MEDICAL CONSIDERATIONS -- INTO THE FIRE
by:  OzKaren
Feedback to:  bosskaren@ozemail.com.au

*****

DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognisable characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to
MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions.  This fan fiction was created solely
for entertainment purposes and no money was made from it.  Also, no copyright or trademark
infringement was intended.  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.  Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the
property of the author.  Not to be archived without permission of the author(s).

*****

If the Universe has one cardinal rule, then this is most likely it: Anything that looks too
good to be true probably is.

I don’t know why I forgot that. I guess I --

No. I swore a long time ago it was going to be the truth, the whole truth or ... don’t even
bother. So I have to tell it like it was, warts and all, no matter how hard that is to do.

If I don’t ... then what’s the point?

You know, I pride myself on being damned near the best in my field, on being able to divorce
the personal from the professional so that my patients get premium care, platinum results.
Janet Fraiser doesn’t screw up. Janet Fraiser doesn’t drop the ball. Janet Fraiser doesn’t let
fear get in the way of the job.

Except that I do.

I did.

I hate it. You have no idea how much I hate it. But if knowing Jack O’Neill has taught me
anything, it’s that it is possible to stare your greatest fears, your greatest failings, square
in the face, to accept them, embrace them, even ... and survive.

Jack’s a good teacher.

Because he does it by example.

And there’s nothing like an in-your-face practical demonstration to drive the lesson home.

*****

In between the time that word came through of SG1’s rescue from Hathor, and their weary
appearance through the Stargate, so many people had crammed into the gateroom and the control
centre that there wasn’t enough room to swing a kitten caught in a trash compactor. The
cacophany of welcome was deafening. In the end I resorted to hitting people to move them out of
my way.

Of course, not everyone who went to get them came back. We lost three good people on that
mission. Nothing much was said at the time: nobody wanted to spoil the celebrations for SG1’s
safe return, or make them feel any worse about it than they already did. But a strange little
silence fell as the bodies were brought through the gate and the crowd and taken decently away
to the morgue, and even though it only lasted a few moments, its echo lingered beneath the
ongoing jubilation.

We also had a few walking wounded, whom I passed onto other members of the medical team, plus
Daniel and the Tok’ra woman, whom I reserved for myself. They were both on makeshift
stretchers, both looking battle torn. The woman I couldn’t do anything for except find her a
quiet, private room and let her get on with healing. So I did. One of these days I’m going to
request a sabbatical to Tok’ra town and see if I can’t get a line on exactly what it is the
symbiant does to heal its host. Right now, it’s got me stumped. And I like stumped about as
much as Jack likes surprises.

And Daniel? Well, he was talking at a million miles an hour, so it was clear his throat hadn’t
been cut or anything, but he had way too much blood on the outside of his uniform for my
liking, and beneath his excited chatter there ran an undercurrent of pain.

A quick glance at his leg was all I needed to see that he needed stitching and antibiotics. The
rest of the team would need checking too, of course, but it was pointless trying to do that
yet. Let them unwind first. I’d deal with Daniel, get him settled, then play spoilsport and
shanghai the rest of SG1 for their medicals.

Under cover of chaos I wheeled Daniel out of the gateroom circus and into the infirmary. As I
got him out of his ripped and stained trousers and under a decent strong light, and gave him a
thorough once over, he filled me in on SG1’s latest brush with death.

Spare me, God. Who needs the movies when I’ve got this bunch for entertainment?

Thankfully, the worst thing Daniel had to deal with this time was the gash in his leg. It was
nasty, though, well and truly through the quad muscle and liberally garnished with dirt and
gravel. Cleaning it out wasn’t going to be easy or comfortable.

"I’m giving you a local now," I said, with the hypo poised. "It’s going to sting, I’m sorry,
but only for a moment."

He nodded, winced. As I began to sluice out the wound, he wriggled a little on the exam table.
Frowned. Sighed. Drummed his fingers.

"What?" I said. "Can you still feel it?"

"No," he replied. "No, it’s fine. Dead as a doornail."

"Then what?"

He looked at me, clearly troubled. Pulled his glasses off, scrubbed a grazed hand across his
face and said, "He’ll probably kill me if he finds out I’ve told you, but I can’t not. You need
to be forewarned. Just ... don’t let on that you know, okay?"

"Hard to do that when I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about," I said. "Just spit it
out, Daniel."

Glancing at Tracey, who was counting bottles of penicillin in the corner, he said, "Probably I
should do this without an audience."

"Tracey," I said. "Take a break." I have great staff. She just smiled, nodded, and closed the
door on her way out. I gave Daniel my best ‘spill the beans’ look, and waited.

He took a deep breath. Released it in a groan. "Jack was implanted with a Goa’uld larva."

I dropped the bottle of saline and betadine swab.

"What?" It came out as a croaking whisper.

"It didn’t take," Daniel assured me hastily. "The Tok’ra operative got him back in the deep
freeze before it could meld with him, and the cold killed it. I guess his body’s absorbing
what’s left. Which is pretty damned lucky when you come to think about it, since Jack as a
Goa’uld just isn’t something the universe is ready for right now and --"

I waved my hands in his face. "Daniel! Daniel! Stop. Rewind. Explain."

So he did, and I listened, and felt so ill, so sick to my stomach. Sometime during the telling
I finished cleaning out his wound, collected tweezers, suture needle and silk and started
stitching, coasting on auto-pilot, as he filled me in. Filled me up with images that I knew
would revisit me in the cold of the night.

When I was done stitching and checking him over in general, I took blood, snipped a bit of
muscle from his calf for a tissue biopsy just in case the cryogenic procedure had left any
lasting damage, and scheduled him for a CAT scan and an MRI to check for residues from the
memory activation device.

"God," said Daniel, barely stifling a yawn. "I am so tired."

"I’m not surprised," I said, and patted his shoulder.

"You won’t tell him I told you, will you?" he asked, suddenly apprehensive. "Because if he
finds out, he’ll kill me. Slowly."

"No, I won’t tell him," I promised.

"I mean, all things considered, he seems okay with it," said Daniel. "As far as I can make out,
anyways. But you know Jack. Why tell the truth when a sarcastic joke will do?"

