AUTHOR�S NOTES: Happy Birthday, Badgergater! When the call came in to write a Jack story for a certain Jack-aficionado, I had to accept. You were the first author I ever read, the first person to warn me about the addictive qualities of fanfic, and the first person I go to when I need to get Jack�s voice anchored in my head. I hope you like what I did to your boy.

The poem/prayer used in this fic is something that came to me through my e-mail. I have no idea where it comes from, so I can�t give credit where credit is due. Suffice it to say, I didn�t write it.

Thanks, Sazz.

"There�s nothing more I can do," Janet said, draping her stethoscope around her neck. "It�s up to Colonel O�Neill now."

"Is he�is he in any pain?" Daniel asked, standing nervously at the foot of Jack�s bed.

"We have a line open on him, and we�re pushing small amounts of morphine just in case, but�Daniel, I don�t know," Janet told him, looking tired and out of steam. For three days she had struggled to keep Jack alive. She had taken him in and out of surgery, repairing a ruptured aorta, stopping a bleed in his gut that wouldn�t go away, pinning together the splintered remains of his femur. All of it for this�a barely conscious man edging ever closer to simply slipping away.

*****

"Carter."

He took another step, his gun ready in his hand.

"Teal�c?"

Eyes trained on the horizon, Jack waited for an answer. Any answer. A sound other than the wash of static coming over his radio. He depressed the button one more time, and kept his voice low, even.

"Daniel?"

Jack paced a tight perimeter, constantly scanning the area for hostiles. He had found himself in this unknown real estate only moments earlier. Found himself suddenly aware, awake, on his feet, in combat mode, and utterly devoid of answers to the question of how he had arrived then and there.

"Carter, do you copy?" Jack turned while he walked, trying to get a feel for this place, this arid, bleak, lifeless place. He pressed the button with more force than was necessary because, you never know, maybe cramming it with the heel of your hand was the incentive it needed to transmit his message further. "Dammit, Daniel, I�m not messin� around here!"

"I don�t think he can hear you," came the voice.

Jack spun around, his weapon focused on the stranger in a heartbeat.

"Pretty much useless," the stranger said, pointing at Jack�s rifle. "It won�t work here."

"You sure about that?" Jack asked sardonically.

"Yeah. Pretty sure," he said, bobbing his head, and because of this man�s casual comportment, Jack felt his own testiness bristle. "Besides, I�m not gonna hurt ya."

"Oh, yeah? And how do I know that?" Jack answered back, flipping off the safety.

The stranger took a deep breath, blew it out in one long gush, and said, "Actually, you don�t. Kind of one of those leap of faith things."

"Not a real leaper," Jack told him, a tight smirk plastered to his lips.

"Yeah, yeah, well�" he said, aimlessly scratching his brow. How could he get through to the newcomer? He didn�t really feel like easing a man with a gun�useless as it may be�into this difficult conversation. Truth be told, easing into anything was never one of his favorite maneuvers. Ever. He simply didn�t see the point. "Look, you�re just gonna have to trust me on this one, Jack."

"Yeah. Sure. Like I�m gonna�"Jack stopped. "Just exactly how�d you know my name?"

"It�s your name, isn�t it?"

"That�s not really the point, is it?"

"But I�m right, aren�t I?"

"Yes."

"Then, what�s the problem?" he asked, frustrated that he had to go so deep into a banal conversation for the simplest of answers.

"The problem is..."Jack began, and then he gave the back and forth no more time. "Nope," he said, as he waggled his finger at the stranger. "No. Nope. This isn�t real." Jack scuffed his feet in the sand and wondered why the blazing sun wasn�t scorching his skin. His experience with desert combat usually involved dust, chapped lips, sunburn and flying bullets. He licked his teeth and didn�t even feel any grit. No, he was comfortable, clean, and immensely pissed off. "Look, pal, I�m either drugged, or under some alien mind-control thing, or the Tok�ra are talking and I�m daydreaming: either way, this isn�t happening." Jack pivoted away from the stranger and grasped his radio yet again.

