The Downside of the Upgrades
Author: BadgerGater
Spoilers: Upgrades, Urgo
Season: Four
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Pairing: None
Summary: There's trouble when the armbands go on, and more when they come off
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I acknowledge that the big important people at MGM, Gekko, Double Secret, etc. etc. own them, but I'm only taking them out to play and will return them when I'm done.
Author's Notes: This one's for Carol. :-) She knows why.
Great quote of the Episode:
Anise: "Your strength is five times that of a normal human.
O'Neill: "So no increase then, huh."
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*Jack O'Neill*
Okay, it's not often I'm happy with anything that the Tok'ra do, and, well, I hate to admit it but damn it, I loved those arm bands.
I should have known it was a set up. It was too good to be true. It always is, with them, with all of those damn aliens. I'm not xena... ah, xenon...ah, you know, alien-a-phobic or anything. I've just been burned far too many times. Those aliens, they just come sneaking around, telling us how they've got something wonderful for us, something cool, something we really want or need or ought to have.
But there's always a catch, a fly in the ointment, a little, bitty tiny thing in the fine print that they somehow, oops, just forgot to mention.
Man, you have no idea how much I didn't want that to be true, this time.
I was leery of the armband, at first, but then I put it on and nothing happened. Big disappointment. No Superman strength, no Six Million Dollar Man speed, no SpiderMan magic abilities.
Bored with waiting around for something cool to happen, I went down to the gym for a little workout with Teal'c.
I've got to tell you, it snuck up on me so gradually I didn't even realize it. I just felt good, really, really good. Better, in fact, than I've felt in a really, really long time. No ache in the knees, no tightness in the back, no twinges in the shoulder. Felt 10 years younger, hell, I felt 20 years younger. Felt strong. Tough. Fast. Primed. Ready to go.
And then wham! Knocked Teal'c on his ass with one sloppy little punch.
Hot damn.
It *was* intoxicating.
Even while the macho-testosterone-he-man-big ego part of me was just soaring, there was a little, tiny annoying voice in the back of my head reminding me that there's always a downside with the upside; there's always a yin with the yang; there's always the hangover that follows the beer. You get the picture: there's never a free lunch.
Sooner or later, Jack old buddy, you got to pay the piper.
I knew better, yes I did. Deep down inside, at least one brain cell was still immune to the effects of that armband thingy. I knew it was there because it was screaming in my ear to keep my guard up.
And I, of course, didn't listen.
I never do.
I was having way too much fun.
Glory Days. Passed you by, Glory Days.
Man, it was just sooo cool.
Strong. Fast. Tough. Alert. Hyped up. On edge. Hungry.
Young.
Haven't eaten that much since Urgo was around, come to think of it.
But I didn't think, and I didn't care.
All I wanted was more. More food. More fun. More action.
I tried to keep it under control, really, I did.
I mean, I could have actually hurt those Marines if I'd meant to. Well, yeah, sure, they had bruises. Couple of black eyes. No real damage done. Well, okay, there was that smart mouth jarhead who took over Makepeace's team who will be eating his food through a straw for six weeks, but what's a little broken jaw between friends? Huh? Ya' think he would he have regretted it if he'd broken mine? No way. And, hey, we all know training accidents happen in our line of work.
Besides, it was worth it to take those damn Marines down a notch. They needed to be taught a lesson. A little humble pie will help them be better soldiers.
Huh. They used to think they were the only tough guys on this base.
Not anymore.
Kicked their sorry Jarhead asses all the way into next week.
Ohh, it felt so good.
------------------------
It was like being drunk, that slightly out of control, in over your head, capable of anything feeling. After the first few hours, it began to feel so right, so natural, so normal. It was easy to forget others couldn't do what I could do. It was like a fantasy come true. Better. Stronger. Faster. Oh, yeaaaah.
Then my team was in on it with me, and it was really fun.
I do regret not being able to go back to O'Malley's. They really did have great food.
------------------------------
Why was Hammond being such a stick in the mud? Couldn't he see this was the *perfect* opportunity to kick some Goa'uld butt? Really teach those snakes a lesson, that they couldn't mess with us? A little payback? A little fun? A little macho chest pounding?
General Hammond has no sense of humor. None at all.
I really am sorry about the wall in his office.
Even more, I was sorry about Siler. He's a good guy. I really didn't mean to hurt him, and I hope he liked the flowers. Hell, I even bought him good ones, cost me 48 bucks.
My grocery bill was going to break me, though. It didn't take me long to empty the vending machines, clear the shelves in the commissary and even finish up that stash of emergency rations on Level 27. And the pizza guys will only deliver here once a day. Damn.
I couldn't stop eating. Couldn't stop moving.
Just plain couldn't stop.
I haven't been this hyper since I was six and ate that whole package of Twinkies.
--------------------------
So, yeah, when Hammond ordered us to take off the armbands, I'll tell you, I didn't want to. But I do obey orders. Sure, I might complain a little. I might look for a way around them, I might even look for a way to fulfill the exact wording of a command without complying with the intent, but I do generally obey orders.
I didn't want to take the armband off, but I tried. I really did.
Right about then, when the gauntlets wouldn't come off, I did get a little worried. But I felt so good, so very much like I could just damn well do anything, that it didn't matter.
It matters now.
Anyway, we made it back from the mission, sheer dumb luck that we didn't end up dead, any of us, Carter especially. Damn worthless Tok'ra alien technology. Anything that can possibly go wrong, will. At the worst possible moment. Here on Earth we call it Murphy's Law, wonder what the Tok'ra's name for it is?
So boom, there we were in the middle of our mission, on that alien planet, the ship set to blow up around us, and the damn armbands just started falling off.
Right. What kind of superior alien technology is that?
And Anise/Freya didn't know, or at least *suspect* this would happen?
If you believe that, I've got swampland on Vorash to sell you.
But we all got back, and other than the lump on the back of my head from hitting the gate ramp, we seemed to have gotten through the whole mess in one piece.
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I don't know when it started, not really.
I mean, when the armband popped off, I just crashed, out cold like I'd been decked by a punch. And then, when I got up, my adrenaline was pumping and I was frantically trying to save Carter. When there are fully armored Jaffa marching at you, staff weapons in hand, you don't stop to assess how you're feeling. The adrenaline kicks in and you get to work and there's no time to worry.