Yes, I know Jack. Well ... I thought I did. I thought we’d shared enough, revealed enough to
and of each other, so that even if he couldn’t be honest with anybody else in the SGC, he could
be honest with me.

The funny thing is, I think he really did believe it himself. Really did believe that he was
okay with what happened. Maybe that’s why I let myself be so easily convinced. Because by then
I was so intimately acquainted with his capacity for brutal truth, what I couldn’t believe is
that he would lie. To me, or himself.

Live, as they say, and learn.

I said to Daniel, "I swear, on a stack of bedpans, that your secret is safe with me. Now, I’m
keeping you in for tonight, just to be on the safe side. And you’ll have to stay off the leg
for the next few days. Barring complications, the stitches can come out at the end of next
week."

"Okay," he said, and treated me to a spectacular view of his tonsils. "You’re the doc, doc."

So I got him settled down the hall, had a quick peek at the Tok’ra woman who seemed to be
regenerating just fine, sent an airman to fetch Hammond, and made sure I was still alone when
he arrived.

He, too, was looking tired, but jubilant. I think he really enjoys getting out from behind his
desk, rampaging about in the field every now and then. Like a retired champion racehorse,
leading the parade on Derby day. He took one look at my face and said, "Oh, hell. What is it?"

There was no way I could pretty it up. "Colonel O’Neill was implanted with a Goa’uld."

Hammond groped for a chair. Sat in it, heavily. "Sweet Jesus. Tell me."

So I told him what Daniel told me. Watched the same procession of thought and feeling shadow-
shift across his face as surely it had done across mine. Horror. Pity. Fear. Relief.
Uncertainty.

"Ground him," said Hammond, when I was done. "Now."

"I can’t," I said. "Not without due cause."

Hammond laughed. "You don’t think that’s due cause?"

"No. Not unless there are ... repercussions. If he’s ill, or disturbed in some way, I can --"

"Jack O’Neill was implanted with a Goa’uld," Hammond said, interrupting me with a rudeness he
rarely displays. "What the hell makes you think there won’t be repercussions, doctor?"

"I didn’t say there wouldn’t be," I replied, fighting to keep my voice calm and even. "But I
can’t just ground him, General. Not without cause. In its own way, that would be as bad as
what’s already been done to him, and you know it. I won’t do it." And you can’t make me, so
there. I felt like stamping my foot for emphasis.

He let out a gusty sigh. "Then I want him watched. Closely. I want somebody --"

Simultaneously there was a knock on the door, and it swung open. "Ah, General, there you are,"
said Jack. "The President called, looking for you. I told him you were busy and you’d call him
back. So I guess you probably should."

I stared at him. Hammond stared at him. If stares were sounds, you’d have needed earplugs to
avoid going deaf.

So much for oaths on bedpans.

Jack stared back, surprised. Then realisation dawned. "Damn. *Damn*. He told you, didn’t he?
The little ... weasel ... told you."

Hammond was scowling. "And when exactly were *you* planning to tell us?"

"Lie down," I said. "I’m going to check you out, now, and I don’t want one word of argument."

Jack held up his hands. "Okay. Okay. Everybody just ... calm down. I am fine. All right? See?
No glowing eyes, no Darth Vader voice, no two-for-one deal. The snake died before it could lock
on. I’m me. The same argumentative, curmudgeonly smart ass you’ve grown to know and love. I
don’t know what Daniel said, exactly, but I bet he made it sound nice and dramatic. I swear
he’s missed his calling; he should be working in the downtown Barnes and Noble Kiddie Corner as
a storyteller."

Hammond stood. "Jack ... don’t."

Jack hung his head. Sighed. When he looked up again, there was a wry little smile lurking. "No,
George, don’t you. Don’t either of you. I want you both to be absolutely clear on this. I -- am
-- fine. Yes, it was disgusting. Yes, it hurt like a mother. Yes, the would-have-been, could-
have-been if-onlies are enough to give a stone statue the screaming meemies. But they didn’t
happen. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a Goa’uld. What I am is tired, thirsty and hungry.
I want to go home and eat a pizza, drink a beer and then sleep for a week. If that’s okay with
you."

See what I mean? He sounded fine. Calm. Rational. No incipient hysteria, no imminent emotional
collapse. Sure he looked tired. A little tattered around the edges. The bruise on his temple
from the memory stimulator, identical to Daniel’s, stood out in stark relief. But he was ...
Jack. No more, no less. No drama.

What would you have done?

Hammond looked at me. I looked at Hammond. He said, "If Doctor Fraiser gives you a clean bill
of health then ... I suppose so. If anybody’s earned some downtime, it’s you and your team,
Jack. You’ve got a week. But I want you to keep in touch, is that understood? At the first hint
of any -- any -- anything, I want you back in here. And that is not an option, it’s an order.
Understood?"

Jack snapped off a half way decent salute. "Understood, sir."

"Good. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go call the President." At the door he turned.
Stared. Shook his head. "‘He’s busy and he’ll call you back?’ Dear God in Heaven ..." Then he
was gone, and it was just us.

Despite everything, I couldn’t help a smile. "You didn’t really say that, did you?"

"Sure," said Jack, and hitched himself onto the nearest exam table. "Why not?"

I wasn’t going to answer that. I said, "Not so fast, mister. Hop down, strip off, and put on a
gown. I am going over you with a fine tooth comb *and* a microscope."

And I did. The entry wound at the base of his neck was livid, miraculously healed over but
still tender. He grunted when I pressed it, flinching away from my touch.

"That’s a huge scar, Jack," I said, gently palpating around the area. "How big was the larva?"

He shrugged. "I don’t know, doc, I didn’t happen to have a tape measure on me at the time.
Three foot?"

"Three foot?" I echoed. "My God. What about its diameter?"

Irritably he said, "I don’t know. I mean, it felt like a telegraph pole going in, but probably
that’s an exaggeration."

I stepped back. "I’m sorry. I know you want to get home, Jack, but before I can sign you out, I
need to be certain that you’re really okay. I want to do an MRI now."

He groaned. "Oh, for crying out loud, Janet. Can’t it wait?"

"No. It can’t. Now come on. The sooner we get it done, the sooner you’re out of here."

"I am not wandering around the place in this damned stupid gown."

"Fine. You can put this on," I said, and tossed him one of Bill’s lab coats he’d left hanging
on the back of the door. "Let’s go."

