to nearly every machine Janet had on hand—and some she had probably brought in from other departments. Various wires led from Jack's body to the machines and monitors. The only piece of equipment not in use was the respirator—Janet had settled instead for a simple nasal prong instead. Apparently, Jack was breathing on his own. A small comfort in this horrible nightmare.

Jack was also in full body restraints.

It took Daniel a minute to regain his composure before he clicked the switch on the microphone, drawing Janet's attention to him and the rest of his team standing above.

"Janet?" Daniel said, his voice hesitant.

She looked up from one of the monitors, her eyebrows drawing together. "Aren't you all supposed to be at a briefing or something?"

"Probably," Daniel admitted with a shrug, glancing sideways at Sam and Teal'c. "I...we just had to see him. Can we come down?"

Janet paused several beats before she finally answered. Daniel held his breath until she finally nodded—once—her shoulders rounded and slumped.

They ran down the stairs as quickly as they could. None of them wanted Janet to change her mind.

The steel door parted before them as soon as Daniel ran his card through the reader, the strong smell of antiseptic—that hospital smell—hitting him immediately. Daniel stepped cautiously into the room, noticing that there was a chair already set up next to the bed—and another one along the wall. Janet knew the team far too well. She knew they wouldn't let Jack go through this alone.

"How is he?" Daniel asked, his voice hushed as he settled in at Jack's side, wrapping his hand around Jack's right hand trying not to dislodge any of the lines. Jack had done the whole drugged and strapped to the bed thing before and Daniel knew this could possibly be the worst thing to happen to his friend.

Janet looked up from the chart, her eyes tired. "Not good."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, stepping up alongside Daniel, her eyes filled with sorrow.

Janet took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I don't know."

A few beats passed as Daniel gazed down at his friend, at the still form before him on the bed, Jack's face nearly the same color as the bleached hospital sheets. Daniel tried to pull his eyes away from the thick leather restraints holding his friend to the bed.

Sam spoke a few minutes later, her voice quiet and even. "One of the nurses said that he coded again in x-ray."

Janet glanced at Sam sharply, but didn't contradict her. "Yes, he did. We almost lost him."

"Will he be okay?"

"I don't know, Sam. I have him under heavy sedation. I can't keep bringing him back from the edge. I'm hoping the sedation will give us enough time."

"For what?"

"To find out what's killing him."

Sam looked up, her eyes taking on a fierce determination. "Then I guess we had better get to work."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly noon by the time General Hammond found time to step away from his desk. Honestly, he knew it wasn't because he was busy. He was always busy, but this time it was different. He knew what was waiting for him down in Iso room one and he wasn't ready to face the fact that his best officer—and his friend—might not live.

He'd received Doctor Fraiser's preliminary report several hours before and he had already been through it twice—not liking what he read. From what he could decipher, Colonel O'Neill had something lodged in his brain—some kind of metallic alien device that was fused directly with his brain tissue. Doctor Fraiser guessed that this was what had caused the Colonel such intense pain when he first awoke in the infirmary.

George could still remember the sound, the scream that ripped through the air sending an intense feeling of dread through his body, nearly stopping his own heart in fear. And all of this came from the man who downplayed every injury and never said boo even if he was in excruciating pain.

The pain must have been unimaginable for O'Neill to react so violently.

George rubbed a hand across his face as if the gesture would help to push away the images in his mind, the sounds, and the words in black-and-white staring at him accusingly from the pages of the report before him.

Doctor Fraiser didn't have the skill required to extract the object, but she also couldn't keep him sedated indefinitely. As it was, the drugs were wearing off quickly, much faster than Fraiser was expecting with Colonel O'Neill nearly regaining consciousness early this morning. Twice so far, when O'Neill had woken he'd seized and gone into cardiac arrest. The second time she nearly couldn't bring him back. Doctor Fraiser didn't want a repeat performance and George didn't blame her.

Apparently the only person who could have removed the device was already dead—thanks to some masterful sword work. George was doubtful that she would have helped in the first place.

Fraiser needed another option.

If she—or the rest of the medical staff—were unable to come up with a plan, there was only one option available and that was one that George was not prepared for. None of them were, especially since they had only just got O'Neill back.

The halls around the Isolation rooms were quiet. He approached the window overlooking the room cautiously, not wanting to look, but needing to see what was down there. It was only after several minutes of standing there motionless that he realized he was holding his breath, as if his very exhalation would push his friend over the edge.

Teal'c was sitting next to the bed, while Doctor Jackson, Major Carter, and Doctor Fraiser were nowhere to be seen. Two nurses circled the room, checking and double-checking the monitors, taking notes in the charts they held in their hands, adjusting flow rates as needed.

Jack O'Neill was deathly still.

Granted, the thick leather restraints didn't permit much movement, but that image, of O'Neill fully restrained, was something George was having problems stomaching. He was grateful that O'Neill was sedated.

Teal'c chose that moment to look up, catching George's eye. He inclined his head toward the General—a gesture of respect, warrior to warrior—his dark eyes reflecting concern and a deep understanding of what everyone was going through. Teal'c was wise in ways none of them would ever be—except perhaps O'Neill—Teal'c's youthful appearance belying his years.

A quiet sound—someone clearing his throat—caused George to snap his head around, his gaze locking with Doctor Jackson's. "Were you looking for me, son?" George asked, his tone fatherly and compassionate.

"Well, General," Daniel started, stepping forward, his hands plunged deep into the pockets of his olive green BDUs, his black shirt oversized and hanging limply over his belt. "We've been thinking, ah, that is SG1 and Doctor Fraiser...and Jacob and Egan have been thinking and we might have come up with a solution to save Jack."

George couldn't help but let the surprise filter onto his face. It was only a handful of hours later and they'd already managed to come up with a solution—working more or less through the night. "Well, let's hear it Doctor Jackson."

"Well, sir, it's a little farfetched, but we think it might work," Daniel said, his confidence growing. "There's Goa'uld technology in Meath, sir and Caedmon, Egan's brother, might be able to help us. Egan thinks his brother can use some of the devices Morgana created."

XXXXXXXXXX

Less than twenty minutes later, General Hammond called to order a meeting in the rather crowded briefing room on level 28. Sam wasn't surprised when Daniel jumped in immediately once silence settled over the room.

"It's very simple, Sir. We have to take Jack back to Meath,"Daniel said, leaning forward on his elbows, his voice passionate, a pencil clasped tightly between his fingers. Sam was nearly positive that with just a little more pressure the pencil would snap in half.

"Doctor Jackson, we're here to discuss our options—"Hammond started but Daniel didn't let him continue. Sam winced. Cutting off a General mid-sentence was usually not the best thing to do. While Hammond gave them plenty of leeway, there were times when he had to remind them of who was in charge. This, apparently, was one of those times.

"General, the only other option is to let Jack die and that's not acceptable."

"Doctor Jackson," Hammond said, his tone mildly reprimanding the archeologist who finally got the hint, leaning back heavily in his chair, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Sorry, sir."

"Doctor, I can understand where you're coming from, but we need to find the best plan for both Colonel O'Neill and the SGC." Hammond held up his hand as soon as Daniel opened his mouth to speak again, stopping him before he launched into yet another lecture. "From the report submitted to me by Doctor Fraiser, surgery is not an option."

