The Enemy Inside

Author: Badgergater

Category: Missing scenes & sequel, multiple POVs

Season: 7

Episode: Enemy Mine

Spoilers: Enemy Mine

Warnings: None

Rating: PG-13

Summary: About that shoulder injury…

Disclaimer: I know I don’t own any part of SG-1, the Stargate, or the rest of the SGC; I’m just borrowing them to finish telling the tale that the show didn’t have time to complete. No copyright infringement intended… this is entirely a not-for-profit pastime; this story is the property of the author and may not be archived without permission…

Author’s Note: Carol and I think alike <G> and poor Jack suffers for it… as always… With a big thanks to SS for the beta…

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One minute I was running through the woods, charging into the middle of the fight…

… and the next, I was flying through the air and crashing to the ground, my shoulder on fire, and looking up into the face of one of the butt-ugliest creatures in the universe.

Big honkin’ Unas.

And it was pissed at me.

Oiy.

I didn’t have time to think, just react.

Pushing aside the pain, reminding myself this was *not* the time to wimp out, I forced my arm to swing my P-90 into firing position.

The Unas stared down at me.

I stared up at him, trying not to look at the blood, my blood, dripping from his claws. In a moment, one of us, or both of us, was going to be dead or dying.

Until Daniel intervened, yelling sounds, words that sounded vaguely like something I’d heard him tell the Unas back on Burrock’s planet…

And the Unas, with a howl and a snarl, turned and ran.

Leaving me behind, in something less than perfect condition.

Okay, way less than perfect.

Daniel was heading my way, Teal’c and Edwards, too, but I waved them on with a “Help him,” for the guy I’d been on *my* way to help.

Until I’d been interrupted by that freakin’ alien monster.

You do know I don’t like those Onus things? Ever since Teal’c and I visited that delightful Asgaard cave back on Cimmeria. If you think the Unas are scary in the daylight, try being stalked by one in the dark of a cave maze, with no way out.

Just not my idea of fun.

Of course, having my shoulder ripped open by a critter with claws like a wolverine and a face like a rockfish wasn’t exactly conducive to a good time, either.

Hand clenched to my shoulder, as if *that* was going to stop the bleeding, I rolled to my feet.

*********************

“Now let’s take it back to the SGC and we’ll figure it out there.”

Edwards, angry as he was, listened, thank God. He’s really not a bad officer, just an upset one. I know how it feels, to lose people under your command, in a place you thought was safe, while you were doing your job.

Being in command is never easy.

Being in command when people get wounded and killed can rip you apart.

“Go see to your men, Colonel,” I told him, hoping that having something to do would give him a few minutes to get his emotions back under control. As soon as he turned away to see to his wounded, I used my good arm to reach around into my vest pocket, digging for a dressing.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Daniel offered. He was looking all worried and concerned as he pulled the bandage out of my vest, tearing open the wrapping. “How bad is it?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Riiight.” His eyes went wide. Okay, even unascended he doesn’t believe me.

I snatched the bandage out of his hand, stuffing it up inside my jacket, against the top of my arm where I could feel the bite of torn skin and flesh. “Owww.”

“Hurts?”

“Just stings a bit,” I glared at him, trying my best to look tougher than I felt. “No big deal.”

“You’ll have to wait your turn for a stretcher…” he suggested.

“No stretcher. I can walk…”

“Jack…”

I spun on him. “Daniel, *those* guys are hurt,” I pointed with my chin (my one hand being pretty much immobile, the other occupied holding the immobile one) toward the guys who were still on the ground. “*This* is minor.”

“You look pretty pale for minor.”

“I wear sunblock,” I snapped, and started walking toward the others.

********

Edwards had his hands full with the wounded, there were five of his men down. Three were going to need transport, and there were three more, including me, we could consider the walking wounded. Besides the stretcher bearers, we needed a heavy guard, just in case the Unas were done mourning their dead and decided to come back for more.

Edwards radioed back to camp to warn them we were on the way, and to inform the SGC that the infirmary was going to be overflowing in just a bit.

I let Edwards take point, putting Teal’c with the rear guard, trusting he wouldn’t let the Unas catch us unawares.

*********

It was a long walk back. It seemed like twice as far as the trek out there had been less than an hour before. Of course, that might have had something to do with the slightly wobbly way I was feeling. Reaction to all the adrenaline, I told myself. Had nothing to do with the burning pain in my ripped open shoulder, and the way it was steadily leaking blood.

Of course not.

Yeah right, Jack.

Turning down Daniel’s offer to help, I started out just fine, though every step jolted my already throbbing shoulder. Jackson kept looking over at me with that offended look he gets, and I kept ignoring it.