The MRI showed that while significantly reduced, the larva was some way short of being
completely reabsorbed. Shreds of it, like old Christmas streamers, still clung to his spinal
column, from the base of the skull to just below T5. As a guestimate, three feet long looked
about right.

I shuddered.

Jack came into the monitoring room as I was loading a report to disc. I stood and blocked the
screen with my back, bracing my hands on the edge of the desk. "All set?"

His expression was peculiarly neutral. "Let me see."

"I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Jack."

"And I don’t care what you think. Let me see."

A screaming argument wasn’t going to help anyone, so I stepped aside. "It’s disappearing fairly
quickly," I said. "Probably by this time tomorrow it’ll be completely dissolved. There doesn’t
appear to be any damage to your spinal cord, your nerves. You say there’s no tingling in your
fingers, no numbess in your face, so I think it’s safe to say you’re okay, neurologically
speaking."

I’m not sure if he heard me or not. He didn’t reply, at any rate. Just stared at the outline of
himself, of his spine, and the ghostly remnants of the parasite that had burrowed its way into
his body and tried to hold him prisoner.

I had to know. I said, hesitantly, "What was it like?"

It took him a moment to respond. Then he glanced at me, his eyes refocussing. "Hmm?"

"The attempted assimilation. What was it like?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, it hurt like a mother. Like being shot in slow motion. I could feel
it scrabbling around in there, wrapping itself around my spine. And then its mind was battering
at me. Like I was a locked door, and it was trying to break in. But it was young, it hadn’t
taken a host before, so it wasn’t sure what to do. Like a virgin getting laid for the first
time. All instinct, no finesse."

I hadn’t expected him to answer. Or if he did, I’d thought he’d just shine me on with a dry
wisecrack. What he said shook me. Turned my stomach. I touched his arm, lightly. "I am so
sorry, Jack. Really."

Still staring at the monitor, he gave another shrug. "It’s no big deal. Just another chapter
for the memoirs."

And again, I believed him. Because he sounded so plausible. Because he looked so like himself.
Because I had no reason, then, to call him a liar.

Because, God forgive me, I wanted so badly for him to be okay that I deliberately didn’t look
below the surface of his acceptance.

He said, "So if that’s it, can I go?"

I’d taken blood, a sample of muscle for biopsy, an EKG reading, an EMG reading, MRI scans and
if I’d thought toenail clippings would help, I’d have taken those too. Still, I hesitated.
"Jack ... we thought we’d saved Kowalski, and we were wrong."

Impassively he stared at me. Then he reached out, picked up the phone receiver and dialled an
extension. "This is O’Neill. Can you see Captain Carter anywhere? Good. Send her down to the
MRI suite, will you?"

And then we waited in preoccupied silence until Sam arrived. "Hi. What’s up?"

Jack pushed away from the desk he’d been leaning against. "Tell Janet I’m not a Goa’uld so I
can get the hell out of here, would you?"

She considered him warily, picking up the undercurrents, playing it typically Sam. "Okay.
Janet, he’s not a Goa’uld. I checked him when I took him out of the cryo-bath. It never blended
with him, he was never altered. I’d stake my life on it."

"You’re staking all our lives on it," I said.

"He’s not a Goa’uld," she repeated. "You’ve trusted my word on this before. Why not now?"

Why not? Because the part of me that knew better was jumping up and down and waving its hands
to attract my attention. Being taken by a goa’uld is something we all fear ... but for Jack it
had always been a particularly ugly concept. And now the worst had happened ... almost happened
... and he was taking it just too damned well.

See? Deep down, I knew that. That old cardinal rule. I knew it. But when push came to shove, I
didn’t go with my gut. I didn’t force the issue. I didn’t want to ... oh, I don’t know. I
didn’t want to make Jack feel even more powerless than he’d been made to feel already, by
telling him that he didn’t know how he was feeling. That he didn’t have complete control over
his own body. That he wasn’t free to do whatever he wanted to do. He’d had enough of that.

But I didn’t want to turn him loose, either. That little part of me, jumping and waving for all
it was worth.

I said, "Compromise. Stay tonight. Just tonight. Let us keep an eye on you. If you’re still
fine in the morning, then you can go."

"I’m fine now," said Jack. His cold anger filled the room.

"Please," I said. "Don’t make me make it an order, Colonel. Just go back to the infirmary and
check with the nurse on duty. She’ll get you settled."

Oh deary, deary me ... if looks could kill ...

The door slammed behind him on the way out.

"Ouch," said Sam.

I sighed. "Comes with the territory, I’m afraid."

"You don’t really think there’s something seriously wrong with him, do you?"

"I can’t find anything," I admitted. "I’m sure he is fine. I guess, given what’s just happened,
I expect him to be a little more upset."

"Oh, he was upset," said Sam. There was a faraway, remembering look on her face. "But I think
killing Hathor helped. I know it sounds horrible, but I think it gave him back some dignity, or
autonomy. Something."

"Yes, I imagine that it did," I agreed.

"And it’s not as if this is the first bad thing that’s ever happened to him."

"True," I said, with a grim laugh. "Not the first by a very long shot."

"I mean, he does seem like himself, doesn’t he?" said Sam. "It’s not like he’s off, the way he
was after that Ancient memory download."

"No, he’s not off," I said. "You’re right about that. And I expect I will let him go home in
the morning. After all, you say he’s definitely not a Goa’uld, and I accept that. The MRI tells
me the larval remains are dissolving into his bloodstream, and I have to accept that, too. Jack
assures me that he’s okay, and I supppose if anybody knows, he does."

"Yeah," said Sam. "Exactly. I mean, I was here for a week after Jolinar, but that was
different. I did get taken over. He didn’t."

"No, he didn’t. But still, it won’t do him any harm to sleep here tonight," I said. "Now, while
I’ve got you, I might as well check you over too. Then at least you can go home."

"Great," she said. So we went went back up to the infirmary and she told me exactly what had
happened to her and I gave her the once-over and she was fine.

"Just make sure you tell me the minute you start feeling anything out of the ordinary," I
warned her. "If you do. We have no idea what kind of side effects that memory enhancing
technology might have. Or the cryogenic procedure. And even though you weren’t subjected to
that Goa’uld hand device for very long, as far as I’m concerned just looking at the damned
thing constitutes a health hazard. I don’t want any heroics, is that clear?"