"No, sir," Janet said from her position at the far end of the briefing room table, sitting beside Jacob and across from Egan. "The device seems to be embedded in the very tissue of Colonel O'Neill's brain and is somehow linked to his entire brain, including his spinal cord. I'm not sure how it got there in the first place and I don't see any easy way of getting it out without doing major damage."

"But you think that it can be done?"

"Yes, sir," Janet said, nodding her head. "From what Jacob has been able to explain to me, the device is actually a variation of the memory device that we've already encountered. This one seems to have been modified."

Her father was nodding slightly as Janet spoke, waiting for the opportunity to speak. "George, from what I can see, Morgana has somehow changed the device. Instead of sitting on the surface, this one buries itself in the brain, connecting directly. If she didn't change it completely, there should be another device that is used to control it. If we can get our hands on that device, we might stand a better chance when it comes for its removal. At the very least, we should be able to turn down the sensitivity, perhaps even shutting it down altogether."

"Are you suggesting that we leave it there?" Hammond asked.

"If we can shut it off, wouldn't that be the safest route?"

"I have no desire to leave some piece of alien technology in my second-in-command's head," Hammond said, rising to his feet, a bundle of energy fueled by anger, frustration, and pure adrenaline. Ever since they had arrived back on base last night—really this morning—no one had gotten the chance to rest. They were all working on caffeine and determination.

"George, I know how you feel, but for Jack's sake—"

"Jake, there's more to it than that and you know it. What if the Goa'uld find out he has this thing in his head and their technology can activate it, what would happen in the field? I can't in good conscience reactivate him in his current condition even if the device is turned off."

"So General, we can't do surgery, we can't shut it off, where does that leave us?" Daniel asked, the only one brave enough to speak up when everyone else refused to make eye-contact, instead choosing to study finger nails and the grain in the briefing room table.

"That's what we're trying to decide, Doctor," Hammond snapped, turning back to the table and away from the glass overlooking the gateroom.

"General Hammond, would not it prove more beneficial for us to return to Meath and retrieve the items in question?" Teal'c asked, his hands clasped before him, his back perfectly straight, his gaze level.

"Doctor?" Hammond asked, turning to Janet.

"That sounds like the best way," Janet said, nodding slowly, thinking carefully about what needed to be done. "If Caedmon could come as well, we'd have his expertise."

"Janet, there's one thing you're not considering," Daniel said, his voice quiet as he leaned his head into the palm of his hand, his glasses hanging from his fingers. "What if something goes wrong? We're at least four hours from Meath. What if you need that one thing we forgot to bring?"

"Then we take everything with us," Jacob said.

Sam nodded, looking at Egan. "As long as you were comfortable with us doing so, Egan. It's probably Colonel O'Neill's best chance."

"Whatever I can do to help, I am willing to do," Egan said, his head inclining toward Sam in a now familiar gesture.

Hammond looked around the table and after several beats of silence made his decision. "Well, then, it looks like we're settled. Major Carter, I want you to prepare SG1 to return to Meath to retrieve whatever technology is necessary."

"Ah, no, sir," Daniel said, holding up his pointer finger.

"General there is one thing that we can't transport: the sarcophagus."

"What?"

"Daniel? When did you see one of those?" Sam asked, her eyes wide. He'd never mentioned anything about a sarcophagus.

Daniel glanced over at Egan, clearly waiting for him to speak. "I showed him, Major Carter. One of these devices Morgana modified, the other she left the way she had found it."

"So how does this change things, Doctor Jackson? We can just bring the sarcophagus back to the SGC." Hammond stood with his arms crossed waiting for the answer.

"General, the sarcophagus is not easy to transport on a good day when it's easily accessible. That device has probably been down in the foundations of the castle for hundreds of years. It's not going to be easy and I don't think Jack has enough time. Janet can do the extraction there."

"Daniel, I wouldn't feel comfortable doing anything of the sort on an alien planet without all my equipment," Janet protested.

"Then we bring what you need. The sarcophagus can be our back-up." Daniel's tone was even, his logic sound. Sam couldn't argue with him. Besides, if something did go terribly wrong—although Janet could work miracles, the sarcophagus could bring the Colonel back to life.

"General, I'm going to have to agree with Daniel. It's probably our best chance."

Hammond held her gaze for several minutes before glancing around the table, meeting everyone's eyes, trying to see if there was anyone opposed to the decision.

"SG1, you'll leave as soon as Doctor Fraiser's ready. Take anyone you need. Dismissed."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was two hours before Janet Fraiser was fully prepared to leave the SGC—although from the looks of things, she wasn't happy about it. She kept sending evil looks his way. Daniel planned to avoid the infirmary for a very long time after this mission. While the Goa'uld were horrible, there was something about the petite doctor that frightened him in a much more personal way than any System Lord could.

Maybe Jack was right. Maybe it was because it involved large needles.

Daniel shrugged to himself, trying to focus on the mission at hand. Janet was bringing four people with her, Nurse Matthews and three orderlies—large men who Daniel figured would end up carrying Jack's stretcher to Meath.

It wasn't going to be an easy trip, but Daniel would go through the heart of a volcano if it would help.

The doors to the embarkation room slid open and Jack's stretcher was wheeled in with him strapped securely to it. Janet had chosen one of the search and rescue stretchers figuring it would be easier to carry and it was designed for transporting injured people with places for IV bags and the like.

Sam, Jacob, and Egan walked in seconds later followed by Teal'c carrying his staff weapon.

General Hammond's voice echoed throughout the room as the inner track of the Stargate began to spin. "Good luck and God speed, people."

"Thank you, General," Sam called out, turning to look at Jack before facing the Stargate. Daniel could see the lines of strain in her face. They desperately needed to rest, but until Jack was back in one piece, sleep would not come easily to any of them. They'd left him behind. It was now up to them to fix him.

The ka-whoosh of the wormhole startled Daniel, bringing him back to the present and away from his deeper, darker thoughts and doubts.

The cold of the wormhole didn't seem so bad this time, Daniel thought. This time they'd bring Jack home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel was grateful for small favors—it only started to snow when they were entering Meath. The hike had been tough enough through the snow and ice the last time. The last thing they needed was more of the same.

Caedmon was waiting for them as they trudged the last few steps to the door. Someone had apparently seen them coming and had told him. Clasping his brother in a warm embrace, Caedmon pulled his brother into the castle allowing the orderlies to bring the stretcher into the warmth inside with everyone else following close behind.

Daniel sighed deeply as soon as he felt the heat from the huge fireplace hit his face when he walked into the main hall. They had placed Jack close to the fire, allowing Janet the chance to fuss over him some more. Even though Janet had prepared Jack with warm blankets and extra layers, she had been concerned the entire hike to the village—making them stop several times to check on him. Her expression was grim and even though she didn't say anything, her actions were loud enough—they had to get that device out of Jack fast.

As they thawed out, removing jackets and various layers, Egan and Caedmon stood to the side speaking in intensely quiet tones. Daniel tried to edge closer without being obvious, but Sam caught his eye and nodded, flashing him a look that clearly told him to stay out of it. If Caedmon was not willing to help, they had already decided that they'd just have to figure it out themselves. Between Jacob and Sam, Daniel was convinced that they'd be able to figure out something.

Since he couldn't get any closer to Egan, Daniel decided to use his time wisely. Sooner or later he was going to have to bite the bullet, better now than later. He knelt down next to Janet as she ran her various checks over Jack. "How's he doing?" he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice low so as not to disturb anyone.

