Knockdown

Author: Badgergater

Email: [email protected]

Season: 8

Episode: Lockdown

Spoilers: Lockdown, other eps with Anubis

Category: Missing scenes, epilogue for Lockdown

Pairing: None

Warning: None

Rating: Anyone

Summary: A general really shouldn't hit the floor that hard

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of MGM, SciFi, Showtime, and probably a whole bunch of other rich and important folks that definitely don't include me. This story is for entertainment purposes only,

And no money was involved, only appreciation for the characters.

Author's Pledge: Honest and accurate information allowing the potential reader to make an informed choice on whether or not to read this fic

Author's Note: Thanks to Cokie for the beta; thanks to all those who feedback-- it's always appreciated.

xxx------------------------xxx---------------------------xxx

"Chilly," I said, but I was wrong.

Dizzy was actually going to be the word of the day.

Which I didn't discover until I tried to get up.

x--------x--------x

Let me back up a bit and set the scene. The place was the Gateroom. The guy on the floor was me, Brigadier General Jack O’Neill. My former SG-1 teammates, Teal'c and Carter, were the first arrivals there to help me up off the cold, hard concrete.

I don't actually remember exactly how I got there on the floor, and no, that had nothing to do with the way I’d just thunked my skull on concrete. I'm actually missing a good half hour before that fraction of a second before I hit the deck.

The last thing I clearly recall was just a split second feeling of being free of a foul, oily darkness and then I was being pushed backwards, and suddenly- thwack. Lights out, Jack.

So, maybe I need to go even further back and start at the beginning, which is generally a good place to start.

x--------x--------x

I hadn’t been ‘the man’ at the SGC for long. I was still getting my feet wet as the commander of the SGC. Okay, to be honest, I’d just barely dipped my toes into that pond as of yet. I felt as out of place as I’d been on my long-ago first day at the academy—green, raw and desperately hoping I hadn’t jumped in waaaay over my head and was about to drown, taking a whole lot of good people down with me.

It was obviously going to be a long, long process, learning these new ropes. Leadership, I’ve long known, is in the details, but the details I was used to were more along the lines of what ordnance to take with me on a mission, how many rounds of ammo to carry, which firefight tactics to use, and how to make an accurate threat assessment. Those things I knew. But running the SGC? That was a whole other mess of fish to fry.

Now, it wasn’t hard to figure out about sending teams offworld, and watching their sixes once they were out there. I’d had a good mentor, the best, actually, in George Hammond, and I’d paid attention to what he’d done. From personal experience, I knew what the teams out there needed. But learning how to be an administrator—oiy. My head was spinning, and that was even before I hit my head.

And before the Russian showed up.

Which I think is a very good place to start, actually, at the arrival of the Russian. Since that is in fact where this story started.

x--------x--------x

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t very welcoming to the guy. I don’t like Russians and, yes, I do have my reasons, top secret reasons if you get my drift, for my aversion to them. Yes, it goes back a long, long ways, but I don’t trust them, and well, I never will. I know the Cold War is over, and I know we’re now ‘friends’, of a sort, but that doesn’t erase what happened in the past. And yes, there are some new tricks you just can’t teach this old dog.

So, no, I wasn’t going to be putting Colonel Vaseline on SG-1 any time soon, or any time at all, no matter how much he sucked up.

No way.

I would have reacted that way even if I didn’t have people pushing me to assign him to SG-1. I admit such pushing just makes me stubbornly dig in my heels and push back. I had been given command of the SGC, and my superiors needed to let me *be* in charge, which meant letting me make my own mistakes, er, decisions, assert my independence and authority, and use my field experience to make my own choices. I had to take command like a commander should, even if I made a few wrong turns along the way, which I definitely would. They had to let go and let me fly solo.

To be honest, it wasn’t just a problem with putting the Russian on my team, and yes, I know, I shouldn’t still think of them as ‘my team’. Looking back, I realize I didn’t want to assign *anyone* to join SG-1 for totally selfish reasons. Assigning the team a new fourth meant that I really wasn’t part of SG-1 anymore and, quite frankly, I wasn’t ready to accept that idea just yet, you know? Even though I *do* know the writing’s on the wall (and the damage is done to the knees and the back) and that the off-world adventurous part of my life is, for the most part, over, letting go still isn’t easy.

I needed time to adjust. So, no, I was not ready to concede my place on SG-1 yet; to formalize my departure; write done, over with, hasta la vista, adios, and sayonara to my days as a field officer. Not yet. I needed time to adjust to the idea, gradually, at my own pace.

Which I would, eventually.

