Views of the Abyss: Dr. Fraiser

AUTHOR: Badgergater

EMAIL:[email protected]

STATUS: Complete

CATEGORY: Missing scenes/sequel to S6 episode abyss

SPOILERS: Abyss

SEASON / SEQUEL: S6 episode Abyss

RATING: PG

PAIRING: None

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

SUMMARY: Jack’s return from the Abyss, as seen through Janet's eyes

DISCLAIMER: This story is written entirely for entertainment and is not intended as an infringement against the copy written material that belongs solely to Showtime, MGM/UA, Gekko Films, SciFi Channel, et al. I'm only playing with their characters and will return them as soon as the story is finished. The following story is the property of the author and is not to be copied, or published without the express, written consent of the author.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Part of my Views of the Abyss series

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dr. Fraiser to the Gateroom.”

The voice was General Hammond’s.

I dropped what I was doing and ran, praying.

The Gateroom door stood open, the wormhole activated, the iris still in place. General Hammond was pacing at the foot of the ramp, looking anxious.

“Sir?” the grim look on his face worried me.

“We just got a message from the Alpha Site. Major Griff’s team. They have Colonel O’Neill.”

My heart thumped. Thank God! But, then, why did the General look like he’d just had bad news instead of good? And why were we standing here with the iris still closed? “Sir? That’s good news isn’t it?” After all, Colonel O’Neill had been missing for days now, since he’d disappeared from the Tok’ra base.

His voice softened. “I hope so, Doctor. I hope so. But…” he paused, the worried frown returning. “Major Griff said the Colonel isn’t acting… normal.”

“The symbiote?”

“I don’t know. Griff didn’t give details. But I wanted you here when he came through the gate. We may have to sedate Colonel O'Neill. Apparently, he got rather belligerent and combative with Griff’s team when they attempted to restrain him…”

“Restrain him?”

“Doctor, you know that’s standard operating procedure when missing personnel return from offworld, especially from a location known to be occupied by the Goa’uld. We cannot afford to trust them until they’ve been examined and proven free of outside influences. Like a Goa’uld.”

“But, Sir...” We’d sent the Colonel to the Tok’ra to be implanted with a symbiote to save his life. There was no way I could tell a Tok’ra symbiote from a Goa’uld symbiote.

“No buts, doctor. Not even for Colonel O’Neill.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered reluctantly, seeing the regret in my CO’s eyes. I knew how much the General thought of O’Neill. Most everyone on the base felt the same about the irascible leader of SG-1.

We’d almost lost him twice in just a few days, first to that virus we’d picked up in Antarctica, then his disappearance and assumed capture by a Goa’uld. His own teammates were still out with the Tok’ra looking for him, in fact, they were not even here to welcome him home. Although he wasn’t going to get much of a welcome, it seemed, as I noted the beefed up security teams poised at the base of the Stargate platform, guns raised and waiting.

Hammond waved a hand up towards the control room, where I could see Sgt. Davis. “Open the iris and tell them to come on home.”

Walter nodded and keyed his mike, sending a signal through the Stargate to the offworld MALP. “Major Griff, you have the okay to come through with Colonel O’Neill.”

I stared at the wormhole, fear and hope warring inside me as I waited.

Major Griff appeared first, followed by two of his team flanking O’Neill like bookends.

I studied the Colonel intently. He was dressed in clean BDUs that seemed to fit him worse than usual, had he lost that much weight in just a few days? His hands were cuffed in front of him, and there was an angry look on his face. As he stalked down the ramp, I could see that his shirt was damp around his neck and underarms, and his gray hair was darkened with sweat.

“Well, it’s about time,” O'Neill snarled, turning to Griff and raising his hands. “Mind taking these off now?”

“Not just yet, Colonel,” Hammond spoke up.

“What, don’t you recognize me?” the Colonel’s voice was tight and angry.

“Of course we do, Jack. And we’re glad to have you back…”

“And you’re showing it so well,” he waved his bound hands at the double contingent of Security Forces arranged in front of the gate. “Invited extras to the welcome home party I see…” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“You know procedure, Colonel,” Hammond emphasized the rank. “I can’t release you until you’re cleared.”

“The snake is gone,” O’Neill snapped angrily.

I sucked in my breath in surprise. “Kanan? The Tok’ra? Gone?”

“Riiiiight. The Tok’ra. Just another damn snake. The bastard hijacked me and left me high and dry…” the newly returned officer ranted.

Hammond’s voice was soothing. “If that’s the case, Colonel, we can release you as soon as you’re medically cleared.” The General was trying to reassure his second, but I could sense Hammond’s growing unease.

I knew his worried look was mirrored on my own face . There was something very wrong here. Sure, I didn’t expect the Colonel to walk back into the SGC with a smile on his face. He’d been through a traumatic experience, even without his disappearance, but this… His actions were definitely wrong, off-kilter, abnormal. And if he no longer carried the Tok’ra symbiote, there was no obvious reason for his actions.

“If? If?” O'Neill's voice had risen in tone until he was nearly shouting. “If?” He’d stepped forward, glaring at the General. “You were the one who set that up, weren’t you? Oh, hey, Colonel, we need to help the Tok’ra. Do your duty, Colonel. Let them snake you and you’ll be just fine, Colonel. Just another sacrifice for your country, Colonel, another pound of flesh for the cause, or in this case, all 180 pounds of my flesh.”