"Clear," she promised. "So, I’m out of here. Are you coming?"

I pulled a face. "Don’t I wish. But Jack aside, I’ve got that Tok’ra in one spare room, Daniel
in another and various other scrapes and bruises to take care of. You go. Have a long hot bath
with extra bubbles, and get a good’s night sleep. According to the General, you’ve got a week
off. Enjoy it."

She grinned. "I know. He said. I will."

On the whole, I thought it would be best if I didn’t drop in on Jack to tuck him in and sing
him a lullaby. I just gave Jim, the night duty nurse, a discreet heads up on the situation, and
left him to it.

The night passed uneventfully. The next morning I released Jack on his own recognizance. He was
surly in the extreme, but at the time I put it down to just being a sore loser. Now, of course,
I’m not so sure. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Daniel went home too, and the Tok’ra woman.
Some of her colleagues came and took her back to resistance headquarters, wherever the hell
they were that particular week. Teal’c buried himself in a new delivery of books from Amazon,
and the General returned to his favourite hobby, wrestling bureaucrats three falls out of five.
Gradually, after yet another SG1 sponsored crisis, base life returned to what we laughingly
call normal.

I did call Jack a couple of times. Invited him over for dinner. He said thanks but no thanks.
He sounded fine. A little distant, sure, but I put it down to being pissed off at being
disturbed and in too charitable a mood to curse me for it. He certainly didn’t sound distressed
or psychotic or on the verge of a breakdown.

So it seemed that the other shoe had got itself stuck in a tree branch on the way down. I
stopped holding my breath, patted myself on the back for not over-reacting, and continued my
ongoing field trials of a new anti-wormhole nausea brew.

And then that damned shoe did hit the ground, hard enough to crack the pavement.

The following Saturday night, Cass and I were at the dinner table, tired after a day in the
garden digging weeds and pruning bushes and chasing Jack-the-dog. You know. Mother-daughter
bonding rituals. Cass, after demonstrating no interest whatsoever in matters culinary -- apart
from eating, of course -- had unexpectedly developed a passion for inventing new and unusual
pasta sauces. As the mom, I was pulling double duty as guinea pig.

You know, mostly they’re pretty damned good.

Mostly.

Anyways. The phone rang. It was Daniel, on his cellphone, with a bad connection. "Janet? Janet,
it’s Daniel, can you hear me?"

"Barely," I replied, around a mouthful of spaghetti. "What’s up? Please don’t tell me you’ve
re-opened that wound, I told you to take it --"

"We’re at Jack’s place," Daniel shouted over the crashing and squealing of digital static. "I
think you’d better come over. Now."

I went cold. Nearly dropped my fork. "Why? What’s happened?"

"Just come," said Daniel, and disconnected.

"What’s wrong?" said Cassie, staring.

"Nothing, honey," I replied. "I just have to go out for a bit. Will you be all right?"

"Sure," she said, in the voice that said a) what a load of horse hooey and b) how old do you
think I am now anyway?

"Good girl," I said, and kissed her hair in passing. "I shouldn’t be long. If I get hung up,
I’ll send Anita over." There was no point in alarming her. I didn’t know what was going on. It
might be nothing. That’s what I told myself anyway, as I found the car keys, closed the front
door behind me and coaxed my recalcitrant Mustang into life.

Of course, I knew that it wasn’t.

I knew that it was something.

And it was. Oh dear God, it really, really was.

*****

Daniel was not alone. Teal’c and Sam were with him, sitting on the hood of his car which, along
with Sam’s, was parked in the street two doors down from Jack’s. The sun had just set; the sky
was all purple haze and pinpricked stars and fireflies.

Sliding my car in behind Sam’s I cut the engine and got out. Opened my mouth to ask what was
going on ... and then realised I didn’t have to.

"What the hell ...?" I joined them, and together the four of us stared bemusedly at Jack’s
place.

His car was in the driveway, so unless he was out walking or cycling -- because of his knee,
I’d forbidden him jogging on pain of death -- he was home. It looked like he was home. Every
window in the house, top to bottom, leaked blazing light around the edges of the drawn
curtains. And it sounded like he was home, too. Those incandescent windows were vibrating with
the sound of music turned to an ear-shattering volume. It was classical, something violent and
cathartic.

"Oh, my God," I said, blankly.

"We knocked," said Teal’c, "but he chooses not to answer."

"That’s if he even heard you," I said. "He might not, given how loud he’s got the music."

"When he didn’t come to the door, we looked in through a window," said Sam. She was in her
customary jeans and sweatshirt, jangly with jewellery. A subtle shifting of the military
Carter, and always a slight shock to behold. "He’s okay, not passed out or anything. We saw him
moving around. Janet, he’s got the place full of heaters."

"Heaters?" I blinked. "In summer?"

Daniel said, "I tried phoning, but the machine picked up."

"Maybe he just doesn’t feel like company," I pointed out. "Was he expecting you?"

As Sam nodded, Daniel said, "He’s supposed to be expecting us. We arranged on Tuesday to get
together tonight for pizza. When I phoned him yesterday afternoon to confirm, he sounded ...
off. When I phoned him this morning there was no answer. There’s been no answer all day. Now
this."

"Given everything that’s just happened," added Sam, "we thought it’d be safer to wait for you
before going in."

"Good call," I muttered. "Okay. So something a little odd is going on. But if he’s not
answering the door or the phone, how are we supposed to get in to see him?"

"That will not be a problem," said Teal’c.

And it wasn’t.

"Don’t worry," said Sam, seeing my expression. "We’ll pay for the lock."

Once into the hallway, it was a toss up as to which would knock us over first: the music or the
heat. The sound was so loud I could feel it rattling my bones. We were all wincing, screwing up
our faces and hunching our shoulders around our ears. And as for the temperature ...

"God almighty!" Daniel shouted over the dead white composer noise. "It’s gotta be a hundred
degrees in here!"

At least. Personally, I would have said one-ten. Or even one-twenty. Sweat poured down my face
like I’d opened an internal tap. I stripped off my denim jacket and dropped it on the hall
stand. Sam pulled off her sweatshirt, revealing a teeshirt already half drenched. Daniel rolled
up his sleeves and opened all his buttons. Teal’c frowned.