"He could be better," Janet said, her voice haggard. She aimed a particularly caustic glance his way. "I'd feel better if this was happening in my infirmary."

Daniel winced slightly. "Janet, I wouldn't have recommended this if I thought it would cause more problems."

Janet sighed, turning again to face him. "I know, Daniel. It's just that...this is bad. I'm just worried."

"I know. We all are," Daniel said smiling sympathetically just as a hand touched his shoulder. Looking up, Egan met his gaze.

"We should bring O'Neill downstairs. Caedmon will help us, but he has warned me that it will not be easy. No one has had the device in as long as O'Neill."

"Just lead the way," Janet said, rising to her feet.

Egan bowed slightly and signaled for two men to come forward. "Donat and Cavan will bring O'Neill. Hywel can escort some of you to quarters upstairs if you care to rest. I would recommend only a few attend the removal."

Janet nodded, understanding clearly shining in her eyes. They all knew that this could go badly. Even with the sarcophagus nearby, Colonel O'Neill would not want an audience. "Anne, take Mario, Quentin, and Stefan and go with Hywel. I need you to set up a recovery room for Colonel O'Neill."

"Yes, Doctor," Anne Matthews said, shouldering one of the large bags containing some of the portable medical equipment Janet has insisted on bringing.

"Hywel," Egan said, gesturing for the man to come forward. "I want you to give our quests connecting quarters in the East wing. Whatever they need, see that it is done."

"Yes, my Lord," Hywel said, bowing before he turned to Anne and offered a smile. "My Lady, would you follow me?"

As they walked out of the door, Anne sent an amazed glance over one of her shoulders to Janet that Daniel caught. He had to smile. Her first time off world and Anne was already making friends.

Daniel dragged himself back to the present, watching as the two large Meath guards gently lifted the stretcher bearing Jack and started out the door, forcing the rest of them to follow meekly behind. Daniel knew where they were going this time—the one place he had hoped he never had to see again, to be reminded...

Daniel shook his head, trying to clear it as Sam placed a hand on his arm. "Daniel?"

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

"I can see that," Sam said, her voice holding a note of amusement. "Do you always talk to yourself when you're nervous?"

Daniel glanced over quickly, surprise clearly on his face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been playing with your glasses non-stop since we got here. You're hands keep moving, and now you're talking to yourself. I've never seen you this anxious." While Sam's voice held a certain amount of humor, Daniel could see the concern and compassion hovering just beneath the surface. She was worried too, he knew. It was at these moments that he missed Jack's sense of humor the most. His comments—while usually inappropriate and sarcastic—generally helped to break the tension of the moment. As long as Jack could joke about a situation, then it wasn't that bad. It was when he got all serious that you knew that there was trouble—big trouble.

The hallway was just as dark and narrow as Daniel remembered; the stale smell of the air tickling his nose. As they walked past the cells Sam paused outside one of them and Daniel instinctively knew which one it was. Teal'c, noting Sam's movement into the room, stepped back several paces, standing in the doorway beside Daniel.

Standing the middle of the small room, Sam's shoulders slumped as she crossed her arms in front of her body, hugging them close to her as if she had gotten a chill. Daniel stepped a few paces forward before Sam's voice stopped him.

"How long was he here?"

"I don't know exactly, Sam," Daniel said, quietly, his voice somehow carrying across the empty space. His hands were deep in his pockets and he couldn't help but wonder at what Sam was thinking at this very minute.

She turned around a minute later, with tears in her eyes, looking at him in pure anguish. "We left him here, Daniel. We left him here to die."

Daniel stepped forward, grabbing her in a warm embrace. Teal'c's voice pulled them back. "We cannot change what has occurred here. Instead, we much choose to press on. We have but a short time and it is what we do with the time that we have that defines us." He stepped closer, resting a hand on Sam and Daniel's shoulders. "Even in the midst of darkness, there is always hope."

They were silent for several moments, before Daniel was able to find his voice. "Teal'c, I never took you for a philosopher."

Teal'c merely raised his eyebrow, a glint of understanding and brotherhood shining from the depths of his darkened eyes. "Come, let us finish the journey as we started, together."

Daniel nodded, feeling Sam straighten next to him. They walked out of the room, their heads erect, without looking back.

XXXXXXXXXX

When they entered the room at the end of the hallway, Sam nearly stopped dead in her tracks. Daniel hadn't been kidding when he said the Goa'uld had been here, she thought, taking in the gaudy gold furnishings, the various cabinets and shelves built into the walls, the hieroglyphs covering every space surface. Colonel O'Neill had been placed on a table in the center of the room, the thin medical scrubs providing little protection against the chill in the room.

Daniel immediately stepped close to Egan, his voice rising in anger as he pointed at the metal table. "You're going to put him back on that table?"

"Doctor Jackson, where else would you have us put him?" Egan asked calmly, his voice level, his hands clasped lightly before him. "It is for his benefit. The table will offer life support if there are complications."

"Complications? What do you mean?" Janet asked, looking up sharply at the two men from where she was going through one of her medical bags.

"Although Caedmon does not expect any complications, he believes it would be best to be cautious, that is all."

"Daniel," Sam asked, stepping forward. "Are you okay with this?"

His eyes looked troubled, but he absently nodded his head, his gaze never leaving the Colonel's pale face.

Caedmon chose that moment to step forward, a palm-sized device in his hand. He glanced around the room, looking at everyone, holding their gaze for the space of a moment before moving onto the next person. The silence was absolute.

"I will not fool you. This procedure will be painful for O'Neill and all those present. Do you wish me to continue?"

It was Daniel who finally answered, echoing the answer that was in everyone's heart and mind. "Please, continue. It can't get much worse than it already has been."

"Very well," Caedmon said. "I will need to activate the table's restraint system. Any movement could cause severe consequences."

Daniel nodded silently, his eyes wide. Sam stepped close, their shoulders brushing, giving each of them a measure of comfort and support.

Caedmon reached under the edge of the table, pressing several buttons and the surface of the table came to life, surging upward, covering the Colonel in a shimmering coating of metal. Janet pushed forward, about to protest, when Teal'c gently restrained her. "Caedmon will not harm him. Trust him."

A few seconds later, the metal retracted, leaving the Colonel securely bound to the table. Sam was amazed at the technology. A cap of sorts had also formed, effectively encasing the Colonel's head and melding into the restraint at his neck, holding his head secure and still. Glancing over, she noticed that Janet and Daniel looked a little panicked, but they were all drawing support from each other. Her father was looking on in amazement, Selmac probably providing him a measure of detachment.

"I am first going to turn the device off before I remove it," Caedmon said, turning several of the small dials on the hand-held device and pressing it to the Colonel's temple. After a few seconds, Caedmon glanced up, catching her eye. "That part is done. The next will be painful. I would suggest that someone prepare the sarcophagus in the adjoining room. I do not think it will be necessary, but would rather be prepared," he said, as her father moved confidently to the door at the back of the room, switching on the light as he entered. Caedmon turned to Janet. "Doctor Fraiser, please prepare bandages to dress his wound."

He adjusted several more dials before pressing it once again to the Colonel's temple. This time, O'Neill groaned, the sound coming from deep within his body. Daniel stepped forward immediately, his hand resting on the Colonel's arm trying to offer support and comfort although Sam doubted O'Neill was conscious of anything except the pain. Unbeknownst to her, she had also stepped forward, as had Teal'c, placing their hands on the Colonel, holding his hand or arm, as the case may be.