So I didn't even notice when I started to feel like crap.
I mean, sure, I had that headache, but I figured it was from that wild leap through the Stargate. I've suggested a couple of times that they put padding on the damn thing, but there's some fancy scientific reason why they shouldn't, or so Carter says. So we leaped into the gate and rolled out the far side and my head banged against the ramp. Gave me a headache. Or so I thought.
I do remember this, when it was all over and we were back on Earth, I was tired. Made sense I was really wiped out, after all that. Doc said she expected it, that when the armbands failed, we'd be exhausted. No doubt about it, she was right. I felt like I'd been through the wringer, at least twice. I felt let down, too, kind of like the day after Christmas, when all the excitement is over and life returns to plain old ordinary.
We passed our post-mission med-checks, survived the de-briefing and Hammond's justifiable tirade, and I headed for home. So, yeah, okay, I did sort of sneak out when Doc wasn't looking. The nurse *did* say my blood tests were okay, and no one said I *had* to stay in the infirmary to take the pills she handed me. So, while Doc was busy patching up SG-12, I took the chance to hike on out of there and go home before anyone told me I couldn't.
It had been a long time since I'd been home, since I'd put that damn gauntlet on.
Felt good to be back in my own place. I was so tired I wasn't even hungry, but remembering Doc's orders not to take those pills on any empty stomach, I searched the fridge. There wasn't much on the shelves, and most of that was old, but the milk was okay, so I washed down the pills as I ate the last six forkfuls of the other night's Chinese takeout straight from the carton. Barely having the energy to strip and shower, I fell into my own bed, asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
--------------------------
The first time I woke up it must have been 2 a.m. My stomach felt a bit queasy, but then again, I'd been eating energy bars, granola bars, steaks, snacks and everything else within reach for the past couple of days. It didn't surprise me that my stomach was finally committing mutiny. I did manage to dizzily stagger in to the bathroom before I started heaving.
Hangover, the damn armband had given me a hangover.
Oiy.
I stumbled back to bed, wrapped myself in the quilt and went back to sleep.
------------------
I woke up with a headache. It felt a lot like a whole whopper hangover, actually.
I cracked open one eye, realized it was daylight, and groaned, letting my head fall back onto the pillow. Man, a hangover like that one, should have been one hell of a party that proceeded it.
Well, it had been, sort of. I mean, we'd had some good times, SG-1 had, playing Six Million Dollar Humans.
Why is it that you always have to pay a price for having a little fun?
I was really tempted to just lie there, eyes closed and maybe go back to sleep for a little additional nap, and then something odd occurred to me. During that brief moment I'd had my eye open, I'd seen the clock on the dresser. I could have sworn it said 9:43. Now since the sun was shining brightly, putting those two facts together meant it was 9:43 a.m. and I'd just slept for something like 12 hours. Twice the norm. I couldn't *make* myself stay in bed that long in the morning unless I was tied down, comatose, or dead.
Must have been a mistake. My vision had seemed a little blurry, after all. I cracked the eye open again, needing a moment to find the clock. Looked now like 9:46.
I opened the other eye.
Serious mistake.
The whole room tilted, swayed, swooped and circled, walls swapping places with the floor, doing loop de loops and somersaults.
My stomach tried to copy.
If I'd had anything in my stomach, I'd have re-deposited it on the floor.
I slammed both eyes closed and ordered my innards to quit doing backflips and after a minute they obeyed.
Okay, then.
My head hurt, I was nauseous, the room seemed unusually warm, and my mouth was dry as the Mojave Desert.
Water.
I needed a drink.
Pulling my arms underneath me, I pushed, and found my limbs had the motive power of undercooked spaghetti. I barely had the strength to lift my head off the pillow. Unable to muster the energy to get up normally, I rolled to the edge of the bed, untangling myself from sweatsoaked sheets. I wasn't wearing anything besides briefs and a t-shirt, but I felt hot.
Crap.
What, did I have the flu? Or was it just the armband hangover?
Somehow, I eventually managed to swing my feet toward the floor and cautiously sit up on the edge of the bed. It was okay as long as I had my eyes closed, but as soon as I opened them, even just a slit, the dizziness returned with a vengeance.
Damn.
Okay, airman, time for a plan of attack. Stand up, then two steps to the wall, put out an arm to lean against it, steady yourself, then only a half dozen steps to the bathroom. Cool water. Excedrin. Alka-Seltzer. PeptoBismol. Cold/flu/hangover remedies just waiting in the medicine cabinet.
Taking a deep breath, I stood up. Made it to the wall, a little wobbly, but okay, leaning into it to steady myself. I could make this, as long as I kept one eye closed to stop the dizziness, and I kept the rest of myself focused on the gargantuan task of moving limbs forward in synchronization. One step, another, and another.
I thought I was going to make it. Got one hand on the doorjamb, even, and then I lost my concentration. Opened the other eye.
Without warning the floor and ceiling swapped places again and I crashed.
I saw it coming, like watching an approaching disaster in slow motion. I felt myself losing it, falling, sliding, heading for the floor and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I even saw the corner of the sink coming and tried to twist away, but by then my body wasn't working at all.
For a fraction of a second I felt the impact as my head connected with porcelain, and then the second blow as my whole body hit the cold tile floor, and then the blackness was rushing at me far too fast to outrun.
----------------------
*Dr. Janet Fraiser*
The phone rang and rang and rang.
Tapping my foot impatiently, I let the phone ring five times, then hung up. I'd been playing this game for an hour now. I'd already left half a dozen messages, starting at 10 a.m. Colonel O'Neill was supposed to report in for a follow-up check up at 9:30 a.m. I'd made it a deliberately late appointment, knowing how exhausted all the SG-1 team members had been after the whole incident with the armbands.
It was so unlike him to be *this* late.
I dialed his cellphone next, letting it ring five rings, then six, leaving a message. "Colonel, if you're on your way in, this is Dr. Fraiser. Just reminding you your appointment was over an hour ago."
Hanging up in frustration, I muttered a few nasty words under my breath. Where was he? Maybe he was already here, and had gotten held up in a meeting with the General or something. The Colonel would use any excuse to avoid a visit to the infirmary, I thought with a grim smile.
Dialing the security desk, I asked, "This is Dr. Fraiser. Has Colonel O'Neill checked in this morning?"