"You just turned your back on a potential threat, Jack," the stranger said, jogging a few yards to catch up to him. "Gotta tell ya, wouldn�t be my first move."

"But you told me yourself, you�re not gonna hurt me. Furthermore, since I don�t even really believe you�re here, I know you can�t hurt me, therefore�you are no threat. Period." Jack finished with a grand flourish of the hands, never bothering to face the man, allusion, whatever. "So, you can go on back to that scary little corner of my mind or�wherever you came from, �cause I didn�t bring my Monopoly money, so I ain�t buyin�."

"Can�t. Like to, but can�t," he said, taking his cap out of his pocket and throwing it on his head. He rounded the brim, and then shoved his hands in his pocket. "Aren�t you even the least bit curious who I�m supposed to be?"

"Nope."

The stranger ran up ahead of him and stopped in Jack�s path. "Come on! Take a guess."

Jack paused, eyed him casually, and with one finger pulled down the lower lid of his left eye. "Do you see any care in these eyes?"

"Just one guess."

"Nope."

"Okay, two."

"No."

"It�s an easy one."

"N�"

"Okay, I�ll give you a hint," he said, patting Jack�s chest. Jack looked at the hand, surprised that the ghost was actually corporeal. "I�m one of the original Mercury astronauts."

Jack waited, stared down the man dressed in a flight jumpsuit, wearing a hat with the insignia of the Mercury 7 program, and shook his head.

"Nope, don�t know. And really, don�t care," Jack said, stepping around the astronaut wannabe.

"Yes, you do. I know you do," he said.

Jack came to an abrupt halt and glared at him. "Oh, yeah? And how do you know that?"

The man shrugged. "I know you."

Jack pinched his eyes shut to narrow slits and ground his teeth together.

The man blinked and shook his head. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why do they ever? he wondered. He took a deep breath and began. "Jack, I know everything about you. I can even tell you why you�re here, and why no one is coming to find you."

"Okay," Jack finally said, shaking his finger in the man�s face. "Right there. See, right there, you got something wrong about me."

"No, I didn�t."

"Yes, you did."

"How?"

"If there�s one thing I�ve beaten into my team, it�s no one gets left behind." Jack glared at the man. An inkling, soft as a newborn�s touch, rose in Jack, and so he squashed it. Probably just gatelag, he thought. Turning from this stranger, Jack began to walk away. "Now if you really knew everything, you woulda known that."

"But they didn�t leave you behind," he said. "You left."

Jack�s chest tightened. He jutted to a halt, and turned to the man. "What did you say?"

"You left, Jack. Nobody left you."

Jack glared at him, tried to remember a reason why this could possibly make sense. Per the norm, Jack found nothing.

"This is bullshit," Jack said, yet again choosing to stride away from the man. "Where the hell are my people?"

"Around," he said, keeping himself a few steps behind.

"Well, find them, would ya, Gordo?" Jack ordered, glancing over his shoulder.

The man jumped up and clapped his hands. "I knew you knew!" he cried, running up to Jack and slapping him happily on the shoulder. "You said you didn�t know, but I knew you did!"

"Yeah, yeah, Gordon Cooper. Like, who the hell doesn�t know that?" Jack said, flipping open his watch and checking the time.

"Not as many people as you�d think," he said. "He was my dad�s favorite astronaut. Said to me when I was a little kid that I should grow up to be like Gordo Cooper."

"Your dad sounds like a peach. Now would you mind telling me where the rest of my team is?" Jack asked, taking his binoculars from his vest to give the area a good look-see.

"I told you, they�re around."

"Look, Gordo�can I call you that? �I�m sure you�ve been here--wherever the hell here is-- a long time, and you�re probably lonely and in need of a playmate, but that�s just not me, so if you�d tell me where my people are, I�ll leave you alone so you can play with yourself�by yourself�ah, hell, you know what I mean," Jack stammered, becoming increasingly frustrated with the entire situation, whether it was a figment of his imagination or not.