As the seconds passed, O'Neill's moans increased in volume, his eyes starting to twitch, his hands beginning to clench.

"How much more?" Daniel asked, voicing the question that was running through her mind.

"When it is done," came Caedmon's cryptic reply.

Daniel rolled his eyes and leaned down, speaking quietly and calmly in the Colonel's ear. "Jack, I don't know if you can hear me or if you understand, but we're here with you. We're trying to make you better. I know it hurts now and you've been in so much pain, but trust me, this is the end. You just have to fight for a little while longer and then you can rest. Jack, we're here with you. Hang in there."

Daniel's repeated the words over and over again, trying to soothe his friend as O'Neill's moans finally turned into a blood-curdling scream that was cut off midway.

"What happened?" Janet asked, her voice frantic as she tried to push her way closer to the table.

"It is done," Caedmon said simply, holding a blood-covered metal disk in his hand.

"Then release him and let me treat him," Janet said, pushing forward, a gauze pad already pressed against the Colonel's temple trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Egan stepped forward, pressing several buttons as the restraints melted away into the table surface as if they had never existed. Janet got to work quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wound that was not as large as Sam expected. She was also surprised that the Colonel had remained unconscious for the procedure. She didn't think that was possible—although the table itself could have enhanced the sedatives already running through his system.

Several minutes later, Janet looked up, her eyes meeting Teal'c's. "Can you bring him upstairs? It'll be faster than carrying up a loaded stretcher."

"As you wish Doctor Fraiser," Teal'c said, reaching down to grasp O'Neill's limp body, the Colonel appearing small in the Jaffa's arms.

Once they were upstairs, the Colonel was placed in one of the large beds where Anne Matthews had set up complete with an IV drip and a portable heart monitor. Janet settled him in the bed quickly before shooing everyone off to bed.

"He won't wake up for some time yet and I want all of you to get some rest. Anne can keep an eye on the Colonel."

"I will also remain," Teal'c said, standing immovably inside the door.

"Teal'c, you need to kel'no'reem as much as the rest of us need to sleep," Janet said adamantly.

"I can meditate here effectively, Doctor Fraiser."

"Teal'c..." Janet started, but caught Teal'c's impassive gaze and finally relented. "Fine, as long as you promise to get some rest you can stay. But the rest of you," Janet said turning back to the rest of the group. "Off to bed. Egan, where did you put us?"

"I believe Hywel has left this entire suite of rooms for you. There are four bedrooms in addition to the one O'Neill is occupying. There is also an adjoining suite through the doors where the rest of your party is resting. Please make yourself comfortable. There is some food and drink on the sideboard. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to ask any one of the house servants."

Sam gave Egan a grateful smile. "Thank you, Egan for your hospitality and all of your help. We really appreciate it."

"It is I who am grateful, my Lady. It was because of O'Neill that we are able to move forward with friends such as you. I bid you good night."

XXXXXXXXXX

Where was he?

Jack awoke slowly, the muted sounds of voices coming from a distance and the insistent beeping of a solitary monitor close by. The smells, though, were wrong. Instead of the antiseptic smells of the infirmary that he was used to, instead there was something else—a smell he couldn't place but was comfortably familiar.

His eyes were heavy, too heavy for him to even think of opening. He wasn't ready to face whatever was around him. His memories were jumbled, images flashing and running together, melding into one confusing symphony of noise and images.

He drifted lightly, surfing through his memories, trying to piece things together, to place the memories in some kind of context, to help him figure out where he was. The only thing that really stood out was Morgana. She had to be here somewhere, although, he couldn't smell her.

Whenever she was around, you knew she was there. There was electricity in the air when she was in the room and her smell just enveloped you.

It was gone now.

The voices were familiar, but somehow out of reach. The muted voices, rising and falling in conversation. The accents familiar, the tones a constant companion.

He was alive. That much he figured because the afterlife shouldn't hurt so much. Jack wasn't sure if it was the memories, the images, or something else that was causing the most pain.

He smelled snow.

It was a distinctive smell. It wrapped around you, holding you close until you just had to breath deeply, taking in the air, the crisp, cold air, just before the snow started falling.

It didn't snow on Lel this time of year—at least that's what Paebel had said.

A rising surge of panic started to come from the depths of his body. Memories were starting to come together. He could remember the pain, the blood, the gore, the clanging of swords, the muffled thump as sword met flesh, the cries of anguish, the full-bodied howl of hatred, the last exhale of a dying man. But most of all, he could remember the rage, his rage.

Morgana was dead.

Killed.

Struck dead by Egan.

He remembered it now. The rebels had entered the city, crashing into the room brandishing swords and weapons, wreaking havoc and killing innocent men—good men, young men. Leaving them to lie on the floor in their quickly cooling pools of blood.

The red blood staining the pure white carpets.

Daniel.

Daniel had been there.

He remembered that now. He remembered Teal'c. They weren't rebels. But, they'd fought against him. They killed Morgana.

He didn't understand.

He didn't understand why he could remember Daniel.

He didn't understand why the pain hadn't returned as it once had.

There must be something wrong. He was always punished for bad thoughts, for remembering.

He smelled snow.

He struggled to open his eyes. He had to see where he was. He couldn't stand another day in the dungeons. He'd died a thousand times already. He couldn't fight anymore.

He was tired.

He'd apologized. He'd apologized for everything he'd done. That should have been enough. Why couldn't it have been enough? Why was it never enough?

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel stretched and yawned, finally feeling like himself as he hoisted himself out of bed. Grabbing his glasses off the nightstand, he peered at his watch, trying to remember if he'd changed it to local time. He could never remember what time it was anymore.

They'd been here two days already and Jack wouldn't wake up.

It was starting to get frustrating. Stepping out into the main chamber, Daniel saw that food was set up—something a cross between breakfast and lunch. Apparently, he'd missed breakfast again. He just hoped there would be some Erskine around. He'd gotten quite a taste for it.

Teal'c and Sam should have gone back to the SGC to report in to General Hammond. Jacob had left yesterday claiming that he needed to report back to the Tok'ra. He was apparently overdue.

Janet and Nurse Matthews were still here, quietly conversing by the fireplace, just outside Jack's open door. Peering in, Daniel could see that Jack was still sleeping, his body shifted slightly from how he'd been lying the last time. Daniel expected Janet and Anne were trying to keep Jack comfortable. There was no reason for Jack to suffer from bed sores or the like just because he was on another planet.

Walking to the sideboard, Daniel spotted a pot of Erskine and poured himself a mug-full before turning to the two women. "Morning," he said sheepishly, taking a quick sip from the mug and flashing a smile.

"Morning, Daniel," Janet said, her eyes light. "It's about time you were up."

"How's Jack?" Daniel asked, moving to perch on the arm of a nearby chair, allowing him to watch Jack while he talked.

"As far as I can tell, better. His pressure's come up and it seems that he's healing quickly—the usual Jack O'Neill," Janet smiled, briefly before her face turned dark. "Although, I am a little concerned. He's not responding as well as he should. His reflexes are delayed and he should have showed some sign of waking already."

"Why didn't you say something before?" Daniel stood and the liquid in his mug spilling on his hand.

Janet raised her voice a little, trying to keep her voice calm. "Because that was just the reaction I was hoping to avoid."

"Oh," Daniel said, looking away briefly. "If you don't mind, I'm going to sit with Jack."