“Colonel O’Neill, calm down.” Hammond hadn’t retreated. “Lower your voice.”

“I’ll raise my voice if I damn well please!”

“Colonel!” The General’s voice boomed, then subsided to a harsh command. “You will go to the infirmary. Now. You will submit yourself to whichever tests Dr. Fraiser deems necessary, and you will co-operate with her. Those are your orders. Is that clear, Colonel?”

O’Neill glared at his CO as two of the SF’s grabbed his arms and turned to march him out into the hallway.

As I turned to follow, Major Griff put his hand on my arm. “Doc?” he said, holding out a bundle of brown cloth. “We gave the Colonel some clean clothes when he showed up. He was wearing this when he came through the gate.” The Major unfolded the cloth and I gasped, my eyes flying up to meet Griff’s and then the General’s.

“He’s hurt?” He hadn’t moved like he was injured in any way. And if he didn’t still have the Tok’ra, he should be, considering the tattered condition of the shirt.

“No. My medic gave him a quick once over. Didn’t find a mark on him.”

I took the cloth. There were holes in the shirt, some small slits, some large roundish holes with rough edges. I’d seen enough to know the stains were blood, a lot of blood. Way too much for those wounds to have been superficial.

My eyes followed the Colonel’s lean form down the hallway as I heard his voice complaining. “Hurry it up, huh? I’d like to get out of here before the rest of my hair goes gray.”

I looked from the tall figure walking away down to the bloodsoaked cloth in my hands.

“Find out what happened to him,” Hammond ordered.

“Yes, Sir.”

*******

I hurried down the corridor. O’Neill and his escort had reached the infirmary by the time I caught up with them. The Colonel was sitting on an exam table, his long legs hanging over the side, swinging restlessly back and forth. His fingers were playing with the buttons on his shirt, his eyes darting from side to side.

Several of my staff were hovering in the doorway, whispering.

“Is the Colonel… all right?” Nurse Carroll asked. “He’s not…”

“I don’t know anything yet, Lee,” I told her. “Clear these people out of here, would you please? He doesn’t need an audience. This *is* a medical facility.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she answered.

I stepped into the room and O’Neill’s head snapped around to stare at me. “Hey, Doc.”

The words were right, but the tone was all wrong, off, no warmth, just words.

“It is good to have you back, Sir,” I said, pasting a smile on my face.

“Good to be back,” he answered, again the right words, but rushed, as if he were answering by rote.

“Well, let’s get the basics over with first shall we?” I stepped closer, taking his wrist in my hand to check his pulse. “Any injuries to report, Colonel?”

“Nope. Not a thing. Not so much as a broken nail.”

“None? You were captured and escaped and nothing?”

“No.” He ducked his head. “No. No, no, no, I said no.” The anger was back in his tone.

“Okay, Colonel,” I soothed.

“Can’t you take these off?" He raised his cuffed hands. "The goons are still here,” he pointed at the pair of SFs who stood just inside the doorway.

“Just a few more minutes, Sir.” I was trying to listen to his heart and lungs but he was fidgeting even more than usual. “Colonel, I need you to sit still…”

“Yeah, sure.”

I nodded, taking his vitals. His pulse, blood pressure and heart rate were unusually high for him. His temperature was also elevated slightly, and, even in the regulated atmosphere of the base, he was sweating slightly. Still, that could be the whole homecoming on top of the stress of the past few days Then again, it could be something else entirely.

“You said the Tok’ra is gone, Sir?” I asked, palpitating the back of his neck.

“Yes, gone. Like he was never here…”

Oh oh. Denial. “But he was, Colonel…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You don’t have any memories of the blending?”

“No. None.” He answered quickly. “Kanan didn’t stay long. I guess he got the hint he wasn't welcome.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How long?”

“Couple days. I don’t know. I was unconscious or whatever the whole time. I woke up when the little slimeball bugged out, back on that planet…” he tried to wave a hand, found it hard with the cuffs still in place. “Aren’t you done yet?”

“No, Colonel, I’m not. You know the drill. MRI next…”

“And then you‘ll take off the jewelry and send the Hardy Boys off to play elsewhere?”

“As soon as General Hammond okays it, yes.”

*******

I put him through the complete battery of tests, everything I could think of that might help me figure out what was going on, because something certainly was.

Somewhere between the MRI and the PETscan, and in the midst of another rant from the Colonel about the sadism of the medical profession, the other three members of SG-1 showed up.

“O’Neill has returned?” Teal'c asked.

"How is he?" "Jonas inquired.

"Can we see him?” Sam queried.

I held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Yes, he’s back.”

“He’s healed? The virus is gone?” Jonas asked.

“All the tests so far indicate that, yes, the virus is completely gone.”

Sam nodded. “And the symbiote?”

“He says Kanan is gone, too,” I answered. “Look, go in and say hello, then you’ll have to wait outside until I’m done with the rest of these tests."

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure. It may be just the accumulated stress of all of this… being ill, the implantation, being imprisoned by Ba’al. I don’t know. I haven’t had time to finish his exam yet. So just a minute, say hello, then out.” I ordered.

Carter stepped up toward the bed her CO was sitting on, and I saw the frown disappear and her face light up. “The Tok’ra *is* gone, Sir,” she said with surprise.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” Turning to me, the Colonel added, “So, Doc, now that Tok'ra girl here has verified I'm still me, I can go, Right?”