"No ma'am," answered the duty sergeant. "Would you like me to check with the main gate?"
"Yes, please." More impatient waiting while the line was quiet.
In a moment, the SF was back. "Doctor, I talked with security at the gate. Colonel O'Neill's vehicle has not been checked in this morning."
"Thank you, airman." I hung up the phone. So, where was he? Maybe O'Neill was here, it was possible he'd ridden in with someone else, but unlikely. He liked to drive himself.
The little nagging worry in the back of my head was suddenly growing exponentially. Daniel and Sam had both arrived on time for their follow-ups. Though I hadn't found anything really wrong with them, they'd both admitted to being exhausted even after a good night's sleep. In fact, they had vaguely flu-like symptoms that I'd written off to fatigue and the after effects of the armbands. After all, they'd eaten more junk food in the last week than they normally did in a year. It was going to take the base months to restock the supply of energy bars alone. Pity the poor requisition clerk who was going to have to explain how the base went through 14 cases of energy bars in three days.
Glancing at my watch, I saw it was already 10:35 a.m. The Colonel was an hour late. Maybe I'd better go check with the General.
-------------------
*Jack*
I was drifting.
Awareness was there, circling just beyond my grasp.
I lay still, assessing. My head hurt like hell, and I could feel something warm on the side of my face. There was a familiar, tangy scent in my nostrils. Blood.
I tried to move and moaned.
Every inch of me ached, hurt, throbbed, though the worst of the pain was centered in my gut.
The floor was cool against my left cheek. I wasn't hot anymore, I was cold, freezing cold, and I could feel my body shuddering with chills as the sweat slicking my skin turned suddenly icy.
Move, Jack, I ordered myself.
I reached out, blindly, my eyes still closed. My arm weighed a ton, but I managed to move my hand and felt something...wood... the edge of the doorframe.
Bathroom floor, cold, hard tile, that's where I was. Carpeted floor out there, my bedroom. Bed. Blankets. Warmth. I didn't even try to stand or even sit up. I knew I wasn't capable of it at the moment. I pushed myself along the floor, inches at a time, shaking, crawling toward the warmth. Managed to move a foot or two before my stomach clenched, spasming. I retched, my empty stomach expelling only the bitter taste of bile, but just the effort tore all the strength from my limbs.
Moaning, I sank back flat to the floor, curling myself up into a ball for warmth, arms wrapped protectively around my cramping stomach; the bed and it's promise of haven and comfort still a million miles away.
Damn.
The darkness was seeping back, sliding in from all sides. Was it night? Was it dark and storming? I didn't know, didn't care, couldn't fight it. At least in the dark it didn't hurt.
---------------------
*Dr. Janet Fraiser*
At my knock on his door, General Hammond looked up from behind his desk. "Dr. Fraiser? What can I help you with?"
"Sir, have you talked to Colonel O'Neill this morning?"
"Wasn't he supposed to have a check up this morning, Doctor?"
"Yes, Sir. But I haven't seen him."
"He didn't show up?"
"No, Sir. It's not unusual for him to be late, he'll find any excuse to delay the inevitable, but it's been more than an hour, General. I've called his house and his cell phone, and there's no answer."
"You let him go home, Doctor?" Hammond was surprised. He knew how worried I'd been during the armband experiment, how relieved I'd been when SG-1 returned from their mission, and that I still had concerns about the damage the alien devices could have done.
"He really wasn't supposed to, Sir. But before I could tell him that, SG-12 returned and in all that chaos, one of the nurses simply told him his test results were okay. The Colonel apparently took that as permission to leave. By the time I found out, it was nearly 10 p.m. I called his house, woke him up. He agreed to come in this morning."
"The rest of his team?"
"Major Carter and Dr. Jackson were in for their follow-ups this morning. I didn't find any real problem, although they both stated they were still tired and felt a bit under the weather, similar to a mild case of the flu."
"Not the flu?"
"I don't believe so, General. I think their bodies are just reacting to the virus the armbands introduced. Their blood tests, like Colonel O'Neill's, showed only minimal amounts of the virus remaining as of last night, and none at all this morning. The effects seem to be fading already." I let some of my worry leak into my voice. "I'm concerned about the Colonel, however."
Hammond picked up the phone. "I want a Security detail ready to accompany Dr. Fraiser in 15 minutes." The General set down the phone and turned once again to look at me. "Take Teal'c. A security team will be waiting for you. This may be making a mountain out of a molehill, but I want Colonel O'Neill back here within the hour."
"Yes, Sir," I responded.
--------------------
*Jack*
A familiar sound intruded into my brain, past the rhythmic thumping in my skull and my stomach's recurring efforts to turn itself inside out.
The doorbell.
My eyes were too heavy to open and my arm too weighty to move, though I swear I tried. I think I moved, an inch or two maybe, but that was all I could do.
Sorry.
---------------
*Dr.Janet Fraiser*
I continued to ring the doorbell as M/Sgt. Hastings returned from his perusal of the backyard. "I don't see a sign of anyone, ma'am," he reported. "The doors and windows are all locked. Do you want us to force entry?"
Just then, Teal'c made his way from the garage up to the front door. "ColonelO'Neill's pick-up truck is parked in the garage."
My mind raced. Colonel O'Neill had been out of contact for over 16 hours, and was three hours late in reporting to his duty station. There was no answer to his phone, cell phone, pager, doorbell or knocking. His vehicle was here. General Hammond *had* authorized me to find the Colonel. Making up my mind, I turned to the SF master sergeant. "Break in, airman."
The SF motioned to his partner and, using a tool they retrieved from the trunk of their plain blue unmarked Air Force sedan, broke the small side window near the front door. Reaching through, the m/sgt. unlocked the door.
The SF's, guns drawn, entered the house, rapidly scouting the open area of hallway, living room and kitchen. Nodding, Hastings returned to where I waited. "Main floor's all clear, ma'am. Nothing out of place. We'll go upstairs..."
Not waiting for an invitation, I followed them into the neat house. "Colonel?" I called. "Colonel?"
Was that a sound I heard, from down the hallway, toward the bedrooms?
I started down the hall. "Colonel?"
It was unmistakeable this time, a soft but distinctly painfilled sound from the first bedroom on the right.