"Go ahead, Daniel," Janet said softly with a knowing smile. "I'm sure he knows you're there."

"Thanks, Janet," he said, pausing at the door to Jack's room before he moved quietly to sit at the bedside. Although Jack was lying peacefully, every now and then Daniel would notice one of Jack's eyelids twitching, a finger moving, a slight shifting of his weight.

Jack was waking.

"Jack," Daniel said, swiftly pulling his cup down and ignoring the splashing liquid on his fingers. Daniel leaned forward, taking Jack's hand in his, squeezing it gently. "Jack, you're safe. I'm here with you. You don't have to worry. You're getting better. Can you open your eyes? Jack, can you understand me?" When he got a weak pressure on his hand, Daniel turned to the open door, raising his voice to carry into the room. "Janet, Jack's waking."

A soft flutter of movement beside him heralded the arrival of Anne and Janet, checking the monitors and their patient. Janet reached under the covers to grab Jack's other hand, careful not to disturb the IV drip running into the back of it. "Colonel O'Neill, it's time for you to wake up. Can you open your eyes for me, sir?"

Daniel looked inquiringly at her and she quickly shook her head. Nothing.

"Jack, we're here. You're safe. We'd really like you to wake up because you're starting to worry us." When Janet shot him a look of annoyance, Daniel shrugged. It was the best they could come up with, but apparently, it was enough. Jack's eyes twitched again several times before they slowly opened, trying to focus on the faces before him.

"Doc?" Jack asked, his forehead creasing in pain and concentration.

"Welcome back, Colonel," Janet said, the relief clearly evident in her voice. "Good to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"Confused...thirsty," Jack answered several beats later.

"We'll we can take care of the latter one easily enough," Janet said, gesturing for Anne to grab some water. There were no ice chips around—as long as you didn't count the snow. "Here you go, Colonel." Janet said, helping lift Jack a little to take a sip from the straw.

"Daniel..." Jack said a moment later as Janet started running some quick tests, checking his current level of awareness. It was something members of SG1 were intimately familiar with due, primarily, to their many trips to the infirmary.

"I'm here, Jack," Daniel said, squeezing Jack's hand. Jack's head turned slightly, his brown eyes finally resting on Daniel's face.

"You...were...there..."

"Where Jack?"

"...Morgana..."

Daniel closed his eyes before he answered. Although Jack's eyes were still a little cloudy, they were still hard to face. Daniel chose the easy way out for now, although knowing Jack that wouldn't last for long. "Yes, Jack. I was there and I'm here with you now. Rest Jack. You're safe."

Jack nodded slightly, his eyes closing again as he drifted off to sleep. Daniel looked across Jack's sleeping form at Janet, a question forming on his lips. She nodded vigorously and indicated that he should follow her out of the room back into the main chamber.

"How is he, Janet? Be honest," Daniel said quietly once they'd walked far enough away. Anne was still in the room fussing over Jack.

"He's not as alert as I'd like to see. I hope that the device didn't do any permanent damage. We'll know more as time goes on," Janet said, her eyes taking on a faraway look.

"Janet?" Daniel asked, prompting her to continue.

She looked up sharply, seemingly surprised by the sound of Daniel's voice. "Give him time, Daniel. He's been through the wringer. Give him time." Janet patted Daniel's arm lightly before walking away, her expression pensive.

Daniel glanced back toward his friend, sighing deeply before moving quietly back into the room. Jack never did things halfway, that was for sure. He just wished it didn't always involve some type of bodily harm.

Daniel sank down in the bedside chair, thankful it wasn't the hard plastic he was used to in the infirmary. At least, he'd be comfortable. Daniel reached down to grab one of his books, turning to the spot he'd left off, and settled in for an afternoon of reading.

XXXXXXXXXX

His dreams were melding together with reality—or so he thought.

Jack was in Meath, or at least that was what he finally concluded. The smell was finally what gave it away. The smell of snow was something you couldn't hide from Jack O'Neill.

He had awoken a few minutes ago and was greeted by the quiet snoring of his attending archeologist in the dim half-light. It was either dawn or dusk—he couldn't tell which and didn't really care. The fact that he recognized the snore confused him more until he remembered Daniel had spoken to him before—and Jack hadn't had any ill effects.

He drifted off again, already tired from his brief stint awake.

He did that several times during the ensuing week, each time able to stay awake longer than the previous time. The scenery didn't change much. There was always someone sitting with him—usually one of his team members. It offered him a quiet comfort, that he wasn't alone. He finally was able to piece together a lot of what had happened from his conversations with Carter, Teal'c, and Daniel. Those conversations helped. They let him put things in context and sort reality from dreams.

Sometimes that was the hardest part—telling the difference. Figuring out what was real, what was a memory, and what was just a dream.

He wished his memories weren't so humiliating. Being weak and injured didn't help. He was just a big bear with a sore paw. He usually just ended up growling at someone—no mean feat especially in his condition. He watched them all walk around him on eggshells, always worried that they might upset him in some way.

In some ways, he didn't care what they thought.

It didn't really matter. It was only a matter of time now, before Hammond would send him packing. Jack wouldn't blame him, really. From just the memories Jack could remember clearly, he wouldn't hesitate if he were in Hammond's place.

Daniel's voice dragged him back to the present, away from his thoughts. Jack raised his eyes toward the door, watching the archeologist saunter in, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Hey, Jack, good morning. It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Daniel," Jack answered as Daniel settled into the chair adjacent to the bed. "I'm the same as when you asked me the last time."

"Well, I see Janet's let you sit up a little more," Daniel noted, pointing to the pillows piled behind Jack's back, propping him up.

"Yes, Daniel," Jack said, watching Daniel's eyes check him over. "It's not like I have anywhere to go."

"I know," Daniel said, quickly pulling his eyes up to Jack's face, but Jack could see that Daniel wasn't happy with what he saw. "Janet mentioned something about going home in a few days. Think you'll be up for it?"

"Whatever the good doctor decides," Jack said noncommittally.

"Well."

"Well?"

"Jack..."

"What Daniel?"

"How do you...feel about all of this?"

"Feel?"

"That's not a foreign word or anything, Jack. Yes, how do you feel about all this?"

Jack shrugged. "What's there to feel?"

"I don't know. Aren't you...I don't know, upset, angry, something?" Daniel was unable to keep still, his hands gesturing wildly, emphasizing each word.

Jack looked at him for a minute before answering. "Are you feeling neglected that I didn't bring you back a T-shirt this time?"

"Jack, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Daniel, I can keep this up all day."

"Jack."

"Daniel, I'm tired. Why don't you go annoy someone else?" Jack said, pointedly closing his eyes. The conversation was over as far as he was concerned. It wasn't as if Daniel really cared what he thought about anything. He just probably had nothing better to do than pester a sick man.

XXXXXXXXXX

They were in Meath nearly three weeks before Janet felt comfortable enough with the way Jack was progressing to suggest the hike back to the gate. During that time, SG1 slowly drew him into conversations as he mended. At first he had been gruff, refusing to speak unless absolutely necessary and then, only with cutting remarks. He mellowed, as he grew stronger. Gradually, Janet made him exercise to try and get his strength back, walking around the room, and then finally, roaming the halls upstairs in the castle—always with an escort, just in case.

But by this time, Jack was quiet and he had stopped complaining—that put everyone on guard.