“No, Sir. More tests.”

Anger flashed across his face. “Damn it Doc, I’m not a snake, not a Tok’ra or a Goa’uld. These two would know,” he waved at Teal’c and Sam. “So what’s the holdup?”

“Colonel, you will stay here until I declare you fit to leave.”

He mumbled something under his breath, but sat back down on the bed as I shooed the others out the door, following them out into the hallway.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam asked, worried. "I can tell the Tok'ra is gone but, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that wasn't the Colonel at all."

“I don’t know, Sam. Yet. But the important thing is that he’s here and we can help him. By the way, you were right about him being held in Ba’al’s fortress, and your plan to let Lord Yu attack apparently worked to free him. That’s about all we know so far. Now go, let me finish here. I'll let you know when I've got some answers.”

Reluctantly, Jonas and Sam started for the door. Teal’c was hanging back. “O’Neill does not seem to be himself.”

“No, Teal’c, I’m afraid he doesn’t.”

“The symbiote *is* gone.”

“I can’t even find any remnants. It’s almost as if the blending never occurred, but we know it did. The only physical evidence I’ve found so far is a small scar at the back of his throat.”

“Has he told you what happened?” Jonas asked.

“No. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it. Maybe it’s the trauma of the whole procedure, we know he didn’t want to do it. We know his attitude toward the symbiotes and the Tok’ra.”

“The Tok’ra are going to demand to know what happened to Kanan,” Sam added.

“Yes.”

The Major looked in again at her CO. “He just doesn’t seem right. It's almost like he’s drugged.”

“That was the first thing I checked. But no drugs, no unknown substances are showing up in his blood chemistry. Believe me, I’ve tested for everything, thinking maybe that Goa'uld used something new on him. But if Ba'al did drug him, none of the tests to date are showing any residues. His vital signs are all slightly elevated, which could be the result of his agitation.” Or something else entirely, I thought worriedly.

Suddenly, I heard a crash from inside the room.

I ran, Jonas, Teal’c and Sam on my heels.

O’Neill was standing, glaring at one of the nurses, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. “Would you be careful! Goddamn, that hurt!" he yelled at the cringing nurse. Spinning back toward me he snapped, "Can't you people just hurry up and get this over with?”

“Do you have somewhere you need to go, Colonel?” I asked.

“Yes. Home,” he snarled. “I’ve had enough of this place. I'm tired of being poked and prodded. Tok’ra, Goulds, doctors, nurses,” he spat, “sticking a man full of holes with needles and knives and…” he went suddenly silent, as if he’d revealed something he hadn’t meant to say. “I want to go home,” he insisted stubbornly.

This didn’t seem like the time to tell him that there was no way in hell I was letting him leave my infirmary until we’d figured out what had happened to him.

“Colonel, let’s just get your tests finished.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s,” the sarcasm was back.

He seemed more and more agitated by the minute, totally unable to keep still. We had a hard time getting a decent scan because he was moving around constantly, like an impatient three year old on a sugar high.

I took his vitals again and if anything, they seemed further off the norm than when we'd started the exam less than an hour ago.

“Colonel, is something bothering you?”

“Just this place and all these stupid tests.”

“I know you don’t like them, but they are necessary for your own good.”

“Sure. For my own good. Like putting a snake in my head.” There was a bitter edge to the sarcasm now.

“Colonel, without the Tok’ra’s healing abilities, you’d be dead…”

“Maybe that would have been better.” For a brief moment, his distressed brown eyes made contact with mine, and what I saw frightened me to the core. Then quickly, he looked away again. “When can I get out of here? Huh? When?”

“I’m still waiting on some test results, Sir. So why don’t you tell me what happened while we wait?”

Just then, General Hammond walked in. ‘Yes, Jack. What happened?”

“What happened? I was coerced by the two of you and my own team,” there was hurt in his look, “too sick to know what I was doing and you talked me into letting the freakin’ snakes put one of them into my head. That’s the last thing I remember. Then, he just took off, without asking me I might add,” O’Neill was on his feet, pacing. “Used my body to go off on some wild goose chase…”

“After what?” The General wanted to know.

“Some woman, some *woman* he’d left behind.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t tell me. I was just the transport…”

“But, Colonel, symbiotes and host know…” I reminded him.

His eyes flashed angrily in the brief moment they focused on my face. “I don’t know a damn thing. I was unconscious, remember? Last thing I remember was being here, dying. Too sick to know where I was and what I was doing, and then it all went dark. Next thing I know, I’m lying in the mud on some godforsaken planet, a smokin’ hole in my back, about to be dragged away by the Jaffa. Then there’s this scumsucking gould trying to get me to tell him things I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to shout, Colonel,” Hammond insisted.

O'Neill ignored us, still facing away from me, moving jerkily, frenetically. “Damn worthless Tok'ra gets me captured and just abandons me without a clue… Leaves me there for the stinkin’ snake.”

“You were taken to Ba’al’s fortress?” The General was pushing to find out more details.

“Oh, yeah. Nice little place. All the comforts of your average dungeon. Lovely cells. A bit lacking in décor. Or hospitality.”

“What did Ba’al want to know?” Hammond inquired.

O'Neill waved his still cuffed hands through the air. “Why I was there. What mission I was on. What Tok’ra I was… as if I was some freakin’ Tok’ra by choice."