"Oh my God," said Sam, fingers jammed knuckle deep into her ears. "I’ve got to turn that off."

"Which, the music or the heat?" said Daniel.

"Both!"

In a herd we stumbled through to the living room. Sam made a beeline for the stereo and killed
it. The sudden silence was a relief of near-orgasmic proportions. Then Daniel, Teal’c and I
started turning off the blazing heaters. I never actually counted, but there must have been
close to twenty of them, all belching hot into the superheated, ovenish room. As we flipped
switches and dialled down thermostats, Sam flung back the curtains and began opening the
windows, giving the clean cool night air a way in.

From above and behind us, Jack said: "What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?"

Guilty as kids in the cookie jar, we jumped and turned.

"Jack," said Daniel. "Um ... hi."

He looked ... appalling. Sweat soaked, greasy hair. Sweat stained skin, tee shirt, cargo pants.
Eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, sunken deep and showing the whites like a startled horse. A grey
pallor, punctuated by stubble. And he stank, a rankness of unwashed flesh and fear. Even with
several feet of parched air between us, I could smell him.

He said, "Go away." Then he crossed to the windows that Sam had opened and slammed them shut
again. Wrenched the curtains back over them and clubbed us with sound once more.

When Sam turned the stereo off for a second time, he shoved her away so hard she fell over.

"O’Neill!"

Teal’c, looking thunderous. Sam shook her head at him, finding her feet. "It’s okay," she said.
"Colonel, we just want to talk to you for a minute. Could we at least turn the music down a
little?"

"Just a little," echoed Daniel, and edged a few steps closer. Reached out a hand, and nudged
the volume control down into the reaches of the lower atmosphere. "There. Just that much. Is
that okay?"

Scowling, Jack backed up a step. Nodded. Shook his head. He looked confused, disoriented.
Stripped of the self-assurance and authority that are as much a part of him as the scar through
his eyebrow and his precarious temper. "Who said you could turn off the heaters? Turn them back
on. Now. I’m cold." His petulance was as shocking as his appearance.

"How can you be cold, O’Neill?" said Teal’c. I’d never seen him look so perturbed. "This room
is hotter than the deserts of Abydos."

Jack shoved a pointed finger into Teal’c face. "So? Did I ask you? Did I? Do I walk into your
quarters and tell you what temperature they should be? No, I don’t think I do. So do me a
favour and shut up about deserts. I like deserts. They’re hot. I like hot."

Oh God. The four of us exchanged fraught looks. I said, "It’s okay, Jack. We’re sorry. We’ll
turn them on again."

So we turned the heaters back on, but only just. Jack watched us, fidgeting, fretting,
scrubbing his palms down the front of his stained shirt, his dirty trousers. There was an odd,
distracted expression on his face, and once or twice he winced and tilted his head as though
something was hurting him.

"There," I said when the last heater was back on line. "All done. Okay?"

Another scowl. "Okay. Now go away."

Daniel let out a deep breath. Glanced at me sideways for reassurance. I nodded, and he said,
his voice slow and soothing, "But we’re supposed to be going out for pizza tonight, Jack.
Remember?"

Jack started to pace, one hand tugging distractedly at the back of his neck. "No. Well -- yes -
- but I don’t -- tonight?"

"Yeah," said Daniel, watching him, his expression suspended. "But hey, if you don’t want to,
that’s okay. Maybe -- maybe we could order home delivery. Or Chinese takeout, if you don’t want
pizza. How does that sound?"

Still Jack paced, aimless, distracted steps. "Yeah -- no -- I’m not hungry."

"When was the last time you ate something?" said Sam.

He shot her a dirty look. "I don’t know. I told you, I’m not hungry. What are you, Carter,
deaf?"

I risked a step towards him. "It’s okay, Jack. You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. But
I’m kind of wondering ... do you remember when you last got some sleep?"

His head jerked up at that, and he flinched. "No. No sleep. Jesus, I’m cold. Aren’t you cold?
Get out of the way." Shoving us aside, he turned up the thermostats on all the heaters, fingers
frantic.

Sam turned to me, stricken and threatening tears. "God, Janet, we have to do something. What’s
happened? What’s wrong with him?"

It was a moment before I could answer. My heart was hammering and I felt like banging my head
into the wall. *Stupid, stupid, stupid.* When I could trust myself to speak, I said, "In simple
terms, it’s a stress reaction." *And you should have know, you should have known, you stupid,
stupid bitch, you should have known.

"To being Goa’ulded?"

"I think that’s a safe bet," I said. "You were all cryogenically frozen, he’s obsessing about
being cold, about wanting heat."

"And the music?" Teal’c asked. "What does that signify?"

"I’m not sure," I said.

"I’ll ask," said Daniel.

Jack was crouched beside the stereo’s speakers, pressed against them as though trying to climb
inside the music. Eyes closed, he was as tense as a drawn bow. "No, no, it’s no good," he
muttered, shaking his head. "No good."

"What’s no good, Jack? I don’t understand," said Daniel.

Jack reached out, fumbled for the volume control. The drums and cymbals rattled the windows,
our teeth, our brains. Discordant violins flayed our nerves. "No, you can’t come in!" he
screamed, hands pressed to his ears. "I won’t let you in! Get out! Get out of my head!"

Daniel grabbed Jack’s arm. Shouted. "Jack, it’s not in your head. Okay? It died." Fending Jack
off with one hand, he hit the ‘stop’ button on the cd unit. The music disappeared in mid-
cataclysm. He said, softly, "Don’t you remember? It died."

Jack turned wide, uncomprehending eyes upon him. "Then why can I still hear it?"

Hesitantly, lightly, Daniel reached his arm around Jack’s shoulders. "I don’t know," he said.
"I think maybe ... you can’t. Not really. I think maybe you’re just very tired, and kind of
upset right now. That’s all."

For a breathless moment Jack just stared at him. Then he started to shake. "Oh God," he
whispered. "Daniel? What the hell is going on here? What’s wrong with me?"

Sam turned away, hand pressed to her mouth. Teal’c closed his eyes. And I just stood there,
nailed to the hot floor by shame, and guilt, and self-loathing. In my head a screaming voice:
*Stupid, stupid, you are so stupid, you should have seen this coming, why didn’t you see this
coming, he’s falling apart in front of your eyes and you didn’t see it coming!