When Jack O'Neill was cooperative and civil when he was recuperating from an injury, there was something wrong. That much was obvious. Getting Jack O'Neill to admit it was impossible.

The walk back to the gate took longer than expected, with several breaks along the way. Egan had accompanied them himself, wanting to see them to the Stargate personally. While Daniel had enjoyed his time learning about Meath and her people, the time spent on Ildanach was bittersweet. The experience had changed his friend dramatically and Daniel was not sure what that meant in the long run.

They left Meath with promises to return soon with the scientists and anthropologists as was outlined in the treaty.

Once back in the SGC, however, Jack was still under the firm hand of Janet Fraiser. It was nearly another week—and multitudes of tests later—before Janet decided to release him. She finally let him go home, comfortable that he was recovering.

Jack had finally started participating in the discussions around him, contributing to the banter with what seemed like his normal level of gusto. For all intents and purposes, Jack O'Neill had bounced back once again. With a little time to rest, he would be back as good as new. To his team's eyes, though, things fell just short. The sparkle in his eyes was gone. While he spouted one bad joke after another, one horrendous pun after pun, they knew it was just a show, a sham.

The laughter never reached his eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jack stepped out of Cheyenne Mountain and paused long enough to breathe in the fresh air of the Colorado Mountains. There was nothing like it in the universe.

Daniel turned around at Jack's pause, his forehead creasing. "Jack, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Daniel. Stop hovering."

"Fine, Jack." But when Jack didn't move immediately, Jack saw Daniel cast a glance at Sam and Teal'c before he starting jingling the keys in his hand. "Are you coming?"

Jack sighed, but answered the question. "Yes, Daniel," he said, stepping closer to the group. "You know, I'm perfectly capable of driving myself home."

"Janet said no driving for the time being," Carter said, matching her pace to his as they walked to one of the Air Force cars. General Hammond had offered the use of one of the cars for the time being—especially since Daniel and Carter had small cars. Jack's truck had been placed in storage when he had been declared as missing in action and it would take a few days before Jack would be able to get it out.

"And how do you expect me to get groceries if I don't have a car?"

"We did that already," Daniel said quietly, climbing into the car.

"What?" Jack stopped, his hand on the car door handle.

"Jack, get in already," Daniel called, starting the car. "I'll explain on the way."

"Fine," Jack said, dropping into the front passenger seat and slamming the door. For a good portion of the ride home he listened to his team prattle on about one thing or another, not listening to most of it. Nothing really mattered in the long run. Nothing would change his mind.

He just needed time.

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel watched Jack carefully during the ride to his house. Jack barely said a word, causing the car to drop into one uncomfortable silence after another. It was plainly obvious he wasn't listening and had practically tuned out everything except what was happening in his little world inside his head—and that was one place Jack had locked up tight.

Try as he might, Daniel hadn't been able to break through the walls Jack had erected. In a way, Jack was just like he was during that first Stargate mission—maybe even worse.

At least then, he had been civil.

Pulling into the driveway, Daniel stopped the car, shutting off the engine. Jack's hand stopped him from pulling the key from the ignition.

Daniel met Jack's cold, dark eyes across the silence. "Daniel, thanks for the ride home. I appreciate it, but I'd rather be alone for a little while."

"Sir, are you sure that's a good idea?" Sam piped up from the back of the car as she leaned forward. The air in the car was tense.

"Carter, you've been hovering over me for the last three weeks. It's about time I had a little time to myself, don't you think?"

"But, sir—"

"Do I need to make it an order, Major?" Jack's voice was hard and cold.

"O'Neill, I do not believe you are yourself."

"Teal'c, I'm fine. A little tired, maybe, but fine," Jack said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Jack, maybe if we just came in for a little while—"

"Daniel, what didn't you understand? I don't need your company and I don't want your company. End of discussion." Jack shoved the door open with his elbow, his left hand reaching for the keys in his pocket. Daniel watched dumbfounded as Jack walked across the yard and up the path to the front door. A beat later and Jack unlocked the door, slamming it behind him. The lights flickered on inside a few seconds later.

Sighing deeply, Daniel dropped his head down to rest on his hands resting on the steering wheel.

"That went well."

"He hates us, doesn't he?" Sam asked, her voice quiet, harsh.

Daniel glanced up, catching Sam's weary blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I don't know, Sam, but I intend on finding out."

XXXXXXXXXX

Day melded into night, time running together, becoming meaningless.

He wasn't even sure what day it was anymore and that suited him just fine.

Janet had given him two weeks of medical leave and a few days after he began it, Jack had called General Hammond requesting additional time off. Hammond had granted it immediately, giving Jack an additional two weeks of time before he was expected to report back to Cheyenne Mountain.

That would give him plenty of time.

His team had called several times, leaving messages that he erased before listening to them. They had even stopped by the house several times, but he managed to send them away each time. He was sure that eventually they'd get the message. He didn't want to see them. He didn't need to see them.

With time, they'd come to understand the truth of the matter: they didn't need him—never had. He just ended up bringing bad tidings—angry Jaffa, cruel Goa'ulds, and maddened, maniacal aliens—with his very presence. They'd be better off without him‚just like Charlie would have been.

Absently lifting the tumbler of Jack Daniel's to his lips, Jack finished it in one long swallow, the thump of the glass against the tabletop sounding hollow. His eyes gazed unseeing through the living room windows to the darkness outside.

Jack rubbed his temple with his hand, the slight bump of a scar, the only outward evidence of what he had endured this time around. There was nothing left to show for the pain he had endured except memories—and those he had plenty of.

Several days ago, he'd finally gotten his truck back which allowed him to stock up the house with various food items and beverages—most of which were on Fraiser's list of do not dos.

He didn't care.

He even bought two cases of liquor—the good stuff.

It helped dull the pain, the ache of his failures, the agony of failing his son.

He'd been to the cemetery to talk to his son the other day. To tell him he was sorry. Jack didn't think Charlie would ever forgive him for what he'd done.

Jack had blood on his hands—the blood of good men who had died because of him.

There was only one way to atone for what he'd done.

It was as simple as that.

He still had the gun that had killed his son. Of course, it was locked away now, put out of reach. He'd learned his lesson the hard way, paying for his incompetence with the life of his son.

He even kept it clean. It was habit—a habit he had learned in the service. It was a good habit to keep since it could make the difference between life and death.

In the palm of his hands, he held the power of life and death.

He didn't know how long he sat there staring at the gun in his hands before something made him look up, his eyes locking with Daniel's wide blue eyes as he stood several feet from the living room coffee table.

"Jack..." Daniel started, "what's going on?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel had made up his mind that today was going to be the day he confronted Jack. It had been three weeks now and Jack had managed to avoid everyone—Teal'c, Janet, Sam, Cassie, and General Hammond—even though each of them had been to the house and had left numerous messages.

Jack wasn't taking calls and he certainly was not in the mood for visitors.

The last time Sam had attempted to talk to Jack, he didn't even bother coming to the door. He had been home—his truck in the driveway—but he had ignored her knocks and entreaties to open the door.

Daniel pulled up, parking his car behind Jack's truck, flicking off his headlights and turning the engine off. He sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the sounds of his car as it started cooling off. The lights were on inside Jack's house—in the living room and kitchen, as far as Daniel could see.

In any normal circumstance, Daniel would have called first, warning Jack that he was going to drop by, but this time he wanted surprise on his side. He'd had a weird feeling all day. Jack was due to return to the Mountain on Monday, five days from now, but Daniel was doubtful that Jack would appear.