“So he asked you questions,” the General prompted.

“Yes. Damn it, that’s what I said!”

“Calm down, Colonel,” he ordered.

O’Neill glared, lowering his voice but still pacing, his hands clasping and unclasping.

“How did he ask?”

“Very politely,” the sarcastic answer.

“How, Colonel?”

“How does anyone ask questions?” O’Neill snapped. "He opens his mouth and says the words. In that lovely snake's voice."

“And what did he do when you wouldn’t answer?”

I caught the split second of hesitation. “Sent me back to my cell.”

“That was it?” Hammond asked incredulously.

O’Neill didn’t answer.

“Jack…” the General’s voice softened.

O’Neill spun around to face his CO, his face taut with anger, spitting out each word. “He asked. I couldn’t answer. He sent me back to my cell to think about it.”

“He did more than that.”

“I didn’t tell him anything, only the damned Tok’ra’s name,” O’Neill sounded almost frantic now. “Kanan’s name. That’s all I told. It was all I knew. He believed me.”

Maybe Ba’al believed him, but I didn’t. And when I looked over at the General, it was obvious Hammond didn’t either.

“Jack…”

“That's it. That's all I know. I'm done. Out. I want out. I need to get the hell out of here and away from people asking me QUESTIONS!” His eyes were wild. Suddenly, he charged toward the door. The SF’s tackled him, the Colonel going down under their bulk, his fists swinging wildly, legs kicking, shouting incoherently as they rolled across the floor, sending IV poles and equipment trays crashing to the floor.

The General reached for the phone to call for further assistance but before he got there, Teal’c arrived, grabbing O’Neill, hauling the writhing Colonel off of the SFs. It took all three of them to hold the Colonel down.

“Doctor?” Hammond turned to me. “What the hell just went on here?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“Well, find out.”

Quickly, I administered a sedative to the still struggling man. Gradually, O’Neill began to relax, his manic struggles slowing, his words slurring as he fought the drug. His eyes flickered, and focused on me, and for a second I saw not just anger, but fear.

“It’s okay, Colonel,” I promised.

The brown eyes slid closed, the body going still and quiet.

“Okay, get him up on the bed…” I ordered.

When they started to lift him, O’Neill roused once more, feebly writhing as the bleary brown eyes fought to open once more. His lips were moving. I bent down close to hear the mumbled words.

“Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t put me back in there. Let me go. Let me die. Please…” the words faded away as his head lolled backwards.

Back in there? Where? His cell? Let him die? What had Ba’al done to him?

********

I had Colonel O’Neill placed in an isolation room, heavily sedated. All his vitals were abnormally high. Even with the medication he was restless, and reluctantly I’d had to order restraints, though I’d insisted they be kept buckled as loosely as possible.

Over the next several hours, as his final test results came in, I was even more baffled. There were no drugs in his system, all the scans showed clear; there was no reason for his hyper-alert, agitated state. Something, though, was nagging at the back of my mind, something vaguely familiar, like I’d seen these symptoms before, long ago.

I wracked my brain, trying to remember. Over the last five years, I’d encountered so many odd ailments, illnesses and reactions, that I just couldn’t picture what this was.

“Colonel, I wish you could tell me what’s wrong,” I said softly.

Looking once more at the lab reports, I was still puzzled: elevated pulse, respiration, blood pressure and temperature. Liver function, kidney function and electrolytes were abnormal. His myoglobin levels indicated muscle deterioration… from the virus perhaps? A relapse?

That didn’t fit. I’d checked and re-checked and the symptoms didn’t quite match. There were no antibodies in his system, the virus *was* definitely gone. So what unknown had he encountered out there?

Or was it something obvious? It was almost like he was going through withdrawal. Withdrawal from the symbiote? Sam had been deeply depressed when Jolinar died, but Jolinar had died inside her, leaving discernible chemical changes.

Kanan had left O’Neill’s body before dying. He’d said so, and the tests had proven that; there was no residual symbiote tissue, no naquadah markers or other blood chemistry changes.

Wait.

The Colonel had said he didn’t remember anything of the time Kanan was inside him. But he said he’d been shot, and yet there were no scars, no marks, no signs of recent injuries. If Kanan was gone, had been gone since before O’Neill had been captured, then how had the Colonel been healed?

There was only one other way I knew of to heal from a staff weapon wound that would leave no tissue damage and no scarring. And it could cause addiction.

Quickly, I went in search of Sam, finding her in her lab, staring at her computer, pretending she was working, but obviously accomplishing nothing.

She jerked around to look when I knocked and entered. “Sam?”

“How’s the Colonel?” there was worry in her voice.

“I’m still trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. When you studied Kanan’s report of Ba’al’s fortress, it was pretty detailed, wasn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Was there any mention of a sarcophagus?”

“A sarcophagus? I don’t remember, but I wasn’t looking for one. Just a minute,” she turned back to her computer screen, swiftly typing in several keystrokes. A diagram appeared on the monitor, and she paged quickly through detailed drawings of several rooms. Finally she paused, and tapped the screen with her forefinger. “There. A sarcophagus.”

I smiled grimly. “That explains it.”

“What?”

“The Colonel’s symptoms. I knew they looked familiar but I couldn’t recall where and when I’d seen them before. When Daniel was addicted to the sarcophagus….”

“Addicted? The colonel's addicted to the sarcophagus?"