After a while, I could feel the blood dripping down off my shoulder, trickling down my chest from the saturated bandage. Not a good thing.

Guess those cuts were deeper than I’d thought.

We walked steadily, the stretcher bearers quickly outdistancing us as they hurried to the gate with the seriously wounded. Looked like ol’ Doc was going to be damn busy.

Somewhere along the way, I’m not quite sure where, I found myself leaning pretty heavily on Daniel, though I don’t remember how he got to my side or how his arm got wrapped around my waist and my good arm flung over his shoulder.

Mostly, I just walked, my eyes fixed on my dusty boots so the ground wouldn’t get all sneaky on me and trip me up.

Just keep walking, flyboy.

*********

I was marching along pretty much mindlessly when unexpectedly, we stopped. Daniel’s voice was soft. “Jack, we’re here.”

I lifted my head from my intense study of the dust-covered track and saw we were at the Stargate.

Thank God. I was feeling a bit tired, if you have to know.

Edwards was waiting, the injured, er, the badly injured having already gone through into the rippling pool of blue. “Jack…” he turned to me, pleading in his eyes.

“We’ll take it up with Hammond,” I stated, and still draped all over Daniel’s shoulder, stepped into the wormhole.

The SGC’s gateroom was chaotic. Fraiser was shouting orders at her medical staff, who were hurrying around the three stretchers and the two other walk-ins. Edwards had gone straight to General Hammond. In all the hubbub, I could only catch the occasional phrase, “damn natives,” “surprise attack,” and “vicious animals” were comments that particularly stood out. It didn’t sound like Edwards had it much under control yet, I thought with a sigh.

I could feel Daniel bristling tensely. “Not now, big guy. Let him vent…”

He turned to me. “Jack, he just doesn’t understand.”

“Give him a chance to let it all out. Hammond will hear your side later…”

Just then the General turned and saw Daniel and me. “Colonel? You’re hurt.”

Why is it people always state the astoundingly obvious at times like this? “Minor, Sir. We need to talk…”

“You need to get to the infirmary,” Hammond insisted.

“Fraiser has more than enough to keep her busy, and this little thing,” I looked down at my shoulder, “will be low priority. I’ll just be waiting up there anyway, Sir.”

Hammond looked from me, to Daniel, and nodded. “Briefly then, Colonel, tell me what happened.”

So I talked, and George, as always, listened, while Edwards fumed and Daniel was dancing from foot to foot like an impatient two-year-old. Which, since I was still hanging on his shoulder, wasn’t doing my damaged body a bit of good. “Let Daniel talk to them, Sir,” I finished. “Using force at this point could be extremely counter-productive. They’re angry, and believe me, General, you *don’t* want to meet an angry Unas.”

Hammond nodded, glancing around at the wounded, then giving me a hard look. “That’s quite apparent, Colonel. Okay, I’ll take your report under advisement. Now, report to the infirmary…”

“General…”

“Now, Colonel. I’ll hear Doctor Jackson’s and Colonel Edwards’ reports in my office. You can add anything else later, Jack. Now go. Get that shoulder taken care of. That’s an order, Colonel.”

An orderly walked me down the hallway to the elevator, then stayed beside me up to the infirmary.

The place was bustling. Medical staffers were working on the other injured men. The guy I’d been going to help, Menard, I think his name was, was lying on a bed, a dressing covering the nasty wound in his chest.

“Colonel?” Janet glanced up from one of the other wounded she was tending to, looking harried and overwhelmed.

I didn’t want to add to her worries. “No big deal, Doc. I can wait.”

“Let us judge that, Sir. Nurse…” she waved at one of her staff. “See to the Colonel…”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Let’s get a look, Sir,” the nurse suggested, helping me over to a bed. Once I was sitting, she slid my good arm out of the sleeve of my jacket. Carefully, she eased the other arm out of its sleeve, and I hissed at the movement.

“Oww.”

Quickly, she used a scissors to cut through my T-shirt, wet and heavy with blood. “Oh,” she looked at me. “Sir, this is not good.”

“Ya think?” Sorry, I can’t help but get snarky when people tell me the glaringly obvious. Especially when I’m in pain.

I hadn’t actually seen the wound myself before this, I’d only shoved the dressing in against the shoulder in what had turned out to be a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. There were a couple of deep holes at the top of the arm where that thing had grabbed me with his claws, then three long deep cuts scoring five or six inches across the upper part of my shoulder. No wonder it had hurt.

“Doctor?” the nurse called Fraiser over.

Doc was right there, taking a quick, professional look. “Nasty. What kind of weapon did this, Colonel?” she asked, looking puzzled.