Ignoring the SF's call for caution, I burst into the room and gasped.
O'Neill lay on the floor, halfway between the bathroom and the bed, curled tightly into a fetal position. There was blood caked in his hair, trailing down his cheek, soaked in a dull rusty pool in the earth-tone carpet. "Colonel!" Quickly, I dropped to one knee beside him as he moaned again, eyelids fluttering but failing to open. His hand was cold as I groped for his wrist and found the racing pulse. In one pull I had a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around the shaking form as another chill shook him.
"Colonel O'Neill?" I touched his face and was rewarded with a feeble but encouraging response.
"Doc?" he whispered, eyes still closed.
"Yes, Sir, it's me. Can you tell me what happened, Colonel?"
"Sick. Fell," he muttered, then, with surprising strength, pulled his hand out of my grasp to clasp it to his stomach, rolling as another wave of pain washed through him. "Ahhh, God," he moaned.
"O'Neill!" Teal'c called.
"He's here, Teal'c, hurt and sick," I added. The head wound, from what he'd said, was secondary. It had bled profusely, but it seemed superficial. Probably wouldn’t even need stitches, though he was going to have a lump there and some bruising. What I was worried about was the heat I could feel radiating from his forehead, the chills and obvious pain he was experiencing.
"Sergeant, call the base and have them send an ambulance. Now," I ordered, pulling an aural thermometer from my medical bag to take the Colonel's temperature.
"Yes, ma'am," the SF responded, heading out to his car to call for assistance.
"Teal'c," I ordered as I searched though my medical bag for the other things I needed, "Could you bring more blankets?"
"Yes, Dr. Fraiser," he responded, wrapping more covers over O'Neill's still shivering and moaning form. "Do you believe it is the armband's virus that is making him ill?"
"I think so, Teal'c. He's running a high fever, 104," I answered with a worried frown. "He seems dehydrated, his pulse and heart rate are both above normal."
"Major Carter and Dr. Jackson did not get so ill."
"They didn't wear the armbands as long as the Colonel, Teal'c. He put his on hours before they did, and according to the mission report, his came off last. I don't know why that happened, and if Anise knew, she didn't tell." I was frustrated with the Tok'ra scientist. Damn her for bringing those alien things, endangering the members of SG-1, and then just disappearing back to wherever it was the Tok'ra were hiding now days. Typical alien, never around when you need them, hoarding their knowledge unless confronted and even then, only reluctantly and condescendingly telling you what they think you ought to know.
The SF was already back at the bedroom door. "The ambulance will be here in twenty minutes, Dr. Fraiser," he informed me.
"Thanks, sergeant." I was busily at work, swabbing O'Neill's arm. "This will hurt a bit, Sir," I informed him, though he seemed unaware of my work. He flinched as I quickly inserted the needle and began a saline drip. Getting him rehydrated was one important step, getting his fever down another.
Teal'c brought dampened towels at my request, and I immediately began wiping his sweatstreaked face. He'd stopped shaking now, and began pushing at the blankets.
"Sir?"
"Hot. Too hot. Too..."
"You need to keep the covers..."
O'Neill swung his arm, clumsily brushing the blankets back. "Hot..."
"Colonel, lie still!"
For the first time since we'd arrived, his eyes drifted open, fever bright and unfocussed. "Doc?" he mumbled.
"Yes, Colonel, it's Dr. Fraiser. I need you to lie still," I said again, soothingly wiping the cool cloth across his face and chest.
"Feel like...crap," he muttered.
"I'm sure you do, Sir. You've got a high fever. You'll feel better once we get it down."
He licked his lips. "Thirsty."
I nodded at Teal'c, who brought a glass from the bathroom. The Jaffa lifted O'Neill's shoulders while I brought the glass to his lips, letting him have only a sip or two before pulling it away. "Sorry, Sir, can't let you have more right now. That should ease your throat. Soon as we get you back to the base, we'll have a better idea what's going on."
The Colonel laid back quietly, too quietly, I thought worriedly.
Finally, after what seemed to me like hours, the ambulance pulled up out in front. Quickly, the orderlies lifted the barely conscious Colonel onto a stretcher and carried him out to the transport.
Frankly, my first choice would have been to take him to the Academy Hospital. It was closer and better equipped. But as CMO of the Stargate Program, I knew that was far too risky-- risky that O'Neill might, in his delirium, talk about things that shouldn't be talked about in such an open place or, of even more concern, that whatever was wrong with him could be somehow passed on to someone else. It was my greatest fear as the Stargate program's CMO's, that some alien contagion from offworld could get loose on Earth.
I prayed that wasn't the case this time.
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*Jack O'Neill*
All this stuff was way too familiar. Though everything was muffled and distant, I was aware of what was happening: the sound of Doc's anxious voice, the sensations of being lifted and carried, the slick feel of protective gloves across my skin, the prick of needles, the plastic of an oxygen mask fitted over my face, and the bumpy ride of the ambulance.
No sirens. That's good, I thought. Means they don't think I'm dying, at least at the moment, and that's reassuring, because I think I've felt better when I *was* dead.
Another cramp knotted my stomach, and I tried to clutch at my midsection, but someone had strapped me down to the gurney. Air. I needed air. Air. My hand reached my face, pulling away that plastic thing covering it. Hands grabbed my hands, restraining them. Doc's voice made soothing sounds. I couldn't quite understand the words past the roaring in my head, but I knew that voice and that touch and I ordered myself to stop fighting, to yield to her, and my body obeyed.
At least part of me is still working, I thought with relief.
Oh, God, another wave of pain. I couldn't contain it any longer. I struggled to curl up against the agony, to hold it in. I knew my mouth was making little sounds of distress, moaning, but I couldn't stop it. No light, no sound, no air, my body's not working...
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*Dr. Janet Fraiser*
"He's crashing!"
The Colonel's eyes rolled up in his head and he writhed on the gurney.
'Damn, I should have taken him to the Hospital, not this long ride to the infirmary. Damn, damn, damn, that was stupid,' I chided myself as I worked frantically to stabilize my patient.
"Come on, Colonel, work with me. Don't you quit on me now, Sir," I pleaded as the meds hit his bloodstream, and began to work. The racing pulse eased, slowing back to somewhere near normal, strong, steady but still fast. With a huge sigh of relief I watched the monitor show a normal cardiac rhythm restored. "What the hell just happened?" I asked myself, even as my hands continued their task of assessing my patient. Blood Pressure 140/90 not good but better, much better, still way too high for him but acceptable for the moment.