I nodded

"But Janet, it takes multiple uses to have an effect.”

“The Colonel was shot with a staff weapon when he was captured. He told us that, but I’d credited his healing to Kanan. Only, a few minutes ago, I realized Kanan was already gone by then.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We know the Colonel hasn’t been very forthcoming about what happened while he was held by Ba’al…”

“He never talks about himself…” Sam agreed.

“Right. He just said Ba’al questioned him, then returned him to his cell to think…”

“So you’re assuming Ba’al put him in the sarcophagus? That doesn’t make sense…”

“If the Goa'uld tortured him for information, the Colonel might have needed the sarcophagus,” I said, softly. “Sam, you saw the shirt Major Griff brought back? The one the Colonel was wearing when he showed up in Griff’s camp?”

“The Colonel said he took it from a dead Tok’ra.” Sam recalled. She dropped her head into her hands as she realized the implication of what I was telling her. “All those holes? All that blood?”

“It's Colonel O’Neill’s. I tested it.”

Carter's face went suddenly very pale. “But Janet, that much blood, that much damage, would have been fatal.”

“Several times over.”

Sam scrubbed a hand through her hair. “You’re telling me that the Colonel was *killed* and revived in a sarcophagus, enough times to become addicted? Daniel became addicted when he used the sarcophagus when he was well..."

"But we also know that using that...device... eventually damages even the Goa'uld, who only use it when they're sick or hurt."

"But that takes a very long time."

I shrugged.

"But Janet, if he was in there when he was hurt, becoming addicted would take…”

“A lot of exposure." I agreed. "We don’t know how many times it would take, but certainly, many.”

“Dying over and over again,” Sam closed her eyes, trying to force the image from her mind. “Oh my God. Janet…”

“Physically, I know how to successfully treat the addiction to the sarcophagus. I can get him past that. It’s not easy, but I learned a lot from treating Daniel, and the Colonel is strong. But the aftereffects of torture that extreme?” I shuddered. “I don’t know how he did it the first time…” I stopped.

“First time?”

Damn. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud. I’d just let slip one of the deepest darkest secrets of O’Neill’s highly classified career, something I knew about only through his extensive medical records: his four months as an unofficial POW in Iraq, something he never talked about with anyone, never mentioned to his team. “Look, Sam, I’ve got to go…”

“I’ll come…”

“No. I think he needs to deal with this one on one. If, when, he wants to talk, I’ll let him know you’ll be there to listen.”

“Janet?”

“Sam, you know how private he is. You’ll have to let him deal with this in his own way.” I tried to sound confident, hard to do when you’re scared to death for someone you respect and admire and think of as a friend, when you know the physical hell he’ll be going through over the next few days, compounded by the emotional hell he’d already endured.

******

When I got back to the infirmary, the Colonel was still only semi-conscious. I made some changes in his meds, now that I knew what I was fighting. I watched him for a moment, wondering how he'd endured what had been done to him, wondering how I was going to help him get through this.

Finally, with a sigh, I went to talk to the one other person I had to tell.

********

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on General Hammond's door.

"Come in."

He looked up as I entered, then motioned me to take a seat. "How's the Colonel?"

"He's resting, and under sedation at the moment. Sir…" I paused, deciding how and where to start. "The good news is that the virus *is* gone, and so is the symbiote. No sign of either one."

"That's excellent, then."

"Yes. It is…" I hesitated.

"And the rest, doctor?" Hammond probed.

I took a deep breath. "Colonel O'Neill's hyper-state is being caused by withdrawal…"

"From a drug?" the General sounded surprised.

"No, Sir. A sarcophagus."

"A sarcophagus?"

"Yes, Sir. The Colonel was repeatedly tortured by Ba'al and revived…"

"The Colonel told you this?"

"No, Sir." I looked up at the General. He's a good man. He looks like a sweet grandfather, which he is, but he's also a career military man who has the wherewithal to make cold, hard, calculating decisions. "We can get the Colonel past the physical withdrawal. It won't be pleasant for him, but I don't believe it's life threatening or poses any long-term health risks. However," Hammond's keen eyes were boring into mine, "the psychological damage…"

"Are you telling me that the Colonel won't be able to return to duty?"

"In the short term, definitely, weeks at least. In the long term…" I stopped, searching for the words. "General, from the evidence on that shirt Major Griff returned, the amount of blood and the location of the wounds, Colonel O'Neill was tortured to death, over and over again, then revived, over and over again."

"My God!" Hammond sat back, closing his eyes a moment as the impact of my words sank in.

"The psychological trauma… on top of what he's been through before…"

"He overcame that," said the General, not needing to mention what, knowing I knew.

"I understand. But then, he had his family, Sir, his wife and his son, and now he's got no one…"

"Except us."

"Right, Sir."

"What can we do?"

"I'm not sure, General. Knowing how much he despises Dr. Mackenzie…"

Hammond snorted in derision. "For good reason," he muttered, then looked up at me sheepishly. "Go on, doctor."

"Knowing his opinion of Mackenzie, Sir, if the Colonel won't talk to us, he'll never talk about this with Dr. Mackenzie. General, this is not something Colonel O'Neill can ignore. He's got to deal with what happened, and the way to do that is for him to talk about it."

"And how do we get him to talk about it? I can order him to, but I doubt that will work."