“An Unas in need of a manicure.”

Fraiser did a double take. “Fingernails?”

“More like claws, Doc.”

“These are deep lacerations, Colonel, they’ll need sutures, and a lot of them. We can do it with a local, or take you in to surgery, Sir.”

As if she had to ask. “Local’s fine.“

“Anything else?” she’d worked her way around to my back. “You’ve got some nasty bruises here, Colonel.”

“I sort of collided with that Unas. Hit the ground pretty hard. But nothing feels broken.”

“We’ll x-ray just to be sure, then. We’ve got one of the injured on the way to the Academy hospital via helicopter and one more in surgery with Doctor Warner. It will be a few minutes. Nurse, get x-rays and see that the wound is cleaned.”

It was a long wait by the time Doc got back to me. I’m not very patient at my best, and an hour’s worth of poking and prodding, well intentioned as it is, is waaay over my limit.

Finally, Doc was back, ready to get to work. “Xylocaine 2%,” she told the nurse, then turned to me. “I’ll need to give you a series of injections along the lacerations, Colonel. They’ll sting.”

The first one burned a bit, sure, as she injected the anesthetic. Okay, that wasn’t so bad, I told myself, until she systematically pumped another gallon of that burning acid stuff into my shoulder, one needle full at a time.

“Doc? That, ahhh, hurts.” I was beginning to think I’d have been better off to just let her put in the stitches cold turkey, that would have been less painful than this xylophone stuff.

“Nearly done, Sir. And it will be worth it,” she promised.

Way too slowly, my shoulder eventually went numb, and I sighed with relief. Yeah, I was hurting. You try letting an Unas make raw hamburger out of a large chunk of your anatomy and see how it feels.

Even with the all the shots she’d given me, I could feel her putting in the stitches. No, not that way, it didn’t hurt, but I could still feel the contact, the shadowy pressure against skin and flesh as she worked, the subtle tugging as she pulled the stitch up to snip it.

Talking as she sewed me up, I heard the SGC’s full medical report before Doc was done… one concussion, nasty but not life threatening; one with broken ribs, possible neck injury and probable internal injuries, still in surgery with Dr. Warner; one penetrating abdominal wound, sent to the Academy Hospital for major surgery, serious; one broken collarbone plus contusions and bruises; and one other with a bad cut.

Neither one of us mentioned the one in the morgue, the one the Unas had killed.

It took her a long time to sew me up. I like Doc, I really do, but an hour of letting her practice her needlepoint on my skin was way too much. “You making a quilt here, or what?” I finally asked, patience completely gone.

She smiled, and kept working. “These lacerations are long and deep, Colonel, but we’re through the worst of it.” Doc kept up a running commentary as she finished up in her usual efficient, no nonsense way, her hands steady.

Me, I lay still and tried not to squirm… staying in one position for any length of time just isn’t my thing.

“You’ve set the record for stitches this time, Colonel. Seventy-seven.”

“Lucky me,” I groused.

“Could have been worse, Colonel, you’ve got some nasty bruising here. This shoulder’s going to be sore for a few days.”

“Tell me about it,” I sighed.

“I want you to stay here for a few hours, just to be sure there aren’t any complications. All the usual warnings then, Sir. After a week, we can consider light duty.”

“A week?” Okay, so I’m a glutton for punishment, but I’m the kind of person who needs to keep busy. A week at home might sound like fun for most people, but one-armed, I wasn’t going to be able to do much of anything but lie around and vegetate.

By the time Doc was done, a thick bandage in place and I’d talked her into a scrub shirt rather than a hospital gown (which may have done wonders for my dignity but gets another perfect 10 on the ‘this hurts more than you’d think’ scale), the local was pretty much worn off.

Fun time.

Why is it aliens keep poking *me full of holes, huh? And why is it always the right arm? The nurse brought me a sling and helped me lift my arm into it, pulling it tight, reminding me that Doc had warned I needed to keep the arm still, or I’d risk tearing out the stitches up nearest the shoulder joint. As if I didn’t know ten times as much about stitches, and how to take care of them, as any nurse ever would. There’s nothing like personal experience as a teacher, you know? I think I’m up over 300 now, lifetime total, including a few self-inflicted.

Just call me O’Needle, only one L.

I couldn’t get comfortable.

I didn’t want to lie down, that made my back hurt.

If I sat up, the pressure on my neck from the tight sling made it hurt.

And my shoulder just plain hurt.

I know, Doc would have given me stronger pain meds if I’d let her, but those damn things leave me groggy and out of sorts.

Yeah, so I’m out of sorts a lot. They leave me *extra* out of sorts, okay?