But just not quite yet.

So, let’s just say things were in a bit of a state of flux for me when Mr. Russkie showed up, bringing his unwelcome other-worldly evil passenger with him.

x--------x--------x

Daniel going whacko in the gateroom was the first sign that we had a situation developing at the SGC. Daniel doesn’t usually go whacko, even on his worst days. Taking a hostage and shooting up the gateroom just isn’t the norm for my favorite geek.

I really do feel bad about shooting Daniel. Though, of course, I’ve shot every member of SG-1 at least once already, so why should he be the exception? I shot Carter when that entity controlled her, although it was only a zat, and I shot Teal’c when Apophis captured and brainwashed him a couple of years ago. I felt bad about each of those unpleasant incidents, but, just like this time, they were a necessity.

And yes, I know that when Daniel took that guy hostage in the gateroom, it wasn’t particularly a very general-ish action for me to do. I jumped right into the action, rushing from the control room down to the gateroom when Daniel, er, Anubis who was controlling Daniel, held a gun to a guy’s head. But hey, instinct took over. I didn’t think about it, I just grabbed that 9 mil from the SF and charged into the middle of a hostage situation. It’s what I do. Did. Have done for years. I see trouble, and my adrenaline just automatically kicks in and I want to dive right in and be a part of the solution; lead the action, not just stand there and talk, for cryin’ out loud.

So, kick me for it.

Besides, I’m a damn good shot, and I knew that I could shoot Daniel without killing him. Which I didn’t want to do. (Though admittedly there have been times. Just not this time.)

So, I jumped right into the midst of the crisis.

Did it myself.

I shot Daniel.

But Carter and Teal’c didn’t have to rat me out.

Traitors.

x--------x--------x

So there I was, overwhelmed at being ‘the man,’ already feeling like I was caught in a riptide and quite likely about to be sucked under and drowned. On top of that, I was feeling bad about shooting Daniel, and then I got thrown right into the maelstrom, having to order a base lockdown because we had an alien intruder in our midst.

Nothing like, first time out, leaping right off the pier and into the deep water-- in the middle of a category five hurricane.

Oh, sure, it’s easy enough to say the words, to order those big doors closed and lock everyone in. It’s much harder to look at all the faces who are expecting guidance from me. It’s not easy to assuage their worries, and then (gulp) even harder to explain what you did to Hammond and the Joint Chiefs and the President. Believe it or not, the bigwigs all get surprisingly testy when a multi-billion dollar program gets shut down by a rookie general.

But what else was I to do? I couldn't let that creepy Halloweenish nightmare oily-dark cloud thingy get lose on Earth, or escape through the gate and out into the galaxy.

I had to find a solution in my own inimitable, underhanded, sneaky O'Neill way.

x--------x--------x

We, meaning my old team and I, came up with a good plan, and I knew it was going to work. It was just that we didn’t know how long it might take.

Then I got my first big-time lesson in generalish-ness—you may be the man, but there are still other men who give you orders. I may rule the SGC, but I still have bosses who make impossible demands.

Solve this now, they ordered.

I only had 24 hours. Would that be time enough? What was I going to do if Anubis didn’t jump at the bait and I had to face the music? How could I deal with Hammond and the President? I knew opening the base back up for operations was the wrong thing to do, but if they insisted, I was going to be caught smack dab in the crossfire. My choices were limited: follow my own conscience (and probably get court martialed for it), or follow the order, and let that creepy, slippery, scum-sucking cloud of inky oily evil darkness get out into the universe?

Neither one was a choice I wanted to stare in the face.

x--------x--------x

Just when it looked like my career as a general was going to be *very* brief, my bluff worked. I made that phony ‘buck up, we’re all here for the long term’ announcement and Anubis took the bait.

Who says playing poker isn’t educational?

Anubis, being a typical egotistical, narcissistic, self-absorbed, arrogant, self-centered snake, confident of his superiority and humanity’s inferiority, took my bluff and suddenly, things started to happen.

Anubis was on the move.

I do give myself a grade of ‘F’ on missing this: we all should have realized he’d go after Carter because she knows more about how things work here than all the rest of us combined.

Carter walking around zatting people is about as normal as Daniel shooting up the gateroom. It’s a whole lot scarier, though, because Carter is so much smarter than the rest of us.

x--------x--------x

The last thing I clearly remember was being in the hallway and zatting an Anubis-possessed Carter. She crumpled to the floor and that black cloud, sort of like a dark, dense puff of smoke, rose up out of her. It hovered in the corridor in front of me for just a second and then—bam!--- it hit me.