His vitals were all on overdrive, everything too high and too fast and too shaky, like his body was racing against itself. Was that damned armband virus doing this? I peered anxiously out the backdoor of the ambulance, hoping we'd arrive quickly at the base's medical entrance. It couldn't happen too soon.
------------------------
Thirty long minutes later, a stabilized Colonel O'Neill was in an SGC infirmary isolation room. General Hammond was waiting in the hallway the moment I emerged, wearily, from his room.
"Doctor Fraiser?" he demanded. "What's happening with the Colonel?"
I shook my head. "Sir, I wish I could tell you. We're still running tests, but what I've observed so far is that his whole body is shutting down, like an accelerated version of the earlier effects of the armband virus."
Hammond looked with alarm into the room where his number one team leader lay quietly, surrounded by medical staff and machinery. "What does that mean?"
"What it means, Sir, is that the Colonel is in very serious trouble. And I don't have a clue how to help him."
"There must be something..."
"Yes, we're doing everything we can to support and stabilize his body systems through the crisis. With a combination of medications and strong sedatives, we have his system slowed down to a level he can sustain, at least for a while. The biggest help, however, would be some answers from Anise. I believe she knows a lot more than she ever told us about those devices and their effects."
"We'll track her down and get her back here then," Hammond promised. "You keep Colonel O'Neill alive."
I nodded and headed back to my patient.
---------------------
*General Hammond*
I hurried down the hallway toward the gateroom.
Damn those Tok'ra and their underhanded ways. I cursed myself, too, for falling for Anise's little plan. I should never have let that...woman... onto the base and never approved her little experiment; I should have set better guards on the team, should have known that once SG-1 knew about Apophis' ship they would find a way to go after it. That bunch was headstrong, even without the armbands. They'd done it before, following Dr. Jackson's experience with the quantum mirror, going off on their own to do what they felt needed to be done, orders be damned. And that time they hadn't even had the excuse of the intoxicating effects of the alien technology.
I skirted around a cluster of researchers talking in the hallway, and continued my rapid pace toward the gateroom, still thinking about SG-1. Jackson and Carter were in the infirmary, though neither were ill like the Colonel.
'Damn it, Jack, what have you gotten yourself into this time?' I wondered silently as I climbed the steps to the control room. "Airman, dial up the Tok'ra."
"Yes, Sir," Sgt. Davis answered.
I waited impatiently, toe tapping on the cold concrete floor, as the Stargate revolved, chevons locked and the wormhole formed. Once connected, I explained the need to speak with Anise. Now. Informed she was not immediately available, I told the Tok'ra in no uncertain terms that I would be on their planet in ten minutes and someone had damn well better be ready to talk to me.
-----------
Taking Teal'c as my only escort, I stalked through the gate onto Vorash. Councillor Garshaw was waiting.
"General Hammond, to what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"
"It's not a pleasure, Councillor. I'm here on behalf of Colonel O'Neill."
She raised an eyebrow. "And how might the Tok'ra assist the Colonel? We appreciate his assistance and cooperation in thwarting Apophis's most recent attempts to consolidate power."
"You can start by saving his life."
"Saving his life?" she frowned.
"Yes. Your little experiment with the armbands..."
Surprised, Garshaw looked from me to Teal'c. "I was told Colonel O'Neill and his team successfully returned from destroying Apophis's ship. That no one was injured."
"Colonel O'Neill was not injured," Teal'c replied in his always somber tone. "However, he has had a severe reaction to the armband, or rather, to the removal of the armband."
"He is ill?" Garshaw asked.
I nodded. "Gravely ill. We need your assistance, specifically Anise's assistance."
Garshaw shook her head. "Anise has departed from our planet, on a new study mission to the planet Tashgan. We will recall her immediately. However, General, it could take time. Tashgan does not have a Stargate, and the journey takes several days by ship. We will send our fastest ship immediately. I will also authorize our Mik'arr, our most experienced scientist, to answer any questions your doctors wish to ask." Garshaw's face showed her concern. She liked the brash Tau'ri Colonel. "Is there anything else we can do for Colonel O'Neill?"
"Nothing, Councillor Garshaw. Just get Anise back to Earth as quickly as possible."
The Tok'ra councillor nodded at the General.
-----------------------
*Dr. Janet Fraiser*
"So, when can we go home?" Sam asked brightly.
My face still grim, I shook my head no. "I'm sorry, but both you and Daniel need to stay."
"I feel absolutely fine. The headache and nausea are gone," she added, her smile dimming as she suddenly noticed my grim look. "Janet, what aren't you telling us?"
"And where's Jack?" Daniel inquired. "I mean, if we're here and you want to keep us, what about Jack? He wore the armband longer..." A worried frown crossed Dr. Jackson's face and he sat up straighter. "What happened to Jack?"
Carter stared hard at her me. "Janet?"
I couldn't meet their eyes. "Colonel O'Neill is in one of the isolation rooms."
"What?" Sam was on her feet.
"He has apparently had a severe reaction to the virus. He's experiencing extreme elevations in the functions of his major body systems, heart arrhythmia, breathing difficulties, and other complications. General Hammond went to Vorash to request Anise's assistance, but it seems she's not there at the moment. It could be two or three days before she gets here."
"Damn, I knew we shouldn't have trusted Anise," said Daniel vehemently, pushing himself out of his bed.
"And where do you think you're going, Dr. Jackson?" I demanded.
"I have to get to my lab. I've got copies of most of Anise's notes on the Attenique and the armbands. Maybe there's something in there that could help Jack," he insisted.
"I don't think you should leaving, Daniel. Whatever happened to the Colonel came on suddenly. It could strike you the same way. " I said.
"Maybe I shouldn't go, but I can't just lie here while Jack could be dying."
"Daniel..." I warned.
"Janet, I'm going to my office."
"And I'm going to my lab," Sam echoed. "Maybe there's something I can do..."
"You should both stay here," I insisted, trying to stem the mutiny.
"We can't help the Colonel here, Janet." She was already searching for her clothes. "If you want to look in on us, you know where to find us."