I’ll probably have to apologize later.

And now I’m about to undergo more scrutiny.

Oiy.

This day is just *packed* full of fun.

I hate entertaining visitors. They’re well meaning, too, my team is. But I really don’t want them here. Okay, I know that’s not the way most people are, but I’m not a misery-loves-company kind of guy. I’m much more of a crawl off into the bushes and moan alone sort. Let me heal in my own way. Without witnesses.

It’s why I so desperately want out of the infirmary the moment I’m in the infirmary. And, of course, there’s all the fun of being in the clutches of the sadists who take up medicine as a profession. Yeah, sure, I’m being hard on them. But I’m grumpy.

Seventy-seven stitches would make you grumpy too.

********

Daniel’s gone, off to commune with the Unas, but Carter’s still here, hovering beside my bed like she wants to help but doesn’t know what to do. “Anything I can do for you, Sir?” she asks the obvious at last.

“Yes, leave.” I know it sounded peevish, but really, she asked, and it’s what I wanted, to be left alone. Is that such a hard concept? These folks ought to know me, they’ve worked with me for seven years, and this isn’t my first visit to Doc’s house of needles. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for her.

I’m hurting, I’m tired, and I want peace and quiet.

Which of course I’m not going to get, because as soon as Carter leaves, Doc shows up.

With good news at least. “All your tests are back, Colonel, and there’s no other damage besides the cuts and possibly a shoulder sprain. You can go home if you like.”

That perked me up right then and there, I’ll tell you. I rolled over, sat up and smiled. “If I’d like? I’m so outta’ here, Doc…” I slid my legs off the bed, feet heading toward the floor.

“Easy, Colonel. I’ve got to get your meds. And I need a promise you’ll first of all follow my instructions; second, call if anything seems out of the ordinary; and third, that you’ll come in day after tomorrow for me to check those sutures.”

“Deal, Doc.”

********

I love getting home. So okay, this time it wasn’t quite going home in one undamaged piece, but my home is my sanctuary from a lot of things, my place, my space, where no one tells me what to do, not Generals or Doctors or anyone. Where I can quit being Colonel O’Neill, with all the built in responsibilities, and just be Jack, whose body aches in a myriad of places, whose actions are open to no one’s scrutiny, who needs to just *be* sometimes, you know? I know you do.

So, yeah, all I did when I got home was sleep, which was pretty much what I was doing in Doc’s domain, but here, no one was *watching* me sleep.

Big difference.

So I took the pills Doc had given me, burrowed under the covers in my own king-size bed, and nodded right off into never-never land.

Not having a clue how close to never-again I was going to be.

********

It’s been a harrowing couple of days.

Yesterday, when the gate opened and the wounded started coming through, I’d thought we couldn’t do it. Too many, too fast, and too few of us. I’m damn proud of my staff. This job is hard. So often we go day after day, quietly, with not much of anything to do but the routine, and then, without warning, the brown stuff hits the proverbial fan and the place goes nuts.

Six injured landed on our doorstep, lacerations, contusions, broken bones, internal injuries… some major, some minor, but all in need of our care.

I’m getting too old for these 24-hour on-duty shifts, with little more than cat naps for sleep.

My infirmary is much quieter tonight though. Colonel O’Neill, Lt. Dawkins, and Sgt. Elias have all gone home. Sgt. Harmon is recovering in the capable hands of the Air Force Academy Hospital staff. I’ve only got Airman Levenich and Lt. Menard still here.

Levenich’s going to be with us for a while.

Menard, I’d thought I could send home today. He actually had fewer stitches than Colonel O’Neill, but the laceration across his chest doesn’t look quite right. I think he might have an infection starting. I’ll know for sure by tomorrow, but I’ve already got him on a full spectrum of IV antibiotics, our standard cocktail for off-world wounds, so maybe I’m just being too fussy.

But then again, in this job, there’s no such thing as being too cautious.

With things gone quiet, I finally decided to leave things in the more than capable hands of my nursing staff for a few hours and try to get a little sleep. The cot in my office gets a lot of use, well, sometimes not as much as I’d like, when I’m on a 24-hour shift.

Shedding only shoes and lab coat, I lay down, covered myself with the blanket, and promptly fell asleep.

It seemed like I’d only closed my eyes when someone was calling my name.

“Doctor Fraiser…”

Rolling over, I looked up at my senior night nurse. Captain Carroll. She had a worried look on her face, and when she’s worried, I’m worried. “Lee, what is it?”

“Lieutenant Menard, Ma’am, his temperature is spiking.”

Damn. “I’ll be right there.”