Anubis hitched a ride in my head (but then, who hasn’t? The blue mold guys, Urgo, Machello's Linvris bug thingys, Hathor's snakelet, that sorry SOB Kaanan ) and used me in his effort to bug-out.

I don’t remember much about those next ten or fifteen minutes while Anubis was the puppeteer and I was the puppet. Everything was pretty hazy. There was this thick, dark cloud obscuring everything, like a really heavy dose of Doc's happy drugs sometimes did, where you could sort of be aware that you were awake, but not in control, you know? Maybe you don't, but take my word for it, it was weird.

I was there, I was watching, but I couldn’t do a damn thing about what was happening.

Frustrating.

Unnerving.

Scary, actually.

In the end, I found myself in the gateroom. Carter told me later what happened, how the Russian ran in and blocked Anubis from taking my body offworld. Vaselov, dying already, challenged Anubis to take him, and Anubis accepted, jumping out of me and into that Russkie fellah.

Guess his snaki-ness didn’t care for the gray after all.

x--------x--------x

That is where I start to actually remember things.

There was a split second feeling of clarity, like the wind sweeping through and clearing away the fog.

There was a momentary glimpse of the Russian’s pale face and something very, very dark and evil in his eyes.

And then I was toppling backward, like someone had smacked me in the chest.

I distinctly remember that part, crashing backwards, twisting as I fell, which did save my head from bouncing off the concrete and probably cracking like a rotten melon. Instead, my shoulder absorbed some of the fall and my head just banged down hard, stunning me.

Maybe even knocking me out for a second or two or three.

I know I saw stars, and they weren’t of the Hollywood variety.

Stunned, down on the floor, I heard the gate kawoosh and then quickly shut down. Even as I was fighting to clear my head I knew that damn, he’d gotten away!

The next thing I heard was the door opening and footsteps running in.

Teal'c and Carter arrived beside me.

"I'm okay," I promised optimistically, before they could ask.

"Ish," I amended as they helped me sit up and the room spun and lurched sickeningly. I discovered I had a very strong urge to regurgitate, which got stronger as I realized the damn gould-thing had just escaped.

I'd failed. "He got through, didn't he?"

"Sort of," Carter contradicted. "I was able to override the established dialing sequence and input an alternate address. I sent him to KS7-535 instead."

KS7-535? Oh yeah. Ice and snow and no DHD. "Chilly," I commented, which Anubis was certainly feeling already.

Relief washed through me. I hadn't failed, and he hadn't gotten through, not really, thanks to quick thinking by Carter.

Have I ever mentioned how smart Carter is?

x--------x--------x

Anubis on ice. The thought warmed me. Chilly wasn’t going to be adequate to describe the iciness of his next few centuries.

Now me, though the floor was cold, I wasn't chilly. But the moment I started to get up, I was dizzy, actually. Very dizzy. Very, very dizzy.

"Oh, crap," I muttered, clutching onto Teal'c's strong arm because the whole Gateroom was swooping and spinning and doing loop de loops like a monster roller coaster zipping along at supersonic speeds.

"Sir?" Carter asked, solicitously.

"I’m fine," my bravado answered, as I took a step. My legs were rubbery and my feet had trouble finding the floor. I staggered and tried to pretend I hadn't. "Fine-ish," I amended once again.

"You do not appear fine," Teal'c suggested solemnly, raising one eyebrow, "nor even fine-ish."

Oh, that man has developed a wicked sense of humor. He must have learned it from me. "No big deal-ish," I countered, taking another step and feeling quite proud of myself for only swaying slightly, though T's tight hold on my upper arm might have helped account for the steadiness of my gait.

"I think you should sit back down, Sir," Carter sounded worried.

"No," I took another step and suddenly everything was spinning again. I swallowed hard to keep my oatmeal in my stomach where it belonged, and felt my knees wobble and then buckle. Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the edge of the gateramp, my head down and my eyes closed and feeling like crap.

"Oiy," I muttered.

"I've called for the doctor, Sir," Carter informed me.

"I think I do need an aspirin," I admitted, keeping my eyes closed tightly because in the split second I'd chanced opening them, the whole spinning-gateroom phenomena had started up again. That meant that either we were all being sucked into a black hole, or I had a concussion.

The latter seemed much more plausible than the former, and, though not exactly what I wanted to admit, better for the planet as a whole, though not at all good for me.

x--------x--------x

When the doctor arrived, I didn't so much as open my eyes. I heard footsteps rushing in, and then sensed someone bending over me.

"How are you feeling, General?"

"Oh, just peachy, for a peach that's just fallen out of the tree."