"You�re not listening, Jack," he said, grabbing Jack�s jacket sleeve. "They�re around, but you�re not. You left."

"Fine. Okay, so I left," Jack cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Just tell me how to get back."

"I can�t," he said, trying to make Jack understand. "You got here on your own. Only you know the way."

Jack rubbed his temples. "Is this some practical joke set up by Daniel? Huh? Is this one of those MENSA jokes, and some super genius is taping it to show at their next meeting?"

"Think about what you�re saying, Jack," he said, laying his hands out in front of him, looking at Jack askance. "A genius with a sense of humor? You do the math."

Jack thought about that, raised an eyebrow and said, "Okay, I�ll give you that one."

"Listen," he said, thrusting his hands in his pocket and continuing to walk, "I�m here to walk with you, keep you company while you�re here. I�m here to try to make the transition easier."

"The transition?" Jack said, pivoting the man around to face him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The transition, Jack," he said. "The transition between here and there."

"What here? What there?" Jack asked pointedly.

"Here," he said, pointing to the ground. "And�there." He waved haphazardly through the air.

"Well, does �here� have any aspirin, because my head�s about to explode," Jack said.

"Oh," he said, looking worried, "that�s not good. That means you�re still partly there. I mean, back there. Where you were-there. See there are two different theres. You got your there�and�there. One is the past, one is the future. Actually, it�s more like the end, but�"

Jack began to whimper.

"Okay, let me try to explain," he said. "Do you remember the accident?"

"Do I remember what accident?" Jack said, rubbing his eyes.

"The accident that brought you here," he said.

"Which here?" Jack sarcastically asked.

"There�s only one here," he said. "Do you remember how you got here?"

"No. There was an accident?"

"What�s the last thing you remember?"

"I remember wishing this dream would end," Jack peevishly said.

"Okay, before that," he said, rolling his eyes.

Jack pulled off his cap, scratched his head and grimaced. "I remember�I remember�" He threw his hat back on his head, pulled it down in the front and the back. "You know what? Why don�t we skip this part, and you just go ahead and tell me what I�m supposed to remember?"

"We usually don�t proceed that way," he said, hemming and hawing. "We like for the transitioner to remember how he came to be in transition on his own."

"Well, humor me," Jack cried.

The stranger backed off and accepted the terms of agreement, such as they were. "Okay, so you were in your truck�sweet ride, by the way," he said. Jack motioned for him to move it along. "Okay, so you were driving along, and another driver pulled out in front of you."

"Probably in a Grand Cherokee," Jack muttered, voicing his disdain for Jeep drivers.

"Actually, it was a Mountaineer," he said. "You have an F-250. A Grand Cherokee wouldn�t have done much to that truck."

"True," Jack said.

"Anyhow, the Mountaineer pulled out, you didn�t see it, and�"

"Now wait," Jack said, holding the stranger�s shoulder. "I didn�t see it? How did I not see a tank? Nighttime? Blind spot? What?"

"Actually, you just weren�t paying attention," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Now that I don�t buy," Jack said, turning from him, and shaking his head.

"Don�t worry. The other driver was ticketed," he said.

"Oh, that makes it all right then, doesn�t it?" Jack acerbically said.

"I�m just trying to point out that it wasn�t your fault," the stranger told him, starting to get frustrated with Jack�s egocentric interpretation of everything.

"Okay, let me see if I have this�story straight," Jack said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I got blindsided by a $40,000 SUV, but it wasn�t my fault, and because of that accident I�m stuck here. Transitioning."

"Exactly," he said, slapping Jack on the shoulder.

"But if it wasn�t my fault, shouldn�t I be fighting instead of transitioning? I mean, correct me if I�m wrong, but I�m inferring from this conversation that my transitioning is contingent upon my desire to transition, and not upon the conditions that brought about that�transition," Jack said, and then closed his eyes against the throb in his head.