He knew Jack was very private, keeping most everything to himself. Daniel knew there were times when Jack needed his space to come to terms with a tough mission or just get his balance back. Daniel could understand. Throughout his life, Daniel had spent countless hours doing just that, losing himself in the work of one dig or another in an effort to help him put things in balance.

Some people considered it running away, whereas he knew the truth of the matter. It helped him get his balance.

This time, though, Jack had gone too far. This was a time when he needed to have friends around to help bring him back from the horrible places he had been.

Daniel was intent on making sure Jack got the support he needed—ready to do whatever it takes.

He was grateful that Jack had had the foresight several years back to give his team the keys to his house. It helped when they had to take care of the house if he had an extended stay in the infirmary or on base for one reason or another. It also helped when he was recuperating at home—like now.

Standing at the front door, Daniel leaned in, trying to hear anything—something—that would give him an idea as to what Jack might be doing. The silence was deafening in its absoluteness.

No hockey commentators commentating on the television.

No classical music blaring from the stereo system.

No sounds of running water from the shower or the kitchen sink.

The house was silent.

The tranquility covered the house in a thick wool blanket. It was smothering in its intensity.

The keys jingled loudly in the silence as Daniel found the keyhole in the dark, unlocking the front door and pushing it open a hair, trying to peer into the foyer.

There was definitely light coming in from the direction of the living room, but that was about it. The rest of the house was dark and silent—except for the pounding of Daniel's heart.

Something was wrong.

He was certain of it.

"Jack?" Daniel called, quietly pushing the door open wider so he could enter, pocketing the keys. He shrugged off his jacket, hanging on a hook in the hallway, waiting for Jack to come bounding into the room. Daniel was prepared for a fight. He was staying whether Jack wanted him here or not.

Daniel just wasn't prepared for the silence.

The hollow sound of a glass on wood echoed from the depths of the living room and Daniel quietly paced forward. He really didn't want to scare Jack. He knew what Jack could do to someone with his bare hands and that was not on the agenda for the evening.

"Jack?" Daniel called again, peering into the living room.

The sight before him nearly floored him—Jack caressing a handgun, an empty bottle—make that bottles—of liquor scattered throughout the room. From the looks of things, Jack hadn't moved from that spot for days.

Daniel stepped forward carefully, trying not to frighten his friend into doing something rash. That was the last thing on his mind.

Daniel wasn't sure if it was his presence of the pounding of his heart that made Jack look up, their eyes locking together.

Daniel tried to speak in an innocent and non-confrontational a tone as he could manage. "Jack, what's going on?"

When Jack didn't answer him for several minutes, instead staring at Daniel, confusion plainly evident on his face, Daniel stepped forward a few more paces. "Jack, you know, this is not exactly the easiest way for me to have a conversation with you...with me doing all the talking." Daniel paused again, waiting for a response. "Jack, what's going on?"

Daniel settled into the chair opposite from Jack, his friend's eyes following him the whole way.

"Daniel?" Jack whispered.

"Yes, Jack. I'm here. Talk to me," Daniel encouraged, trying to keep his eyes linked with Jack's but clearly cognizant of the proximity of the gun in Jack's hands.

"What's there to talk about, Daniel?" Jack said bitterly, leaning back heavily in his seat, his glazed brown eyes leveled at Daniel. His hands though, were constantly in motion, gently gliding along the object in his hands, turning it over and over.

"I don't know," Daniel shrugged. "Maybe why you're sitting in here on a perfectly clear night when you could be star-gazing."

"Doc said no strenuous energy. I think she would consider climbing the ladder up to the roof strenuous."

"Not that you pay attention to her orders generally," Daniel pointed out, his eyes flicking to the empty Jack Daniel's bottle on the table.

"Yeah, well, drinking's not strenuous. She did tell me to drink lots of liquids."

"Water. Juice. Not alcohol."

Jack tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "What do you care?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since when do you care what I think? Remember, I'm just the stupid, shallow, shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later Air Force Colonel who doesn't know any better."

"Jack," Daniel said, a tone of warning in his voice. "You should know me better than that."

"Yeah, well, things have changed."

"What's changed, Jack? I haven't," Daniel said, his tone conversational and calm, unlike the tensing muscles in his shoulders.

"Sure, you have."

"Jack, I'm not here to talk about me, as you are so elegantly changing the topic of the conversation."

"Then why are you here? Didn't I throw you out of my house enough this past week?"

"Week? Jack, you've been home a little more than three weeks already."

"It doesn't matter. You still didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"Why are you here?"

"To talk to you."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to talk to me? It's not like I'll have anything enlightening to add to the conversation. Remember to use small words and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," Jack said, rising unsteadily to his feet, grabbing the glass on the table, and heading into the kitchen.

"Jack," Daniel said, trying hard not to sigh. "Why do you insist on berating yourself? It's really not becoming."

"Not berating, merely speaking the truth, Daniel. You should know something about that." The clinking of glass was heard from the kitchen, accompanying Jack's words.

"Jack, would you please just talk to me?"

"What do you think I am doing?" Jack asked, standing in the doorway to the living room, a refilled tumbler in one hand and the gun in his other.

"We are tossing words back and forth, yes, but we're not really talking."

"What do you want from me, Daniel? I'm a tired old man and you should really be leaving."

"While you may be tired, and I'd have to admit that from my perspective you could do with...several...hours...days of good quality sleep, but I would never classify you as an old man."

"Wonderful," Jack said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He took a long sip of his drink, closing his eyes as the liquor hit the back of his throat.

"Jack, what are you doing with the gun?"

"Nothing."

"Jack..."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"Again, I have to ask, why do you care?"

"Because you're my friend."

Jack sputtered into his drink, nearly spilling it all over his lap. "Yeah sure. Since when?"

"Jack...we've been friends for years now."

"I've had better enemies than you."

"Jack..." Daniel said, but anger flared in Jack's eyes.

"What kind of friend are you to leave me behind? You have no idea what I went through just to make sure you got your sorry asses back home and what do you do? You come back and make a treaty with those god forsaken people!"

"Jack, we had no idea. Morgana tricked us...fooled us, we didn't even know we'd left you behind..."

"You left me behind! End of story." Jack's eyes were cold and hard.

"Jack—"

"Do you have any idea what happened to me? Oh, what do you care?" Jack said, throwing up his hands in resignation.

"What do you want me to say, Jack?" Daniel asked, raising his voice. "I'm so sorry for what happened to you. I wish—"

"I don't want your pity. That's the last thing I want."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to go away."

"Why? So you can blow your head off? What will that solve?"

Jack paused, the fight leaving his body in one swift breath, his answer no louder than a whisper. "Lots of things."

"Like what, Jack? What do you think this will solve? Will it take away your fears, your memories, your pain? Sure, but what will that leave you with? Nothing." Daniel leaned forward in his chair, trying to reach across the table to touch Jack's leg—anything to help ground Jack in the here and now. "Jack, we're here to help you get through this. We want to help you. We don't want to lose you—especially since we just got you back."

"Wasted your time," Jack muttered, his head down, his eyes half-closed but intent on his hands and the object they held.

"I don't think so, and neither does anyone else," Daniel said, quickly rising to sit beside Jack on the couch.

"You should have just let me die—would have been easier."

