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.

"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."

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.

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.

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 CT."

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."