'I swear, the two of them must have been taking stubborn lessons from Colonel O'Neill,' I thought as I watched them leave.
---------------------
*Jack O'Neill*
I hate waking up in the infirmary. Of course, the alternative far too often has been not waking up at all, so I know I should be grateful. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't like the place. Maybe it's because people here are always using me for a pincushion, sticking me with needles, inserting all sorts of nasty tubes into rather intimate body parts, connecting me to noisy machines, making me sleep when I don't want to sleep and making me stay awake when I don’t want to be awake.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
"No," I answered, refusing to open my eyes and trying my best to ignore Doc's voice. I didn't just sound petulant, did I?
"Colonel, please, can you open your eyes for me?"
I opened them, reluctantly.
"That's good Sir," Doc smiled. "How do you feel?"
I glared at her.
"Dumb question, huh, Sir?"
I nodded, which I shouldn't have, because that made everything go all wonky on me, and I had to close my eyes.
I must have gotten paler or something, because Doc's voice got real insistent.
"Colonel, Sir, what happened? Colonel? Colonel O’Neill!"
"Moved my head, dizzy," I managed to mumble, opening one eye cautiously, then the other. If I kept my head still, things didn't shimmy around quite so much and I didn't feel like my innards were trying to crawl up out of my throat. My head still ached abominably, but hey, one improvement at a time.
"Sir, we're working on your lab tests right now. I think this is a reaction from the armbands..."
I avoided the urge to nod, mumbled "Ya think?" and waited for some good news.
"Unfortunately, since we know so little about them, or the virus they induced, I can't do much more than try to make you comfortable..."
If this was supposed to be comfortable, it wasn't working, I wanted to tell her. Didn't though, because I knew she was trying. Doc always does.
"...and provide supportive therapy to help your body fight off the virus."
I felt a cool cloth wiping sweat off my forehead. It felt good.
"Sir, did you take the pills I sent home with you last night?"
"Yeah."
"Did you take anything else? Any other pain or nausea medications? Even anything over the counter? Any alcohol?"
"Umm, no." My stomach rolled again. Good thing Doc was quick with that basin, helping me to roll over on my side as I heaved. Of course, there wasn't anything much in my stomach for me to throw up, just a little water. When I was done, she wordlessly wiped my face and helped me ease back down on the bed. Thank God she didn't ask me how I felt. I guess it was probably pretty apparent without my having to say anything.
------------------
*Dr. Fraiser*
The Colonel looked awful, pale, sweating, trying to hide the discomfort but failing. Damn that Anise. What hadn't she told me? I'd known all along she was hiding information, but I didn't think she'd actually endanger the Colonel. She seemed to like him, actually.
I checked O'Neill's vitals once again and made sure his IV's were still in place, wishing there was more I could do for him. He looked miserable and obviously felt it, too, because he wasn't complaining. A quiet O'Neill, I've learned, is a very, very sick O'Neill.
Discomforting thought, that.
So what was going on?
"Sir," I patted his arm, and his eyes opened wearily, not quite focusing on me. "Colonel, I'm going to the lab to check on your test results. I'll be back in a few minutes."
He didn't answer, just let his eyes fall closed as he waved a hand at me.
---------------------
Three steps from the door, I met Lt. Carroll, my night nurse, with a handful of papers. God, I hoped the test results gave me some clues.
They didn't. In fact, they did nothing but muddy the waters.
Damn.
There were only tiny, minuscale traces of the virus left in O'Neill's system, less even than we'd found in Sam and Daniel's. That couldn't be. How could he be this sick with so little of the virus in his bloodstream?
I turned to the nurse. "Are you sure these are the correct test results? What did the techs say?"
"Doctor, I rechecked them myself."
"Someone must have mixed up the samples. This can't be."
"What can't be, Janet?" asked Sam as she stepped in the door, on her way to check on the Colonel.
"These," I waved the stack of test results in the air. "These lab reports say there's virtually no antibodies to the armband virus still present in the Colonel's blood."
"So he's better?"
"According to these, he should be. But he's not. His fever is still high, his pulse and heart rate up, and he's still in pain... It doesn't make sense!" I was baffled, frustrated and worried. This kind of thing was what I hated most, a crisis that I didn't understand. How could I help the Colonel when I didn't know what was happening? He was going to hate me for ordering more tests, but what else could I do? "Sam, have you and Daniel found anything?" I asked hopefully.
With a worried frown, Carter shook her head no. "Nothing. Daniel read Anise's whole notebook while he was wearing the armband and we were, ah, sort of bored in the guest quarters, so he copied it all onto the computer. We've gone over pages and pages, whole sections, but there doesn't seem to be anything there that might provide any answers. The Atteniques put on the armbands, wore them like we did for a few days, then their bodies developed antibodies and rejected the armbands. They fell off, like ours did. No negative consequences were reported."
"There had to be something different. How were the Atteniques different from us, from humans?"
"We don't know for sure, but Anise's studies showed they were probably descended from human stock. Genetically, they're nearly identical to us."
I turned back to stare into the infirmary, back toward the Colonel. One of the nurses was with him, helping him sit up and even from this distance I could once again hear the painful sound of retching. As I watched worriedly, he slid back to lay prone on the bed. "So then why is he so sick?" I asked, turning back to Sam. "What's different? Was his armband more powerful?" I paced.
"As far as I was able to observe, there weren't any differences in any of the armbands. Anise's notes and diagrams were of all identical devices."
"But can we trust her notes?"
Major Carter shrugged. "I don't know. I think so, but..."
I shook my head in frustration. "There has to be a reason for this." Looking over at Sam, I asked, "How are you feeling, and Daniel?"
"I feel fine, Janet," Sam insisted, and with my practiced eye I could see she looked healthy and normal. "Daniel's not complaining, either."
"I want to draw some more blood from each of you, compare it to the Colonel's, see if I can find anything."
"Sure."
It only took a couple of minutes to draw the blood and send it off to the lab for analysis. That done, I went back to the infirmary. The Colonel's chart and monitors showed no changes. We were continuing to administer IV fluids because he was dehydrated and unable to keep anything down, even water. His vitals all remained slightly elevated, even with the medications I'd ordered.