"Boy, that had to take a lot out of the ol� melon," the stranger said, sympathizing with the amount of energy Jack had to expel in order to work through that conundrum.

"You have no idea," Jack whined.

"Well, you�re right. It�s based on your desire to transition," he said, taking the lead down the long stretch of sand. "The accident was bad, but you�ve had worse."

"How bad?" Jack asked fearfully.

"Torn aorta, internal bleeding, fractured femur," he said.

Jack nodded impatiently. "Yeah, yeah, I�m sure. But�what about my truck?"

"Oh, Jack," the stranger said, rubbing his arm in consolation, "I�m sorry. It didn�t make it."

"My truck," Jack whimpered. "I love that truck."

"I know," the stranger said, sympathetic to Jack�s pain. "F-250 half-ton. Dual tone paint. Extended cab�"

"Ten disc CD changer," Jack wistfully added.

"I feel for you," he said, letting his head droop. Both men took a moment to show the proper respect for such a sad event.

"Oh, hey," Jack said, "you said it was a problem that my head hurts. That that shouldn�t be happening. What�s the deal with that?"

"Right," he said, scratching his cheek. "Okay, I think what that means is you want to transition, but there�s a part of you that is unsure."

"Like maybe my head?" Jack crowed.

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"Okay, so I�m going to make a statement here," Jack said, coming to a complete stop. He puffed out his chest and bellowed, "I hereby state that I, Jack O�Neill, do not want to transition, especially if that means I�m�dead. Which really would suck." He waited for a response. He got none.

"Nice try, camper," the stranger said.

"You just call me camper?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"One of those �trying to reach you at your level� sort of things," the stranger said.

"Well, do me a favor and don�t try to reach me at any level," Jack ordered. He rested his arm on the top of his weapon and continued walking.

"You want to know what you were thinking about just before you were hit?" the stranger said.

"You don�t really do quiet and pensive, do ya?" Jack asked, glaring at him.

"Nope, too much like my mom," he said, walking besides Jack.

"I have an ex-wife just like you," Jack confided.

"Do ya, now?"

"Oh, like you didn�t already know that."

"Yeah, you got me there. Just trying to be conversational."

"Well, stop!"

"You were thinking about decisions and responsibilities."

"I think about that all the time," Jack informed him, striding through the sand.

"Not your decisions and responsibilities, but someone else�s," he said. "Do you remember where you were before the accident?"

Jack threw his hands in the air. "Can we just stop with the �This is Your Life� episode? No, I don�t remember, and even if I did, it wouldn�t be any of your goddamn business, so back off!"

"You do remember," he said, halting, lightly impeding Jack�s progress.

"So what if I do?"

"It�s important."

"To whom?"

"To you." The stranger grabbed Jack by the shoulders and implored him with the weight of his eyes. "It�s important that you remember. It�s important for all of us."

"Who are �us�?" Jack wanted to know, finding it harder to squash that certain niggling in his gut.

"You know. You can feel it." The man bore into Jack�s eyes and into his heart, and Jack felt defenseless for the first time in a long time. "Where were you before the accident? You remember, don�t you?"

Jack stared at him, pursed his lips, pulled in the corners of his eyes, and said, "Yes. I do."

"You were with him," he said softly, nodding. "You were there, and questions you never had kept pestering you."

"You have no right," Jack warned him, jabbing his finger in the stranger�s chest. Who was this�this ghost to pry into Jack�s personal business? How was it any of his concern whether Jack had been visiting Charlie�s grave? Jack glared at the man and growled, "Drop it."

"It never occurred to you that it might not be your fault," he said, pressing the issue.

Jack ground his teeth together and pivoted. "I don�t need to listen to this anymore."

"It never occurred to you that the responsibility might rest elsewhere," he said, not letting go of Jack�s arm.

Jack doubled back and almost pounced on the man. "That�s enough!"