His temp was spiking all right, having jumped to 102. Quickly putting on gloves, I removed the dressing over his chest laceration, and sucked in a breath in surprise.

“Lieutenant?” His head moved, his eyelids flickered and he mumbled something I couldn’t understand. “Lieutenant?”

He tried again, but I still couldn’t make out his words. “Jerry, you’re running a fever. We’re working on it, Lieutenant, you’re going to be fine.”

I don’t usually lie to my patients, and maybe you wouldn’t call it a lie, because at the time I said that, I’d really believed it was true.

Naively, as it turned out.

I thought the vanco was working until he went into DIC. He started getting the classic symptoms, purple spots indicating that his coagulation system was beginning to malfunction, like it does when people have overwhelming infections with toxin emitting organisms. He went into shock after that but I was still optimistic that we could save him.

All the lab tests showed us was an unknown bacteria, multiplying like wildfire. Right before our eyes, the infection worsened and the fever soared, the most virulent thing I’ve ever seen. Nothing we tried worked, not the meds, not the cooling techniques, not even the prayers.

We all worked as hard as we could, but we lost him anyway.

Days like this, I hate being a doctor, hate the waste and the losses and the futility of it.

At 6:14 a.m., I pronounced Lt. Jerry Menard.

I was pulling off my gloves, exhausted and depressed, trying to think of something positive to say to my staff who’d worked so hard to try to save him, when a horrible thought crossed my mind, my heart nearly stopping at the sudden realization.

Colonel O’Neill had been wounded by the same Unas who’d attacked Menard.

I ran for the nearest phone and with trembling fingers dialed his number, praying for an answer, praying to hear him complain that I’d woken him up. The phone rang and rang and rang, six times.

My knees went weak in relief at hearing his familiar voice. “Colonel…” I started.

It was his voice, all right, but on his answering machine.

My voice was tight with fear as I hung up the phone. “We need to get someone to the Colonel’s house. Now.”

Oh God, I’d been the one who sent him home. Alone.

*************

I’d gone to bed early the night before, well, I’d fallen asleep on the couch during the hockey game, actually. Sleeping was all I’d done since I’d gotten home, and I was beginning to think that Doc had spiked my meds with some sleeping pills, just to make sure I wouldn’t overdo things.

It sure felt like I’d been drugged. My vision seemed a little wobbly and my legs were more than a bit shaky, and my mouth felt like cotton was growing in there. Somebody’d also turned up the heat in the house, or maybe I’d just forgotten to re-set the air conditioner when I got home, because it sure seemed way too warm. I kicked off the blankets, lying on the bed in only my T-shirt and sweats, thinking about how thirsty I was but not willing to make the effort to walk all the way into the bathroom for a drink.

That should have been a sign, I should have noticed, I’m not the kind who usually messes up on details like this, but I guess my brain was already too fogged to pay attention.

Deciding I’d just sleep some more, and get that drink later, I let myself fade back into sleep.

I do remember a vague noise, like something buzzing at me, but I didn’t think it was important enough to bother with, not as tired as I was.

*************

Janet’s words shook me to the core. “Lieutenant Menard is dead? But, I was just talking with him yesterday about the naquadah survey on P…”

“He succumbed a few minutes ago to a sudden, raging infection,” Janet’s face looked grim. “Sam, have you talked to the Colonel this morning?”

“No. I don’t think he knew Menard all that well…”

“Sam, Colonel O’Neill was attacked by the same Unas that injured Lieutenant Menard.”

“Are you saying that the Colonel is in danger?”

“There’s a strong probability that he’s been infected as well. I don’t know for sure where that infection came from, but my first guess would be that it was a substance related to that wound, something on the claws of that Unas. I just tried to call the Colonel’s house, and I didn’t get an answer.”

I was trying to find something to be optimistic about. “Maybe he turned off his phone. He does that sometimes, when he doesn’t want us fussing over him…”

“We need to get over there. Now.”

“I’m right with you.”

The two of us, accompanied by a pair of SFs, were on our way within minutes.

It was a long ride to the Colonel’s home. Three more times Janet tried to reach him via his home phone and his cell, neither of which was answered.

Arriving at the house, I trotted around the back to the deck, peering in through the wide windows. The place was quiet, the drapes were open and there was no sign of the Colonel. The doors were all locked, his truck was parked in the driveway. The silence was scary.

Moving to the third potted plant on the left side of the deck, pulling the key out from underneath, I used it to open the door that led from the deck into the living room. I stepped inside, calling his name. “Colonel O’Neill? Colonel? It’s Major Carter and Doctor Fraiser…”

“Colonel?” Janet added, hurrying inside, past me, up the half flight of stairs from the sunken living room into the hallway that led to the Colonel’s bedroom. She knocked on the door and receiving no answer, entered.