Daniel said, calmly, "Nothing’s wrong with you, Jack. You’re not going crazy, you haven’t lost
your mind. You’re just tired. When did you last sleep?"

Overbalancing, Jack thumped against the wall and ground his hands into his face. "I don’t know.
I don't know. What day is it?"

"It’s Saturday. Saturday night, actually."

Jack looked confused. "Saturday? How can it be Saturday, I --" He coughed, a dry rattle. "I
don’t know. I can’t sleep. I’m cold. Turn the heaters up."

Tentatively, Sam moved a little closer. Perched on the edge of a nearby armchair. "They’re up
as high as they’ll go, sir. Maybe if you had a hot shower, you’d warm up."

"That’s a good idea," said Daniel, encouragingly. "Why don’t you have a hot shower, Jack? It’ll
help you relax. Come on, I’ll give you a hand."

"Turn the music back on," said Jack, as Daniel helped him stand. "I can still hear it."

"You won’t hear it in the shower, I promise," said Daniel, and helped him up the stairs to the
bathroom. Without turning around he said, "Clean sweats from his bedroom, somebody."

"I will get them," said Teal’c.

Sam turned to me. "Janet?"

I was trembling. "I don’t know. I don’t know."

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Grabbing my arm, she shook me. "What do you mean you don’t
know? Is he having a breakdown? Is it post-traumatic stress disorder? What? You must know!"

Lifting my shirt, I blotted the sweat from my face. Couldn’t meet her eyes. "Probably a little
of both."

"So what are we going to do?"

Good question. I moved away, trying to find a cool pocket of air, failing. Where was my
customary poise? My legendary calm head in a crisis? The floor felt unsteady beneath my feet,
and the room tilted around me. When was the last time I’d make a mistake like this? I couldn’t
remember. *This can’t be happening. *"He should be admitted, put under observation. He might
hurt himself."

"No," said Sam. Grabbed my arm again and pulled me round to face her. "No, Janet. Not yet. Only
as a last resort. It would kill him, you know it would. Daniel’s right, he’s just upset. He’s
exhausted, sleep deprived. Is your field kit in the car? Is there something you can give him,
to put him out for a while?"

I couldn’t believe it, I was falling apart, I’ve seen first year residents with more self-
control than I was showing. "Yes," I said. Depsite the stifling atmosphere in the room, my
teeth were chattering.

"Give me your keys and I’ll go get it," said Sam. "You pull yourself together. He needs you,
Janet, you can’t go to pieces on him now."

I handed my car keys over. Groped my unsteady way to the couch and put my head between my
knees.

Get a grip, Janet, get a grip. She’s right, he needs you, they all need you, get a grip, you
don’t have the luxury of hysterics. You don’t have the right.

I sat up. Teal’c was standing before me, concern pulling the corners of his mouth down. "Are
you all right, Doctor Fraiser?"

I nodded. Sucked hot air deep into my lungs. "Yes, Teal’c. I’m fine. Did you find Jack’s
sweats?"

"I have given them to Daniel Jackson."

I nodded. "Good. That’s good."

"Will Colonel O’Neill be all right?"

"I don’t know. I hope so."

"It is ... distressing, to see him thus."

I nodded again. "Yes. It is."

"Doctor Fraiser, are you omniscient?"

"What?" Blinking fresh sweat out of my eyes, I stared up at him. "No. What a strange think to
ask, Teal’c."

He was regarding me gravely, hands clasped behind his back. "If you are not omniscient, then it
makes no sense to hold yourself responsible for this unfortunate turn of events."

Sudden tears prickled. I willed them away. "Teal’c, I --"

Fresh air wafted into the room as Sam came back with my field medikit. She handed it to me.
"Here. Look, Janet, Teal’c and I have a problem. SG4’s got a run of experiments going offworld,
and we offered to fill in for Jim and Sandy. They’re heading back to P9X664 at 2100. We can’t
stay here any longer, we have to get going."

"That’s okay," I said. "Daniel and I can manage."

She was distressed. "I hate to leave him like this, to leave you, but I don’t -- Teal’c? I
don’t think we have any choice."

"We do not," said Teal’c. "I, too, am reluctant to abandon O’Neill but if we withdraw our offer
of assistance to SG4 at such short notice, suspicions will be aroused."

"Exactly," said Sam. "Not to mention it’ll totally screw the experiments, and they’re pretty
important."

"It’s okay," I said. "Go. Daniel and I will be fine."

"What if we should encounter General Hammond?" said Teal’c. "What are we to tell him?"

Oh please, no. Not that, on top of everything else. "Nothing," I said. "At least, not if you
don’t have to. Just ... try not to see him."

"Yeah," said Sam. "Absolutely."

"Please tell O’Neill that we are thinking of him," added Teal’c.

"Sure," I said.

"We should be back sometime tomorrow afternoon," said Sam, and gave me a swift hug. Whispered
fiercely in my ear, "Remember. Last resort." Teal’c nodded gravely at me and then they were
gone, and I was alone in Jack’s desert dry living room. Faintly from the other end of the house
I could hear the pitter patter rainfall of the shower, and the comforting rise and fall of
Daniel’s voice.

Numb, I rummaged through my medikit till I found the tranquilisers. Dragged myself into Jack’s
surprisingly neat kitchen, found some milk that was a hairsbreadth from turning, and heated it
in a saucepan. While it warmed, I called Anita and organised her to go stay with Cass. Just as
the milk came to the boil I pulled it off the stove, crushed the tranks into it, added a tiny
dollop of whiskey, poured the concoction into a mug and set it on the kitchen table. Then I
poured myself a considerably larger dollop of whiskey and knocked it straight back.

A few minutes later, with Daniel behind him, Jack came out of the bathroom, clean, patchily
shaven, smelling of soap and warm water. I handed him the mug. "Drink this," I said. "No
arguments."

With frightening docility he took the mug from me. Swallowed the laced milk in three large
gulps, and stood there holding the empty mug like he had no idea what it was. Carefully I
unwrapped his fingers from it, and set it safely in the sink.

Muzzily he looked at me. "I’m cold," he said.