Stepping up to his bed, I took a good look at my patient. He was lying on his back, resting, eyes closed, his face as pale as I'd ever seen it, a thin sheen of sweat on his face, dampening his hair. A dark bruise was forming on his forehead, at the hairline, under the little butterfly bandages I'd put in place over the spot he'd hit his head.
"Colonel?"
Slowly, his eyes opened. "Doc."
"How are you doing?"
"Shouldn't you be telling me?" he mumbled.
Well, at least he was talking. "Actually, I need some more tests to do that, Sir."
"I don't think there's any part of me left untested, Doc," he complained.
Now that was a major improvement, O'Neill complaining was O'Neill starting to act like himself. "Any change in how you feel? How's your stomach?" I asked, pulling up his gown and palpating his abdomen. It still felt normal, though I could swear he already looked thinner.
"Same."
"Headache?"
"Still got it."
"Muscles?"
"Achy."
"Warm?"
"When I'm not feeling cold."
I smiled, smoothing his gown back down. "Well, at least you're beginning to sound a little better."
He raised one eyebrow. "Right."
"Think you could eat something?"
A pained look crossed his face. "No."
Definite answer there. 'No appetite', I noted on his chart. "Alert & responsive. Abdomen normal.' "I'll wait for the next set of blood tests."
"Fine."
He was looking a little queasy again, and suddenly rolled onto his side as I made a quick grab for the basin. Once again he retched, bringing up nothing. I could feel his shoulders shaking as his stomach spasmed.
When he stopped, eyes closed, gulping for breath, I grabbed a cloth, wiping his face. He stayed on his side, drawing his legs up toward his chest, wrapping his hands around his abdomen. Pouring water into a glass, I held it to his lips, letting him sip a bit, enough to rinse his mouth. "More?"
He shook his head no.
Making up my mind, I grabbed a bottle off the tray table, filled a syringe, and added the medication to his IV. "Sir, I'm adding some pain medication to your IV."
He didn't open his eyes, just nodded almost imperceptibly.
I'd been reluctant to order pain meds, not wanting to cover up his symptoms, not knowing what drug might make him worse instead of better, but I couldn't let him go on like this. "You'll start to feel better in a few minutes."
"Thanks," he mumbled, still unmoving.
After a few minutes, as the drug worked its way into his system, he began to relax, uncurling on the bed. I tucked the blankets up around his shoulders as he dozed off.
-----------------------
*Jack O'Neill*
Sick as a dog. That's how I felt. Sick.
I really hate being sick.
I dozed but couldn't really sleep, because it seemed about the time I was ready to nod off, my stomach would insist otherwise with another attempt to turn itself inside out.
Whatever Doc gave me really knocked me out, though, and I actually slept for a while. When I woke up, Teal'c was sitting on the chair beside me. Probably doing that Kel no'reem stuff.
I shifted on the bed, and he was instantly alert. "O'Neill?"
"Yup. Still here." I managed to swallow the groan, which was about the only thing I could manage to get down and keep down.
"Are you feeling recovered yet, O'Neill?"
"Ah, nope." I felt weak as a kitten but I didn't say it, because I didn't have the energy to explain the cliche' to Teal'c. Now that right there tells you how rotten I felt.
"Do you require water?"
I looked longingly at the glass he offered, wanting to clear the ugly taste in my mouth, but reluctant to introduce anything, even water, into my shaky interior. It was quiet at the moment, a state of affairs I didn't want to do anything to change, but my throat was achingly raw. I nodded. "Just a little," I suggested.
Teal'c, who can be surprisingly gentle for such a big man, moved the straw within reach and I sipped just enough to slosh around inside my mouth. Just that little movement had used up all the strength I had, and I let my head sink back into the pillows, eyes closing. Something soft and cool touched my face, and I realized the Jaffa was wiping the sweat from my forehead. I guess he'd forgiven me for knocking him out the other day, when we were sparring. Nice guy, Teal'c is, as long as he keeps his shirt on and keeps Junior tucked away in his pouch.
Junior. Eww.
Damn. Shouldn't have thought about Teal'c's snakelet because doing so always turned my stomach, even when I wasn't already sick. The thought of the slimy little guy was all it took and my gut flipflopped. Spasmed, knotted, cramped and made a noble attempt to turn inside out.
When I finally uncurled myself from the fetal position, Doc was there, saying something I couldn't comprehend. She must have dosed me up with more of that drug because real quick everything got gray and smooth and soft and mellow and I fell asleep.
------------------------
*Dr. Janet Fraiser*
Wearily, I watched while the Colonel slowly relaxed and fell asleep again.
It had been over 24 hours now since we'd brought him in to the infirmary and he wasn't improving. He wasn't worse either, which was some small comfort, but I didn't like having to put more drugs into his system.
A whole day, and I wasn't any nearer to any answers than I'd been when I'd found him lying on his bedroom floor.
I sighed in frustration, watching O'Neill intently as the pain lines smoothed out, the hard lines of his face softened as he slept.
"Doctor Fraiser?"
Teal'c was looking hard at me. "I'm sorry, Teal'c I don't have any answers. Even the message I got an hour ago, from Anise, didn't provide any assistance. She says she doesn't know any reason why the Colonel would be so sick."
Teal'c was studying his friend and CO's pale face. "Then perhaps we have been mistaken."
"Mistaken? About what?"
"Perhaps O'Neill's illness is not directly caused by the Attenique's armbands," he suggested.
"He could be right, Janet," Sam was standing in the doorway, looking in, looking worried. "Maybe we've been off on a wild goose chase the whole time. We *assumed* the armbands made the Colonel sick, but we don't know that. I didn't get sick, Daniel didn't get sick, and from Anise's notebook, there's no indication the Atteniques ever got sick."
"But you were all experiencing the same side effects when you wore the armbands, potentially damaging side effects that placed extreme stress on your bodies," I insisted.
"Right. But the symptoms began to ease as soon as the armbands came off."
"Yes," I was following her logic, desperately seeking clues because nothing we'd tried for the last 24 hours had given us anything.
Sam's logical brain was still analyzing the problem. "And hours after the armbands came off, we were all fine, yesterday evening, even the Colonel."
"Yes, your lab work, vitals, everything came back normal. You were just all exhausted."
"Right. So, we were all experiencing the same physiological reactions, Janet-- while we wore the armbands, when they came them off, and for the first three or four hours after. Correct?"