"No, Sir, I don't believe it would, at least not under ordinary circumstances. But," I met his gaze once again. "There is a way. It's not something I would normally recommend…" and it was something I was going to feel very guilty about for a long time, taking advantage of a sick man, "but I believe we have to confront him. Now. While he's experiencing the withdrawal."

"Why is that?"

"Because one of the effects of the sarcophagus is that it contributes to a loss of normal control. The… patient… can't maintain his usual control of his emotions. Sir, under ordinary circumstances, I don't believe the Colonel will ever tell us what happened. If we can get him to talk, now, while he's still under the narcotic-like influence of the sarcophagus..."

"Is that ethical, doctor?"

"By normal medical standards, no, sir, it's not," I admitted. "But as a physician, it's my duty to heal my patient, and I believe this is the one way to get him to recover from the trauma of what was done to him."

"So what are *we* going to do?"

"I can call you when the sedative begins to wear off, Sir."

Hammond nodded. "Okay, Dr. Fraiser. Call me. I'll be here. Whatever time of the day or night."

*****

I returned to the infirmary. O'Neill was dozing, but he seemed to sense my presence, his movements getting more agitated, his eyes flickering as he fought the sedative, trying to regain control.

“Colonel…”

“Doc,” he mumbled.

“Sir, I’ve changed your meds. You’re going through withdrawal.”

“With…draw...” He was sleepy, half with me yet fighting to be more alert.

“Yes, Colonel, I know what happened. Ba’al had a sarcophagus. You are addicted to it, like Dr. Jackson was, and you’re in withdrawal from its effects.”

“No. No. No!”

I wasn’t sure if his words were addressed at me, or at some nightmare he was seeing. His hands jerked at the restraints, and he tossed his head from side to side.

“Colonel, we’ll get you through this. I promise.”

********

I stayed with Colonel O'Neill as the sedative slowly wore off.

He woke up angry, glaring at me.

He was going to be a lot more angry before this was over, I told myself silently, but I hoped he would forgive me for what I was about to do, taking advantage of a man who was still far from his normal self. But I had no choice. I’m a healer, and if in order to heal I have to break a few rules, then I would, for his sake.

I called the General, but before Hammond arrived, the Colonel was fully awake.

O’Neill jerked at the restraints buckled around his wrists and ankles. “What the hell is this? Doc, let me go.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel, I can’t.”

“Let me go. That’s an order, *Major* Fraiser.”

“No, Sir.”

“Damn it, untie me,” he jerked again at the cuffs.

"Those restraints are in place by *my* order, Colonel," Hammond's command tone seemed to get through to the Colonel momentarily.

“Sir, you’re going through withdrawal,” I explained to O'Neill.

“Withdrawal? What the hell drugs did you give me?” he accused.

“Not drugs, Sir. The sarcophagus.”

“What sarcophagus?”

“The one in Ba’al’s fortress.”

“Damn it, let me go! I wasn’t in some damn sarcophagus…”

“Colonel, you were,” I insisted calmly.

“No!” he roared, fighting, pulling so viciously I was afraid he’d break the heavy leather cuffs, or his own wrists. Despite the padding on the restraints, he was certainly going to have some nasty abrasions.

“Colonel,” I opened the drawer to his nightstand, and pulled out the shirt Major Griff had given me. “It’s obvious you were gravely wounded, mortally injured, over and over again.”

“That’s not mine!”

“Sir, it is.”

His words were jerky, rapid. “That’s not my shirt. I took it, took if off a dead Tok’ra. I wouldn’t wear anything like that. You know that’s not mine…”

“Colonel, I tested the blood on this shirt. It’s your blood.”

“Okay, some of it, maybe. But the rest…”

“Is yours as well. All of it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, damn it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. Nonononono.” He was hyperventilating, but I couldn’t stop. I had to get him to admit the truth, because if I couldn’t get through to him, I’d have no choice but to send him on to Dr. Mackenzie. And I knew that a disaster that would be. The Colonel despised Mackenzie, and I knew why, and, yes, I did sympathize. Mackenzie was never going to understand O’Neill.

The Colonel was pulling frantically at the bindings, his eyes looking wild and yes, fearful. “Untie me.”

“Sir, I can’t,” I said regretfully.

"Untie me!" he demanded.

Hammond stepped closer to the bed, ignoring O'Neill's struggles. "Colonel, my orders stand. The restraints are on until *I* decide it is safe to release you."

"No!" The Colonel's arms and legs were thrashing desperately. "You can't do this. You can't. I haven't done anything. I haven't... done... anything!"

"Colonel!" Hammond barked. "Tell me what happened, what Ba'al did."

"He did nothing."

The General stepped closer and looked O'Neill in the eye. "Colonel, that's a lie. You know it, and I know it."

O'Neill kept struggling. I was beginning to worry about his blood pressure and his heart rate, and all the body's other reactions to stress when suddenly the Colonel went still and quiet. His gaze went to the General, his voice gone soft. “Please.” O'Neill's eyes clouded, his sweat soaked face going pale. “Sir, please.” He licked his lips, the fight gone out of him, suddenly looking small and scared like a lost child. “Don’t. Don’t leave me like this… so I can’t move.”

“Is that what he did? Tied you so you couldn’t move? Couldn’t avoid his blows?” Hammond queried.

“No,” the eyes blinked, and he stared up at the ceiling, his breaths coming quick and sharp. In a very small voice he answered at last. “No ties. He didn't need ties.”