Daniel and I swapped slightly desperate glances. "Come and sit down," I suggested. "Or would
you rather go to bed?"

He shook his head. "No bed. Can’t sleep."

"Come on," said Daniel. "We’ll sit for a while then, okay? Listen to some music."

"Loud music," said Jack. "I can still hear it."

Ten minutes later he was fast sleep, curled into the armchair by the fireplace. Daniel found a
blanket, covered him with it, and I turned off most of the heaters and cracked a couple of
windows for fresh air. Tinkling into the silence, Jack’s favourite Mozart.

I said, "Sam and Teal’c had to go."

Daniel nodded. "Oh yeah. I forgot. The SG4 thing." Then he sighed, and flattened a hand across
his eyes. "God. This is a nightmare."

I cleared my throat. "I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m the doctor. I didn’t pay close enough
attention. It’s my fault. I’m sorry."

After a moment, Daniel lowered his hand. Shook his head. It was a sharp, decisive gesture. "No.
It’s not your fault. Yes, you’re the doctor. So what? I’m the friend, and I didn’t notice
anything either. We saw what he wanted us to see, Janet. It was his choice to try and do this
alone. His decision. At any time, he could have put up his hand and said, Hey guys. Drowning,
not waving. But he didn’t. And that’s Jack. It’s not our fault if he’d rather cut his own
throat with blunt scissors than ask for help."

It sounded great in theory, but it didn’t stop the flooding guilt. I should have seen beyond
what Jack wanted to what he needed. That was my job, God dammit. I was his doctor, and I’d
failed him. Failed him, failed the team, the SGC, Hammond. Failed myself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid ...

Daniel said, "Are you hungry? I’m hungry."

I shook my head. Had to wait a minute before I could speak, and even then I sounded
suspiciously husky. "I’ve eaten."

Daniel pretended not to notice. "Well, I’m starving. I think I will call for a pizza."

In the end I ended up sharing a large super-supreme with him. As we ate, and talked, and
listened to the music Jack slept on, oblivious, anchored to unconciousness by drugs and
exhaustion.

At some point, I don’t know when, I fell asleep too.

When I woke, hours later, it was to the sound of Jack screaming.

"Get it out, get it out, Jesus Christ, get it out of me, somebody! Get it out, please God,
Christ, get it out of me!"

The room was in near darkness, the lights dimmed, the heaters reduced to a whispering shimmer.
Daniel had covered me with a blanket, too. Startled, disoriented, I fell out of my chair.
Bumped my head. Ouch. Groped myself upright, tried to see in the darkness ...

Daniel got there before me.

"Jack ... Jack ... it’s okay, it’s okay."

As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I saw that Jack was on the floor too, on his knees,
clawing at the back of his neck, choking. Daniel was beside him, pulling his hands away,
holding his wrists.

"Don’t Jack, you’ll hurt yourself. Jack, it was a dream, it was only a dream, it’s okay, you’re
at home, the Goa’uld is dead, it’s gone, you’re okay."

"*Jesus, Daniel, do something, get it out of me!*"

They’d forgotten I was there. I dithered. Stay or go?

Rightly or wrongly, I stayed. Climbed back in my chair, tightened the blanket around me, and
eavesdropped.

Daniel’s voice was tight with strain. "Jack, it’s gone, okay? You were dreaming, it’s gone."

Jack stopped struggling. "Gone?" The word came out as a disbelieving whisper. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Daniel. Hesitated, then cautiously let go of Jack’s wrists. "Do you believe
me?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I believe you."

"Okay," said Daniel. "Good. At least that’s a start."

Jack slumped against the chair behind him. Daniel backed off, gave him some room. Watched him
carefully for a moment then said, casually, "You okay?"

"I’m fine," said Jack. Pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Coughed.

"Of course you are," said Daniel.

Jack coughed again. "Daniel ..."

"Jack?"

"Tonight. Before. Was I -- did I --"

"Go a little Dark Side on us?" said Daniel. "Uh ... yeah."

"Oh," said Jack, and let his forehead drop to his knees. "Shit." Then he sighed. "Okay. I can
take it. ... How dark, exactly?"

"Exactly?" said Daniel. "Uh ... let’s see. Okay. About as dark as the inside of a cow on a
moonless night."

There was a short, disbelieving silence. Then: "I give up. Where the *fuck* do you get them? I
mean, is there a book I can burn, or something?"

"Now, Jack," said Daniel, reproachfully. "I am a linguist, you know."

"A piece of limp linguine, more like it," retorted Jack, in a grumbling undertone.

"Seriously," said Daniel. "It wasn’t so bad. I mean, you weren’t hanging upside down from the
chimney stark naked, or anything. You were just ... a bit agitated. I think it was mostly sleep
deprivation."

"Yeah," said Jack. "You could call it that."

"So ... how did it start?"

Jack shrugged. "I came home. Did some stuff. I was still tired, so I crashed out for a while.
The nightmares kicked in and they didn’t stop. Nothing helped. Booze, sleeping pills, exercise.
Every time I closed my eyes, I was back there. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t get warm.
It was pretty much all downhill from there."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Jack snorted. "Not particularly. But I suppose you think I should."

"What I think doesn’t matter," said Daniel. "The decision’s yours. Whatever you want to do is
fine with me."

Another sigh, dredged from the depths. "Ever since we signed on for this gig, it’s been my
biggest fear. Getting taken. Having one of those *things* put inside me. I don’t know how
Carter didn’t go nuts. I don’t understand how Jacob could say yes. I’ll take cancer any day.
*Any* day. I don’t care that they’re Tok’ra. They’re still ... snakes."

"Yeah," said Daniel. "I know."

Jack cleared his throat. "While it was happening ... all I could think of was Kowalski. The
people he killed. The way he cried. What she said. That I’d kill you, and Carter, and Teal’c.
It was winning, you know. I couldn’t fight it. I would have killed you. All of you."

Daniel’s voice was soft in the darkness. "No, you wouldn’t have. Any more than Sha’re has
killed, or Skaara, or that poor little man trapped inside his body with Apophis. The Goa’uld
kills, Jack. The host is just one more victim."

"It’s still in me, Daniel. I can feel it." There was a passion of loathing in Jack’s voice that
I had never heard before. "It’s in me, rotting inside my flesh. I can smell it in my sweat.
Taste it in my mouth. When I look into a mirror I can see it in my eyes."