"Never let that happen, Jack. You should know that by now."

"Can't you see, Daniel?"

"What, Jack?"

"My hands."

"What about them?"

"They've killed hundreds of people. Hundreds."

"We've all had to do some damn distasteful things in the course of the program, Jack. We don't hold that against you. We never have and never will. We're at war with the Goa'uld. They don't make things easy."

"I'm tired, Daniel," Jack said, raising his head, his eyes showing his inner turmoil and anguish.

"I know, Jack. But you have to trust me. Things will get better. You will get better."

Jack shook his head, his eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped his mouth. "How can you even trust me?"

"What do you mean, Jack?"

"I told her everything she wanted to know. She broke me. What's to say someone can't do it again? I'm too tired and old for this."

"Jack, you might have told her things, but codes can be changed and, besides, she's no longer around to worry about. But, she didn't break you, Jack, not by a long shot. You're stronger than she ever was."

"Daniel, I was there. I watched myself. I know what I did. I gave my life to her. I killed for her—I would have killed you if I had been given the chance."

"But you didn't."

"I would have."

"But it didn't come to that. It never happened. Besides, there were extenuating circumstances."

Jack sighed, looking away from Daniel, his emotions playing across his face. Daniel could never remember seeing Jack so vulnerable, so scared, so unsure. The last thing he wanted to do was screw this up somehow.

There had to be a way for Daniel to get through to him.

"I don't know why we're even having this conversation," Jack said, finally turning back to Daniel several minutes later. "It's not going to change things."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not."

"Why? Just because you said so? Well, that's not an answer."

"You want me to spell it out for you, Daniel? You don't need me, you never did. Between you and Carter and Teal'c, you've managed to save the world several hundred times over. What do you need me for? I'm just an overgrown babysitter who manages to draw more attention to you than necessary. You'd be better off without me."

"And where did this come from?"

"It's the truth."

"Jack—"

"Daniel, why argue? You know it's the truth."

"Jack—"

"Daniel, don't you get it? I killed my son! I've killed hundreds of people—many of them under my command. I've almost killed all of you on several occasions. What's to say that next time I won't miss?"

"Jack, is that what's this has been all about? Is that why you've been backing off—you're worried that you're a bad luck charm?" Daniel was incredulous.

"Fine, laugh it off. Maybe the next time you won't live to tell the tale."

"Jack, I trust you with my life. I always have and I always will."

"You're apparently denser than I thought."

"Jack, this isn't a joke and this isn't the answer," Daniel said, laying his hand on Jack's over the gun in his lap. "You need to stop fighting me. Do you think Charlie would want you to give it all up?"

Jack's head came up sharply. "I'm doing this for him."

"What do you mean?"

"It's something I should have done a long time ago...I promised him...I promised him..."

"What did you promise him, Jack?"

Jack responded, but the answer was slow in coming. "That I'd...do the right thing...but...I've just managed to bring...death to my friends. I can't do that anymore."

Jack looked deflated. The fight was gone.

Daniel took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. "Jack, you're the most honorable man I know and, I have to tell you, that it's not your choice as to who your friends are or what they do." Daniel looked carefully at his friend sitting beside him. Jack was listening, even though he was staring across the room, his eyes unfocused. "It's not like you're the only one who has a price on his head. Besides, we all chose to live this kind of life. We know the risks just as well as you do. It's just harder on you because you're the one who has to make the decisions—and live by them no matter what the consequences. Sometimes...most of the time, I forget about that. I forget that for you, the missions live on. You're just as human as the rest of us, although you'd never admit it to anyone, let alone yourself."

Jack turned his head, his tired eyes meeting Daniel's.

"Don't push us away. We're family. We're not going anywhere—and neither are you." Daniel grasped the gun in his hands, gently pulling it from Jack's grip—and getting no argument.

Placing the gun at the far side of the table, out of Jack's line of sight, Daniel turned back to his friend. "Jack, are you going to be okay?"

He nodded slowly, refusing to meet Daniel's eyes.

"Jack, why don't we get you to bed? You look like you could use some sleep."

Jack nodded again, allowing Daniel to hoist him to his feet. Steadying Jack on his feet, Daniel pulled Jack's arm across his shoulders, carefully guiding him upstairs to the bedroom. He helped Jack undress and put him to bed, closing the shades once Jack started snoring softly.

Daniel made his way downstairs, staring at the papers and bottles scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. He cleaned up a little bit before walking back upstairs to check on Jack. He wanted to make sure he was sleeping—after all the drinking he was doing, Daniel didn't think it would be a problem—but he wanted to make sure.

Daniel peered into the room, the light from the hallway casting a small beam of light on the bed. Jack was sound asleep.

Daniel moved back downstairs, grabbing the phone off the cradle in the kitchen before stepping into the living room, curling up on the couch. He had some calls to make.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jack awoke to a darkened room, distant sounds coming from downstairs. He had a headache, but was surprised that it wasn't as bad as he expected. Rubbing a hand across his face, trying to wipe away the sleepiness, Jack turned, squinting at the bedside clock.

He blinked several times, trying to clear his eyes, but the numbers stayed the same.

He'd slept through the night and the majority of the next day. No wonder he didn't have such a bad headache—he'd slept off his hangover.

He rose, his muscles stiff, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet lightly touching the floor. Yawning, he padded over to the bathroom, taking care of necessary business before taking a good look at himself in the mirror.

He looked old.

He looked tired.

He looked alive.

Splashing water on his face and brushing his teeth, he moved quietly around the room, getting dressed in an old pair of jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt.

A soft knock at the door made him pause as he tried to pull on his socks. "Come in," he called, his voice a little rough.

Daniel poked his head in the room, a hesitant expression on his face. "Hey Jack, how are you doing?"

Jack thought for a minute before answering, clearing his throat. "Okay, Daniel. I'm okay." He looked at the socks in his hands before continuing, finding it hard to meet his friend's eyes. "Thanks for last night."

"Don't mention it," Daniel said, a comfortable smile on his face. "I'm just glad I was able to help."

Daniel reached deep into one of his pockets and pulled out a handful of metal, stretching his hand out to Jack. He looked up, meeting Daniel's eyes with hesitant ones of his own. He let Daniel drop the object into his open hand. The familiar weight of his dogtags surprised him.

"Daniel," Jack said a few moments later, finally tearing his eyes away from the item in his hands. "Where...how did you get these?"

"Egan gave them to me when we were on Ildanach. I was just waiting for the right time to give them to you." Daniel offered a hopeful smile.

"Thank you, Daniel," Jack said, emotion threatening to overcome him.

"You know," Daniel said, continuing after a moment of silence, letting Jack compose himself a little, "we've been cooking up a storm for most of the day. Do you think you're in the mood for a little food and company?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jack asked, looking up, as he slid the chain over his head, the dogtags clicking reassuringly on his chest.

"Not really." Daniel smiled.

"Then I guess I'm ready," Jack said, rising to his sock-clad feet. He placed his hand on Daniel's shoulder, stopping him from walking away. "Daniel, I really mean what I said. Thank you. If you hadn't been here last night, things would have been a lot different today."

Daniel offered him a small smile. "I know. I'm glad I was the one who was here. Whether you want us or not, we're your family. You're stuck with us. Come on," Daniel said, throwing an arm around Jack's shoulders. "I'm starved, let's get some grub."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack said, smiling his first true smile in days.

Things were definitely looking up.

The End