“Then how did he do it?”

“He had this gravity vacuum thing,” his voice was still soft and quiet, a tone I’d heard only rarely from the usually brash and forceful officer. “It felt like 50 Gs. I couldn’t move, sucked up against the wall. Couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. Couldn’t get away. Could only watch while he…”

“While he what?” Hammond demanded. I knew we were taking advantage of a man in the throes of withdrawal, but I was desperate enough to get him to talk to be shameless about it. I had to heal his mind as much as I could while his weakened body gave me the chance. I could apologize later, and he’d either understand or he wouldn’t, but he had to confront whatever it was that Ba’al had done to him.

“Jack, how did he kill you?” the General continued.

O’Neill’s eyes snapped oven to meet mine for a fraction of a second, then his glance returned to his intense study of the ceiling. “Staff weapon. In the back.”

“And he revived you in the sarcophagus…” the General offered.

“Yes….” The Colonel was pulling at the restraints, and with a sinking heart I realized that he wanted to use that gesture I’d seen so often when he was forced to reveal something painful: throwing his arm across his face, giving him something to hide behind.

“And then…” Hammond prompted.

“He killed me again.”

“With…”

“Daggers. Knives. One at a time. Never killing me right away. Taking his time so I could feel it. So he could feel it.”

"How many times?" I asked.

"I don't know," he answered listlessly. "Three, four. It doesn't matter."

"How many times?"

"I don't know. I lost count," O'Neill answered.

“What else did he do, Jack?”

"He let me fall. All that gravity, it was like ejecting without a 'chute. Broke my back." He was writhing on the bed as if feeling the pain. "Left me there, dying slow. Took a long time." He pounded his head against the pillow, over and over again.

I wanted to stop this. Watching him relive the agony he'd been through, I felt like I was torturing him all over again. I had to keep reminding myself that he had to do this to heal, had to acknowledge what happened, not just try to lock it away and forget it, because that would destroy him.

"There was something else, wasn't there, Sir?" I suggested. I knew from the holes in the shirt that something else had been used.

O'Neill shuddered, tossing his head from side to side, as if just thinking about it was painful. His hand clutched at his chest, as far as he could reach against the restraints.

I couldn’t make out his answer, it was said so low and so fast.

“What was that, Sir?”

“Acid.”

Oh, God. “Acid?”

“Just a drop. Little drop. It ate right…right through the shirt, my skin, my bones,” he was breathing hard, his eyes screwed shut, his face tight with remembered pain being relived. I knew it was cruel, but I knew it had to be done.

I reached out to touch his hand, and he jerked it away. “Sir….”

“I…,” he started. “I begged him not to do it again.” His eyes flickered over to meet the General's, as if he expected to see revulsion in his CO's face. “But he did. Over and over again. No matter that I told him I didn’t know the answers to his questions, he kept on and on.”

“How many times?” Hammond probed gently.

“Over and over again.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. The box… does… things…to your head. I couldn’t think clearly anymore, even Daniel noticed….”

“Daniel?” I asked with surprised.

“He was there. With me.”

“When you died?”

“No. In my cell. Said he couldn't help break me out, he could only be there to talk to me…”

I looked over at Hammond, and our gazes met, sharing the thought. Okay, hallucinations. Not unexpected, considering the extreme situation. “So you died and then Daniel came to visit…”

“And then he left, abandoned me while I just kept dying. No escape, not even death was an escape. Daniel wouldn’t even help me die. I asked him to and he wouldn't. I wanted to…” His eyes opened and met mine. “I would have died before I would have told him anything, but I’d already died. There was no escape…” The distress was clear in his voice.

“Colonel, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he went on matter of factly, in a despairing voice so soft I had to lean close to make out the words. “I gave in. I was going to tell. I couldn’t stop myself anymore. There was no way out, no way, nothing left of me, it was all being eaten away by the sarcophagus and I was going to tell because I couldn’t die if I didn’t tell…”

“Jack, you did the best you could, held out as long as you could,” the General said, softly.

“I would have told.”

“There’s no dishonor in that, son. No human being could stand up to that kind of torture.”

“I would have told him anything.”

“But you didn’t,” Hammond reminded him.

“Only because Yu attacked.”

“I didn’t… Oh. Lord Yu. Yes, the attack. Your team figured out where you were and gave a Tok’ra spy the coordinates for Yu to attack Baal’s fortress.”

“Yu’s attack. Stopped me. Or I’d have told him anything. Everything.” His eyes were squeezed tight shut. Was it sweat or a tear that rolled down his cheek and onto the pillow? “I would have told…”

“But you didn’t. That’s all that matters. You held on long enough. There’s no shame in that, in being human. We all have our limits.” There was a fatherly tone to the General's voice.

O'Neill drew in a deep shuddering breath, and I could see him fighting desperately for control. “I can’t do this, God, I can’t do this anymore,” distress roughened his voice to a harsh rasp, and I could see he was shaking.

I stepped up. “Colonel, you are going through withdrawal. The chemical imbalance in your body, caused by repeated exposure to the sarcophagus, affects your ability to control your emotions. It’s to be expected. It’s human.”

“Am I? Still human?”