"So when your accident happened, you had the chance to�forget," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Just let it all fall away."

Jack stared hard at the man, seething with anger that he knew of Jack�s inner most thoughts. Why did he think he could verbalize those anguished thoughts, those rancid questions? What kind of place was this that exposed the worst your mind had to offer and call it "transitioning"?

"I don�t want to think about it," Jack said, his voice sparking with acrimony. He waved off the man and marched away from him.

"You don�t have a choice. That�s what this place is all about�thinking about those things, confronting them, coming to terms with them. Hopefully, accepting them," he said.

Jack spun on his heels, grabbed the man by the collar and began to shove him through the sand. "And what are you transitioning through? Huh? What deep dark secrets that rip you up at night are you dealing with? Come on, Gordo, tell me that!"

"I�ve already been through the process, Jack," he said, tripping while Jack angrily pushed him. "I�m just here to travel with you."

"I don�t need a guide, Gordo. I don�t need anyone," Jack said, shoving the man into the sand.

"Are you sure?"

"Go to Hell."

"That�s an option."

"Then take it."

"I chose not to."

"Then maybe I�ll take it."

"You might."

Jack abruptly stopped and, against his better judgement, glanced at the stranger.

"I wouldn�t choose it, though, Jack. Pretty tough on the back," he said, grimacing.

Jack blinked nervously. "I�m okay with my concept of who was responsible and who was at fault."

"I�d argue with that," the stranger said, rising to a kneeling position. "Otherwise, you wouldn�t be here."

"Look," Jack said, washing a hand across his tired face, "I�ve spent a long time coming to terms with my grief. I�ve gone through whole cases of whiskey coming to terms with my responsibility. I�m okay with that. It�s enough."

"Is it?" he said, eyeing him compassionately. He brushed the sand from his palms and stood up, showing Jack with his open chest and confident stance that he wasn�t going to let things go so easily. "Is it enough?"

"Yes, it is."

"Let me ask you something, Jack," he said, stepping into Jack�s quiet personal space. "Do you have enough to not accept this transition?"

Jack shook his head, blinked in confusion. A spark of memory lit in his brain. "�Scuse me?"

"You said you want to return to there. Do you have enough?" he asked, shifting his focus across Jack�s eyes. Come on. Hear me�

"I�I don�t know what you�re talking about," Jack said.

"Do you have enough to find your way back to there? To keep you satisfied until you come back here?"

"Do I have enough what?" Jack asked quietly, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

"You have to have enough, Jack," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Obviously you ended up here because you need more."

"What are you saying?" Jack whispered.

The stranger motioned to the sky. "Enough sun?"

"Sun? As in sunshine?"

"As in enough sun to keep your attitude bright," he said, a sweet smile creeping into his lips. "Do you have enough sun, Jack?"

Jack�s heart stopped beating for a moment. His mouth slung open in stunned comprehension. "Stop it."

"Do you have enough rain?" he asked, taking off his hat, letting the gentle breeze caress his sandy blonde hair.

"Knock it off, would ya?"

"Jack, DO you have enough rain?" The stranger�s expression began to crumble, to change, and in that metamorphosis, Jack crumbled as well.

"To appreciate the sun more?" Jack asked, surprised he even remembered the response. It had been years. Jack gazed upon the stranger�s hazel eyes. Hazel, like Sara�s, like�

"I wish you enough, Jack," the stranger said, his eyes becoming moist. "I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive. I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger. I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting."

"I wish�" Jack interrupted, clearing the lump from his throat, "I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess. I wish you enough �hello�s� to get you through the�the�"

The stranger nodded, sending a lone tear across his cheek. "To get you through the final �goodbye.�"

Jack�s nose prickled with tears. He shook his head, overwhelmed by the prayer that his family had offered before each departure. It was a prayer they�Jack, Sara and Charlie�had learned together. It was a prayer he had forgotten long ago.

"How do you know those words?" Jack asked quietly, and even as he asked it, Jack knew the answer.