"Yes."
"Then, the variables didn't start until later," Sam's eyes lit up with excitement. "When Daniel and I stayed here, but the Colonel went home."
I was thinking out loud now too. "So, something the Colonel came in contact with, that you didn't, made him sick."
Sam nodded. "Maybe something ordinary, that on any other day wouldn't have bothered him. Because we *were* all under extreme stress."
"Your immune systems *were* compromised by the armband virus. Your natural defenses weakened." My mind was racing, trying to come up with scenarios. "So, what, he came in contact with someone who had the flu?" I shook my head. "He told me he left here and went right home and to bed."
"He didn't do anything? Talk to anyone?"
"No. Nothing." I wiped a hand across my eyes in frustration, and then remembered something. "I gave him some ibuprofen, prescription strength, that night, when he went home."
"Right. I took the same, before I went to bed. I'm sure Daniel did too."
"Yes, you all had muscle aches from the effects of those armbands. I gave the Colonel a higher dose because he'd had the armband on longest. Plus he had that headache from hitting the gate ramp. Still, it was all the same medicine, and it's a prescription I've given him before with no ill effects." Something was still niggling around at the back of my brain. " Wait, how did you take it?"
"With milk. You said not to take it on an empty stomach."
"Bingo," I said, triumph lighting my eyes. "If he took those pills, he ate or drank something." I almost ran back to the Colonel's bedside. Unfortunately, he was sound asleep, thanks to the painmeds I'd just given him. Damn. He wouldn't be awake for hours.
"I need to know what he ate."
Carter grinned. "That shouldn't be hard to find out. There's not much of anything in his refrigerator."
---------------------
It took us half an hour to reach O'Neill's house. We let ourselves in with the key the SF's had taken when we broke in the day before. I headed straight for the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. "Well, this won't take long," I sighed. It was nearly empty. A couple of unopened bottles of beer and several cans of soda; a half empty bottle of ketchup and another of mustard; salsa dip; two closed containers that proved to contain nearly mummified remains of something, and I knew that was far too old for him to have eaten any of that; a half full quart of milk, which hadn't yet passed it's expiration date; and an aging loaf of bread.
I'd take samples of the bread and milk, but it was doubtful either one was the source.
Closing the refrigerator, I looked around the room, checking cupboards and drawers. Nothing unusual. Wait. The trash. A bag lined wastebasket was tucked under the sink. In it was an empty paper carton, from ChingMing's House of Chinese.
I bagged it, snagged a piece of the bread and grabbed the carton of milk, and headed back to the base.
---------------------
*Jack O'Neill*
"Good morning, Colonel." The voice was so bright and cheerful it was downright painful.
"Hmmmm."
"Colonel, are you awake?" Doc was raising the head of my bed. "Sir?"
"How could I not be awake, with all the noise in here?" I groused, cautiously opening one eye. Hmm. Things looked improved. Sharper. Less gray and more normal. I ran my tongue experimentally around inside my mouth, deciding that it still tasted like something ugly, but the rest of me felt less like something that had been run over by a bulldozer and dragged through a cow pasture, and more like something that could just about be considered human. Amazing concept, that.
I opened the other eye and everything stayed in place.
Wow. Big improvement.
Doc was watching me intently, smiling a genuine smile, not that 'tense and worried but I'm trying hard not to let it show one' she gives me all too often.
"Hey, Doc." I'm always witty when I'm sick.
"Feeling better." Not a question, a statement. She was beaming.
"Right. How'd you know?" I barely knew myself.
"I'm the doctor, remember?"
"Hmm. Right. So, what, I'm cured?"
"Well, not exactly cured. Yet. But on the way. Another 24 hours and I suspect you'll be nearly your usual cheerful self."
"That's good to know." I was liking this feeling, but not too confident it was going to last. I kept expecting my stomach to turn on me at any minute, like it had been doing regularly for the past couple of days. So far, at least, it hadn't.
"Your temperature is normal, as are your pulse, heart rate and blood pressure. How's that for good news?"
I nodded. Another accomplishment. Nodding didn't make me dizzy. My amazement must have shown on my face because Doc was beginning to look pretty smug.
"Feel up to eating anything?"
My stomach churned a bit on that suggestion. "Ah, no, not quite ready to go that far."
She nodded. "That's okay. It will take a bit for your system to settle down and be ready for solid food. We'll keep the IVs going and check again later." She patted my hand. "You're through the worst of it, Colonel. I promise you."
Fraiser started for the door.
"Hey, Doc, what was it? The alien Antiques virus? Some nasty Tok'ra thingy Anise forgot to tell me about? The Vorash flu?"
Doc got an odd look on her face. "Actually, Colonel, it had nothing to do with the Atteniques, the Tok'ra or the armbands."
"What?"
"Food poisoning, Colonel. That takeout you ate?"
"Yeah. ChingMing's. Great stuff."
"How old was it?"
I thought a moment. "Got it right before Anise arrived. Couldn't have been more than a couple of days old. I've eaten stuff way older than that."
"I know Sir, I saw your refrigerator."
I frowned.
She smiled.
"It's not necessarily the age of something, Sir, if you left it out, on the counter, in your truck, or somewhere else along the line."
I nodded. "I fell asleep on the couch watching the hockey game, went into overtime. I suppose it stayed on the coffee table all night," I admitted.
"So, remember that. Don't leave the takeout out, Colonel, not if you don't want to be this sick again. Of course, the armbands did contribute to *how* sick you got, since you were rundown from the virus before you ate that bad chowmein."
"Muleshoe Chicken," I corrected. Suddenly, I thought of something else. "Ah, Doc, did you tell Anise? About this? About me, getting sick?" Man, I didn't want those damn Tok'ra to be any more smug and superior than they already were. I'm sure that with their handy-dandy symbiotes they never got sick.
"Of course, Colonel, we had to. We asked for her help." Fraiser was grinning. "But don't worry. When we found out what the truth was, we didn't tell her it was all self inflicted. And we won't. Unless, of course, I hear you start to complain."
"Me, complain? Doc..."
"You, complain. Yes, Colonel. Now, rest up a bit, and for lunch I'll bring you some broth. Or maybe Jello..."
I sank back on the bed and closed my eyes. "Just skip the Chinese, though, huh, Doc?"
--------------------------------
FINISH