The defeat in his voice was heart wrenching. “Very, Colonel. Very human.” I pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and wiped his face, smoothing back the sweat dampened hair. I filled a cup with water, and helped him drink, then watched worriedly as he sank back onto the pillows. “You did your best, Sir, like you always do.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“It was your best," said the General. "That’s all you can do, that’s all any of us can do, especially against them. You held on until help arrived, and you got the woman to safety, and now you’re home and you’ll be fine. You’ll get through this, Jack.”

He shook his head, his eyes closed once more.

“Sir, look at me.”

He didn’t respond.

“Colonel, please.”

Reluctantly, his tired eyes opened, and I looked into the depths of those brown eyes, at the exhaustion, the despair, the pain.

“Colonel, I can’t imagine the horror of what you went through, but you survived it and we’re all glad you did. None of us could have done better. The physical symptoms *will* be gone in a couple of days.”

“The memories won’t go away,” he said softly.

“No, they won’t. But you’ve been through this before. You’ll put them behind you and go on…”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“I know you feel that way today, but every day it will get better."

Hammond added, "Don't judge yourself too harshly, Jack, because none of the rest of us will.”

"I failed, Sir. I let him win. I lost."

"No, son, you won. You survived."

I saw O'Neill take a deep shuddering breath.

"I think you should rest now, Colonel."

He nodded, and closed his eyes, curling up as far as he could considering the restraints, as I turned up the dose of sedative flowing into his IV. I waited until I heard his breathing sink to slow and steady, and then I went out into the hall. I felt wrung out, like I'd run a marathon.

General Hammond was waiting by my office door. "Doctor?"

"I think he'll be all right. Colonel O'Neill may be angry with us when he gets back to himself, when he realizes what we did, but I think he'll also realize we had to do what we did."

"I hope so, Doctor."

"So do I, General." Wearily, I looked over at the commander of the SGC, needing his reassurance that we'd done the right thing, because what I'd just heard had left me badly shaken. By the look on the General's face, I suddenly realized he was shaken, too.

"We did the right thing, Doctor. He couldn't keep that bottled up inside, not even Jack O'Neill could cope alone with that."

"The Colonel will still have a long road to recovery, Sir."

"I know." The look he gave me told me he was going to have a hard time forgetting what we'd just seen and heard. "Thank you, Doctor, for his sake."

"I just pray it was enough."

The General looked past me, back toward O'Neill's room and I saw Hammond shiver. "He's a strong man."

"He has to be."

"He is." Hammond nodded at me. "Anything he needs, anything at all, you ask."

"Yes, Sir, I will."

I watched the General leave, and then I went into my office, sat down at my desk, and dropped my head into my hands, uttering a silent prayer that I was up to the task that lay ahead, and knowing that, no matter how hard it was, it was nothing compared to the unimaginable horror a good and decent man had been subjected to.

******

The Colonel spent the next six days in the isolation room, heavily sedated the first three. By the fourth day, I was able to remove the restraints, and gradually began easing back on the doses of sedatives. He was still sleeping a lot, that is, when he wasn't having vivid nightmares. He'd wake in a cold sweat, shivering, shouting, sometimes whimpering, and need a long time to go back to sleep. I wanted to let his team sit with him, but he refused all visitors, and I understood his need to do this in private… he's never been a man to let others see him in pain. The racking muscle tremors, the shaking, the cold sweats and nausea, he endured all of them silently, and alone, except for the nurses I kept unobtrusively nearby.

He never complained, in fact, he hardly said a word to anyone. Most of the time, he'd just lie silently on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and that's when I worried about him the most. By the sixth day, he was willing to let his team visit. That's when I knew he really was on the road to recovery, confirmed by his first request to go home.

Gradually, he began to grow restless in his usual fashion. Though his grousing about the food and the confinement and the demands of the nursing staff returned, he was quieter than usual. I let him go down to the gym to work off some energy, boxing with Teal'c, who I knew would watch the Colonel closely. I even let him spend a couple of hours in his office, writing his report. It was as whitewashed as I'd expected… not a word about dying or the sarcophagus or Ba'al's repeated torture. Just, "sent back to my cell when I refused to answer."

His body healed as rapidly as ever, even more so than before, it seemed. Even as I prepared to discharge him, I was still very worried about him.

Giving the Colonel his discharge exam, I wasn't sure I was doing the right thing, wasn't sure he was ready to leave. But I also knew he needed to go home, to have the peace and quiet he cherishes, because that would be an important part of his healing.

Vitals check completed, I recorded the numbers on his chart and set it aside. "Everything checks out fine. You can go home."

I didn't get his usual cheeky smile, but there was a grin, even if it was subdued.

"Thanks, Doc," he said softly.

As I turned to go, still worried, his words drew me back. "For everything." He shrugged. "You know."

I turned back to look at him. "All's forgiven, then, Sir?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I know what you and the General did… had to be done. And it kept me out of the clutches of Mackenzie…"

"I knew he wouldn't help you…"

"That's for damn sure."

That answer made me smile, because that was so like the obstinate, opinionated Jack O'Neill that annoyed and challenged and frustrated me, the real one, the brash, irascible survivor we all depended on.

"You'll be okay, Colonel."

He nodded, his small grin seeming to recall something he didn't share with me. "Yeah. I will. I know," he sighed. "I had some good help."

"If you need to talk, I'm always on call, Sir. Any time."

He nodded again and silently slipped off the bed, his hand touching my arm briefly, and then he started down the hall, hands in his pockets, never looking back.

---------------------

The End