The stranger cocked his head to the side, smiled sadly at Jack, and said, "Because my mom and dad used to say it to each other every time my dad went on a mission."

Jack�s heart ached. He felt his breaths coming in short gasps. He shook his head, not wanting to believe the man, not wanting to believe that which was true.

"Do you have enough?" he asked, touching Jack�s heart. "Do you have enough in here?"

Jack placed his hand over the stranger�s and nodded. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Sometimes." Undone by the wash of latent emotions, Jack lowered his face and stared at the small hand under his large, gloved hand, over his thumping heart. "Sometimes I do."

"You can�t go back there unless you do," he said. He placed his other hand, with its smudged palm and little-boy fingers, on top of Jack�s. "And there�s another thing: Do you have enough to accept that maybe it wasn�t your fault? That maybe, maybe I was angry and I did something I wasn�t supposed to do?" he said, biting his lip nervously.

"I told you a hundred times never to touch my gun, Charlie," Jack said, clutching the hands, feeling for the smooth skin, the ragged fingernails. "Why�d you go and do that?"

"Because I was eight and I was angry. And I�m sorry," he said, slowly stepping into Jack, drawing his arms around him, nestling his face in the softness of his father�s neck. "I�m sorry, Dad."

Jack was shocked. His lips trembled. His arms splayed out to the side, unsure of his next move. His son. His only child, in his arms. How? Why question? Jack cloaked his crying son in his embrace, and shed a few of his own tears on those eight-year-old shoulders.

"This is your transition, Dad," Charlie whispered. "You have to decide if you have enough to go back. You have to decide if you have enough�to forgive me."

Jack wept, breathed in the familiar scent of Charlie�s boyish skin. "I don�t know, Charlie. I don�t know if I can."

"Please, Dad. You have to forgive me."

"It�s not that easy, sport," Jack whispered back. "I forgive you, then I have to believe you were wrong. God, Charlie, I don�t wanna�I can�t�"

"But it was my fault, Dad. I�m sorry, Dad," Charlie said, drawing his young arms more tightly around Jack. The weight of his sorrow and his passion to sink into his father�s embrace nearly toppled Jack. He leaned back, bracing himself, gathering up his son more urgently. "I made a mistake, and I�m sorry."

"Don�t, Charlie."

"I knew I wasn�t allowed to touch your gun."

"Charlie, please�"

"But I did. I took it out, and I held it in my hand."

"God, don�t�"

"I didn�t mean to point it at�"

"Didn�t I warn you about that gun?" Jack asked, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him away. "Didn�t I tell you what could happen if you played with it?"

"Yeah, you did. A hundred times," Charlie said, wiping his hand under his nose. His long bangs fell into his eyes.

"Then why did you do it?" Jack asked, shaking him, blistering him with his sad, mournful brown eyes. "Why did you get it out of its box?"

"Because I didn�t believe anything could ever happen. I didn�t think. I was eight. How could I know?" he cried, lowering his eyes in shame.

"You could have known because I told you, Charlie," Jack cried. He searched his son�s watery eyes for remorse. He found buckets of it, but Jack needed satisfaction. He needed to fill a burning hole in his psyche. "You should have just taken my word for it. You should have listened to me! Why didn�t you listen to me?!"

Charlie let out a sob, and his body trembled with sorrow. "I�m sorry, Dad. It was my fault."

"Damn right, it was your fault," Jack said, his voice cracking.

"I know."

"I told you over and over."

"I know."

"Why didn�t you listen to me?"

"Because I was a little boy."

"Not good enough, Charlie," Jack cried, and when he saw the pain, the guilt in his young child�s tears, Jack clutched Charlie to his chest.

"I�m sorry, Dad."

"I forgive you. I do."

"It was my fault."

"It�s okay, Charlie. It�s okay," Jack whispered, kissing his son�s hair. "It�s okay."

"I love you, Dad. I�m sorry."