“Damn it,” she cursed.

O’Neill was lying curled on the bed, covers askew, his hair sweat streaked, his clothing damp, and his face flushed.

**********

He didn’t rouse when I called his name, but when I took hold of his wrist, I saw his expression change, and then slowly his eyes opened, looking too bright and way too confused.

I wasn’t ready to tell him about Menard. “I came to check on you, Colonel, You’re running a fever. I’m afraid we’ll have to take you back to the SGC infirmary.”

“Oh,” was all he said, and I felt my blood pressure jump. He wasn’t complaining and that was a really bad sign with him. O’Neill will grouse, bluster and argue, he hates the infirmary, and now he wasn’t even so much as giving me a dirty look.

He was sicker than he looked, I knew that in an instant.

“Janet?” Sam asked from the doorway.

“Ask the SFs to come in. We need to get him back to the SGC. Now.”

Sam’s eyes went wide with worry. “Wouldn’t the Academy hospital be closer?”

“I can’t risk taking him there. I don’t know what this is, whether it’s contagious. The tests on Menard showed it was a bacteria we haven’t seen before, something alien.”

She nodded, understanding the implications. We couldn’t just waltz in there with a patient and explain he needed to be kept in isolation because his infection was caused by an unknown alien substance. The Stargate program, the fact that we had personnel visiting, and working on, other planets, was top secret. We couldn’t reveal that, even if it meant risking the lives of our people.

“He’s in trouble isn’t he?” she asked softly.

Looking down at O’Neill, I nodded. “Sam, bring me a glass of water, would you? We’ll see if he’s alert enough to take some Tylenol.” Reaching into the medical bag that I’d brought, I pulled out a vial and syringe, filling it with four grams of Rocephin. That’s a huge dose, but this was no time to be conservative, not with the memory of Jerry Menard’s death still fresh in my mind. “Colonel, I’m going to give you an injection. This will hurt,” I warned as I pulled down his sweats, swabbed a spot on his left cheek, and stuck him.

He woke up then, his eyes flying wide open. “God, Doc, what’s in that? Acid?” His face scrunched up into a grimace, sweat beading on his forehead. “Ah, God…”

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” Sam had returned so I took the glass from her, pulled out a pair of Tylenol, and put them into his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked, suspiciously.

After the shot I’d just given him, I didn’t blame the Colonel for not trusting me. “Just Tylenol, Sir. But it will help the pain and the fever.”

He took them, popped them into his mouth, and drank down the whole glass of water.

Having done what I could for him for the moment, we were ready to leave. With one SF on either side and a blanket wrapped around him, we helped the Colonel out to the car. I climbed in the back with O’Neill, an SF on his other side, and Sam in front with the SF who was driving.

The Colonel wasn’t so wide awake anymore, but stayed mostly quiet during the long ride back to the SGC. Once he opened his eyes, looking around as if trying to remember what was happening, turning to me with a puzzled expression. “Doc?” O’Neill’s voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“We’re almost there, Sir.”

“Where?”

“The SGC.”

“Thanks.” He nodded and sighed, and slid further down on the seat, his shoulders slumping, his head sliding down to rest against my shoulder.

He never complained, not once.

God, I was worried. Rocephin is incredible stuff, doctors know it can be a near-miracle cure all for most bacterial infections. Myself, I’ve seen it do some amazing stuff. But I had no way to know if it would work this time.

Once we reached Cheyenne Mountain, we used the freight elevator to move O’Neill down to the top secret levels inhabited by the SGC, and quickly settled him into an isolation room.

With a chill, I remembered the last time he’d been here, when he’d been dying from the alien virus we’d encountered in Antarctica.

I hadn’t been able to do a damn thing for him then. I feared the same this time.

And I had 12 long hours to wait for results.

*******

The time passed slowly.

O’Neill slept.

I paced.

His fever wasn’t going up, but it wasn’t going down, either.

I was peeling the bandage off his shoulder to check the condition of the wound when I felt the Colonel stir.

“Doc?”

The voice was faint and weak, not at all what I was used to hearing from the normally assertive O’Neill.

“Hey, Colonel,” I kept my voice soft and soothing.

“What’s…” he was looking around in bewilderment. “I was home…”

“Yes, Sir, you were. You’ve developed an infection, so we’ve brought you back to the SGC.”

“Oh,” he swallowed, licking his lips. “Could you turn the heat down?”

“I’m trying, Sir, “ I reassured him.

I offered him some water, and he sipped it lazily.