"No," said Daniel. "You can’t. It’s dead, Jack. It’s gone. It’s not in you any more. It was
never in you. Not really. Not the way Ammonet is in Sha’re, and Klorel is in Skaara. Not the
way Jolinar was in Sam. It was never a part of you. It never shared your mind or spoke with
your voice or looked at the world with your eyes. It never owned you. And if it owns you now,
it’s only because you’re letting it. The only power it has, Jack, is the power you give it."

There was silence, then, for the longest time. Then: "Oh God, Daniel," said Jack. He sounded
beyond hope, or help. Battered into submission. "What do I do now? How do I fix this?"

"Cry," said Daniel. "Scream. Howl at the moon. Something. Anything. Just -- stop pretending."

"Pretending," said Jack, eventually.

"You know what I mean."

"Dammit, Daniel, I --" Jack stopped. Cleared his throat. "I’m not you."

"You don’t have to be."

An even longer silence. Then Jack got up and left the room. I heard the click of the front door
opening, closing. In the darkness, Daniel sniffed, and rubbed his face. Eased himself on the
hard floor. Said, quietly, "Janet? Are you awake?"

Only then did I realise I was crying. Hot tears, streaming down my face. "Yes," I said,
blotting my cheeks with the blanket. "I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure what to do, I --"

"It’s okay. At least now you know. Does it help?"

"It helps," I said. Then I shook my head. "He won’t do it, you know."

Daniel shrugged. "He might. A lot’s happened since Charlie died. He’s not the man I met before
the first mission to Abydos."

"No," I admitted. "But still. He hasn’t changed that much."

"I don’t know," said Daniel. "You might be surprised."

My turn to shrug. "Anything’s possible."

For a while neither of us said anything. Then Daniel stirred. "If I go home, will you be all
right?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Then I think I’ll go home," said Daniel. "Good night, Janet. See you back at the base."

"Good night, Daniel."

The house was very large and silent after he left. For a little while, I waited for Jack to
come back in. Then, gradually, I realised that he wasn’t going to. Realised that somewhere
outside, probably on the roof, he’d finally stopped running and was facing his demons.
Confronting his fears. Maybe, for the first time in a very long time, or even for the first
time ever, was letting himself feel everything that he needed to feel in order to leave that
particular nightmare behind for good.

I hoped so.

Then I thought, well, Doctor Fraiser. If Jack can do it, then so can you. Hell, if Jack can do
it, you don’t have any choice. You have to.

And so I waged my own battle. Struggled to make peace with the mistakes that I’d made and the
lies that I’d told. The promises I’d blithely made, and blithely broken.

It hurt. I cried. But sometime between the darkness and the dawn I discovered how to forgive
myself. Not just for letting Jack down. For a lot of other things, too. Things I’d thought I
could never look at again, let alone relive, or let go. Things I’d almost forgotten. Things I
could never forget.

When I was ready, I went to find Jack.

Sure enough, he was on the roof, in his little home made observatory. As I clambered off the
ladder and onto the platform I grinned. "Oooh. Deja vu."

"No," he said, squinting up at me. "No empty bottles. Or cigarettes. Unless --"

"No," I said. "Not this time. I quit."

"Damn," he said. "Oh well."

He looked the way I felt. Emptied. Renewed. Scoured clean of all his darkness and despair. His
eyes were a little puffy, a little red. It could have meant anything. It could just have been
lack of sleep. It didn’t mean Daniel was right.

I wasn’t going to ask.

I sat down facing him, in the opposite corner. Stretched my legs out in front of me and
breathed deeply of the bright morning air. "How are you feeling?"

"Were you there last night?" he asked. "I seem to remember that you were there."

"Yes," I said. "I was there."

"Ah." He pulled a face. "Well," he said, "right now, I feel cold. For real, I mean. As in
goosebumps. See?" He held out his arm.

"Goosebumps," I agreed. "Would you like me to go get a blanket?"

He shook his head. "No. It never hurts to be reminded of what’s real, and what isn’t."

"No," I said, suddenly and deeply happy. "It never does."

"I suppose," he said idly, "that now you expect me to come lie down on your office couch and
tell you all about it."

"No," I replied without thinking, drunk with delight, my tongue uncensored. "I already know the
important stuff. We can leave it there, I think."

That’s when he realised that I’d been awake, and listening, and privy to his confession to
Daniel. He was still then, the way a glacier is still, or a dormant volcano.

I said, staring at the rose and azure sky, "Isn’t it a lovely morning?"

By degrees he relaxed. Thawed. He said, "Lovely." His tone was particularly dry.

I looked at him. Raised my eyebrows. "Are you saying you want to talk about it some more?"

"No," he said. "I’m not saying that."

I smiled. He scowled. I shrugged. He scowled.

We left it at that.

I said, "Jack ..."

His eyes were closed, his face tilted towards the rising sun. "Janet?"

"Is it still inside you?"

Dreamily he lifted one hand, and trailed his fingers through the morning light. "No," he said.
"It’s gone, now."

"Good," I said. "I’m glad."

That made him smile. "So am I."

My own smile didn’t last long. I took a deep breath. Let it out in harsh increments. "Jack ..."

He shook his head. "You saw what I wanted you to see."

"No," I said. "I saw what I wanted me to see. Because to see anything else was too painful. Too
frightening. I was wrong. You needed me to see with better eyes than that. I promise, I will
never let you down again. At least, not in that way. How ever much I might want to, I can’t
swear never to let you down at all."

He nodded. "And I’m sorry I lied to you. I can’t promise that won’t happen again ... but I’ll
do my best to see it doesn’t."

"Deal," I said. "Shake on it?"

We clasped hands. His palm was cool, dry. He said, releasing me, "What are you going to tell
Hammond?"

"Nothing," I said. "What are you going to tell him?"

He shrugged. "Everything. As usual."

Time drifted, taking us with it.

Overhead, the sky lost its rosy tint, and the pale blue deepened. In the street below us,
children shouted and laughed, fought their Sunday battles and cried their Sunday tears. Dogs
barked. Fathers started lawn mowers and mothers scented the suburban air with hotcakes and
syrup. A distant radio painted the silences with music.

Through it all, sleeping, Jack smiled.