Jack buried his face against his son�s neck. "I love you, too, Charlie."

Jack�s anger diffused, his burden lightened. He cloaked Charlie in his arms, completely encased his small body with his embrace, and showered him with tears of regret, tears of loss, tears of forgiveness.

"Do you have enough?" he asked, pushing back to look deeply into Jack�s eyes. "Do you have enough to go back there?"

Jack locked eyes with his son.

From a great distance, Jack heard his name being called. He felt a pressure against his hand, a tightening around his fingers.

"It�s okay, Dad. I�m fine. I have enough."

"Jack? You in there?" Daniel called, and Charlie smiled.

Jack plunged the depths of Charlie�s shining eyes. One empty space filled; a new emptiness created. "What if I�"

"I�m always here, Dad," Charlie reminded him, touching his heart.

Emptiness filled, Jack smiled back. "Then I guess I have enough."

"Jack?" came the voice, closer, combined with a squeeze of the hand.

"No guessing, Dad. You have to be sure."

"Wake up, Jack."

"Dad?" Charlie said, stepping away from Jack. "It�s time to decide."

Jack reached for Charlie�s hands, touched the tough little fingers, the scraped palm, and smiled. "I know."

"It�s time for you to deny the transition from there to here," he said, grinning at him. "Do you have enough?"

Jack touched the face he remembered so well�the tiny nose, the freckled cheeks, the precious spaces between permanent and baby teeth. He nodded. "I do."

"Then go back, Dad. We�ll meet again," Charlie told him. He reached forward and kissed Jack�s cheek, wrapped his arms around Jack�s neck, one more time.

"Thank you, Charlie," Jack sighed, holding tight to his child. "Thank you."

"Jack? He was here a minute ago," Daniel said.

A faint light began to appear in Jack�s vision.

"Colonel O�Neill? Can you hear my voice?" Janet asked.

"Go ahead, Dad. Answer her."

"Doc," Jack whispered.

"That�s right. Can you open your eyes for me, Colonel?" she asked, watching the monitors next to Jack�s bed.

Jack peeled open his eyes and tried to focus. His head throbbed. He pulled his hand up and touched it.

"Colonel, do you know where you are?" Janet asked, shining the penlight in his eyes.

"The hospital."

"Do you remember what happened?"

Jack cleared his throat, swallowed against his painfully dry throat, and whispered, "There was an accident."

"Right," she said, "but you�re going to be all right now. You have some broken bones and a nice new set of scars."

Edges began to fade, sand began to shift, and yet his smile remained just as radiant. "Until I see you again," Charlie said, waving. "I hope you always know you gave me enough."

"I have enough," Jack whispered.

Janet nodded. "I�m sure you do have enough scars, and now you have more."

Daniel scowled. For some reason, he questioned whether Jack was talking about scar tissue. He leaned over Jack, and quietly asked, "Jack, what is it you have enough of?"

Jack�s eyelids fluttered for a moment before closing. He licked his lips, and whispered, "I have enough�until I see�him."

Daniel glanced over to Janet, wondered if she were thinking the same thing. The expression on her face told him she was.

"Colonel, why don�t you rest," Janet said. "There are a lot of people who would like to say hello when you�re feeling up to it."

"I�d like that," Jack whispered, "Lots of hellos." His answer caught Daniel and Janet by surprise.

"Jack?" Daniel said, grabbing Jack�s hand. "How�s the pain?"

"Almost gone," Jack said, closing his eyes. "Daniel?"

"Yeah, Jack."

"It wasn�t my fault," he said, and a tear trickled over his temple and fell unceremoniously onto his pillow.

"I know it wasn�t, Jack," Daniel told him. "You were blindsided. It wasn�t your fault."

"I have enough," he whispered.

A honey-scented wisp of a child breathed through his mind, glancing now and again at his proud father. And the father smiled.

It was enough.

the end

Happy Birthday, Mary. God bless you today and always. I hope you have enough.