“You’re running a high fever, but we’re working on it.”

“Good,” he mumbled and drifted away again.

Half an hour later, his temperature began a slow increase, a tenth of a point here, another tenth there.

The Rocephin wasn’t working.

I was out of options, and the Colonel was running out of time.

**********

Stepping out of the isolation area, I found General Hammond and Major Carter waiting impatiently for an update.

“Doctor Fraiser?” Hammond’s brow was furrowed. He’s a strong man, a great leader, and someone who admires Colonel O’Neill. He cares about all the personnel here, but he’s got a soft spot for O’Neill. As most of us do.

“He’s stable for now. I’m doing what I can but…” I looked from one to the other of them, and took a deep breath. “What we did for Lieutenant Menard this morning, we’ll try it all again. But it didn’t work then, and there’s no expectation that it will work now. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“The infection came from that planet?”

“From the Unas, most likely. Perhaps something that’s native to them, or to that planet that doesn’t affect them. Or it could be an intentional contagion.”

“A poison?” Hammond asked.

“Any suggestions? Anyone we can call in? Anything we can do to help?” he offered. “Major, what about your father?”

“I’ve sent a message to the Tok’ra, General, but we’ve heard nothing back.”

Hammond nodded and turned back to me. “Doctor Fraiser?”

I shook my head. “We’re doing all that we can. I can’t imagine…”

Sam’s face suddenly lit up with excitement. “General, I’d like permission to go to P36-403.”

“Major?”

“Sam?” we both asked at once.

“Janet, Daniel and Teal’c are still there, helping the mining team learn how to work with the Unas, teaching them the language. Maybe the Unas know something, some treatment.”

Hammond looked doubtful.

Sam turned to him. “Sir, we have to do something. It’s a chance, a slim one I know…”

“General,” I added, “it’s worth a try, Sir.”

Hammond, thank God, nodded. “Okay, Major, be geared up and ready to go in ten.”

“I only need five, Sir,” she answered, already turning and trotting down the hallway toward the locker room.

**********

I was ready in four minutes, which might be a new record, but the Colonel’s life was at stake, and from the look on Janet’s face, there was no time to waste. As soon as the wormhole materialized, I hurried into the cold of the vortex, emerging into the dark of night on P36-403.

Teal’c was waiting. “Major Carter,” he greeted me.

“Teal’c, where’s Daniel?”

“He is with Iron Shirt. They are less than half an hour away.”

Traveling at double-time, we arrived at the Unas’ campsite in 20 minutes.

SG-1's archaeologist stood, surprise showing clearly on his face. “Sam, what are you doing here?” he asked as he walked around the fire toward me.

“Daniel, it’s the Colonel.”

“Jack? He was fine when I left, the injury was minor,” confusion furrowed his brow.

“He’s got an infection. Menard already died from it this morning, and the Colonel’s not doing well. Janet’s tried everything she can…”

Daniel looked from me to Teal’c and back to me. “What can I do?”

“Janet says it’s something from this planet, or from them,” I waved a hand toward the Unas gathered around. “Maybe…”

Daniel didn’t even wait for me to finish talking, but spun back to the huge beings. Totally non-human sounds were coming from his mouth, his hands working as quickly as his tongue as he tried to explain. “Friend, injured, sick, help…” he mumbled between the alien words.

The Unas leader, an immense creature with a scar crossing his right eye, rasped an answer.

Daniel got even more passionate, hands moving even faster, his face contorting. “Damn it. I don’t understand,” he muttered, then started speaking again.

Suddenly, one of the other Unas spoke up.

Daniel was nodding. “Yes, yes, ukbak. Ukbak. Healing, medicine.”

I didn’t understand, all I could do was hope that Daniel did.

One of the Unas growled, then turned and left at a loping run.

Daniel turned back to me.

“Will they help?”

“I think so. Iron Shirt has sent for a healer. They have a potion they make, from leaves of a plant, to treat wounds. Otherwise, even Unas who are injured by the claws of another Unas usually die.”

“Will this potion be effective on a human?” Teal’c inquired.

“There’s no way to know, until we try.”

********

Less than an hour later, Daniel, Teal’c and I were all on our way back to the SGC, a small container of a pungent smelling viscous material carried by Daniel, and a small jar of a liquid tucked into his pocket. We’d already radioed ahead to tell Janet we were on our way with a possible cure.

*************

“Hold on Colonel,” I told him as he tossed feverishly on the bed.

“Tryin’,” he mumbled indistinctly.

“I know you are, Sir,” I picked up the damp cloth from the bedside stand and patted the sweat from his forehead. “Sam’s gone for help. They’ll be back soon.“

“No.” His eyes flashed open momentarily, his shoulders lifting inches off the bed before he sank back down. “Not... a Tok’ra. Not this time.”

“No, Sir. No Tok’ra. Not this time.”

He sagged. “Good. No snakes…”

“None, Sir. I promise.”

I glanced over at the wall once more, willing the hands on the clock to move faster. Fifteen minutes, the message had said. Praying they wouldn’t be too late, and that what they brought would work, I turned back to my patient.

Just in time to see him seize.

It’s a nasty sight, watching your patient lose control, the eyes rolling up into the head, muscles going rigid, face contorting into an agonized grimace as the body arches off the sheets.

I’d already watched this happen once today, watched a patient race downhill and die, and I damn well didn’t want to see it again.

I sighed with relief as I heard the intercom system call out a gate activation alert, then, just moments later, the sound of running footsteps racing down the hallway and to the Colonel’s room.

“Janet, here,” Daniel held out a small container of a thick, sticky paste. “Put this on the wound, and have him drink this,” he added, handing me a tiny jar.

I opened the lid, sniffed, and reeled from the hideous smell.

“What’s…?”

“Sresh, the healer, says this will help. It’s plant leaves and roots.”

“Daniel, we don’t know what’s in here. It could kill him.”

“And the infection won’t?” Daniel demanded earnestly. “It’s worth a try. Unless you’ve got something better.”

“No,” I admitted, “nothing.” Looking down at the Colonel, I shook my head. “He’s unconscious, I don’t think he’ll be able to drink any of this…” Turning back to the nurse, I ordered, “Let’s get a tube inserted, we’ll administer it directly into his stomach.”

“Ma’am, is that wise?” she asked, looking back at me with surprise.

“Probably not, Lieutenant, but we’ve got nothing else. Let’s try it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she acknowledged the order.

Even as I did it, I knew it was a crazy thing to do. Not crazier than some of the other insane things we’d tried here at the SGC, not crazier than some of the incredible things I'd witnessed day after day in this place. So, taking a leap of faith, trusting Daniel’s knowledge of the Unas, I inserted the tube, and gave Colonel O’Neill the alien liquid.

The first surprise was that he kept the foul stuff down.

The second was that, within half an hour, his fever started to drop, not much, but a definite improvement.

All through the night, I sat with him, watching his condition improve slowly but steadily, his temperature dropping, his breathing easing, the red streaks that had fanned out from his wound retreating bit by bit.

******

I’d just checked the Colonel’s temperature, finding it had dropped another point down to 101, when Daniel walked in. It was the middle of the night, I was surprised to see him, but then, I’d just had to chase Teal’c away. SG-1 sticks together, especially when one of them is hurt.

“How is he?” our resident linguist/archaeologist genius asked quietly.

I looked down at the sleeping officer. “Much better. It’s amazing really. A couple of hours ago he was dying, and now, he’s just asleep, and recuperating.”

Daniel gave one of his rare small smiles. “So the Unas have supplied us with a new miracle drug?”

“Maybe.”

“Only maybe?” Daniel queried.

“I gave the Colonel a huge dose of a powerful antibiotic called Rocephin. When it works, it’s pretty amazing.”

“It didn’t work on Menard?”

“I didn’t have a chance to use it on him.”

“So you don’t know that it worked for Jack?”

I nodded. “Frankly, no.”

“So maybe it *was* the Unas’ healing potion.”

“And maybe not.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

I looked down at my patient and smiled. “No, Daniel, it doesn’t. All that matters is the result.”

“And he’ll be okay?”

“Back to annoyingly normal real soon.”

“Ah,” Daniel smiled again, and with a little wave, shuffled out the door.

*******

Toward dawn I'd dozed off, sitting beside the Colonel’s bed, my hand still on his arm, when I felt movement.

O’Neill was staring up at me, his rich coffee brown eyes looking more than slightly puzzled.

I was incredibly glad to see him awake. “How are you feeling, Sir?”

“Confused,” he admitted. “Tired.”

“Me, too.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Last thing,” he paused, searching his brain I assumed, “I was at home…”

“Your wound was infected.”

“Ah.” His eyes had slid shut once more, but his voice was still audible. “Over now?”

“Yes, Sir, the worst is over. You’ll be fine.” I smiled. This time, I could keep my word. This time, my patient would make it. This time, the enemy had been defeated, and life had won.

It’s a damn good feeling.

He smiled, that little grin he has that softens his expression and takes years off his age. “Thanks, Doc.”

“You’re welcome, Colonel.”

He sighed, that little smile fading away as he drifted off into sleep.

Sometimes, I love my job.

-----The End------