"What happened, Sir?"

"Anubis took over the general's body. When he fled, the general fell, backwards, onto the gateroom floor," Carter interpreted for me, which was a good thing, since I was busy using all of my energy to not upchuck all over that same gateroom floor.

"Where did you hit, Sir?" the doctor asked.

"Right about there," I pointed to a spot in front of the gateramp, as I did so taking the chance of cracking one eye open to watch her reaction.

Breitman didn’t smile. "General?" You know, she sounds like my least-favorite grade school teacher.

I sighed, closing my eyes firmly. "Head, shoulder."

Hands gently touched the back of my head, fingers sliding through my hair and probing at the skin.

"Ow!"

"You have a nasty bump here, Sir," the doctor stated.

"Gee, now that's a surprise," I snapped.

"You’re experiencing dizziness?"

"Unless the gateroom’s turned into a tilt-a-whirl."

"Dizzy, then," the doctor summed up. "How’s your shoulder, Sir?"

"Sore. That floor is hard. This place needs carpeting. Next budget cycle, it goes to the top of the list."

"Yes, Sir," she answered with what might have been a hint of humor, though maybe I was just imagining it. "Can you stand?"

"Oh, sure," I promised. There was a hand taking hold of my arm and I let myself be helped upright. Oh-oh, not a wise move. Things were spinning around again. I closed my eyes for a long second and ordered things to shape up. They did, sort of, and I managed to both get my eyes open and keep myself upright, though it wasn’t easy.

"We'll get you down to the infirmary, General," the doctor suggested.

"Ah, no."

"Sir, head injuries can be extremely serious. You need to have a thorough exam."

If I concentrated real hard when I looked at the Doc, I could make myself see only one of her. "Doctor, while over the years more than one person has suggested that I needed to have my head examined, at this moment, I have a base to re-open." The longer I stood, the better I was getting a handle on things. Walls and floors were no longer swooping, just sort of swaying, like I was on a ship in rough seas.

"Sir—"

Does the Air Force provide doctors with classes on how to annoy me? My annoyance leaked into my voice, and what came out was sarcasm. "Doctor, am I bleeding?"

"No, Sir."

"Then I don’t need the infirmary."

"Sir, you may still have a concussion," she insisted.

"Doctor," I explained not so patiently. "I've had enough concussions over the years to know whether or not I have one. And at the moment, I don’t."

"General—"

"Doc, I've got a headache. Bring me an aspirin. In my office."

"No, Sir. You need to go to the infirmary."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It didn’t make the doctor any less stubborn, but it did give my eyes a rest. Then I opened my eyes and fixed my best ‘I’m a general and you’re not’ glare at her. "Doctor Breitman, this base has been on lockdown for over a week. I need to tell my people what's happened, get the sections of the base re-connected, call in a replacement shift to secure this facility so all of these exhausted folks can go home, *and* explain to both the President and General Hammond what's happened here. Then, if I still have a headache, I'll come and visit. Not until."

Done talking I turned, yes, carefully, and walked, even more carefully, out the door and up the stairs to my office.

I flopped into the chair behind my desk, put my elbows on my desk and dropped my head into my hands. I closed my eyes, hoping the throbbing in my head would lessen. I'd only been like that for a few seconds when I heard someone walked in.

"Sir?"

I didn't uncover my eyes. "Carter?"

"Sir?"

"Just give me a minute." I sighed, and ignoring my headache, re-engaged my brain and opened my eyes. "You're absolutely, 150 percent, without-a-doubt sure Anubis has left the building?"

"Yes, Sir. He definitely left you and went into Colonel Vaselov, and they are stranded on KS7-535, which does not have a DHD."

"There's no doubt?" It wasn't that I didn't trust Carter on this, it was just that I really, really needed to be sure before I started calling my high muckity-muck bosses. Absently, I rubbed my arm as I talked.

"No doubt. But about Colonel Vaselov--"

Oh crap, there was another phone call I was going to have to make, to explain to the Russians that I’d manage to, ah, sort of misplace their hero. "I know, but right now, there’s nothing we can do for the poor bastard is there?"

She shook her head no.

"Then we need to concentrate on what we can do, Colonel. Let's get this base restored to normal. Or at least, what passes for normal around here," I tried to smile, because this was something to smile about, but I think I failed, producing only a weary ghost of a grin.

As Carter left my office, I picked up the phone and hit the speed dial button two, for General Hammond.

I gave him a brief explanation, and he gave me a brief congratulations. Next, I punched up speed dial one, talked to the operator who put me through and waited a moment for the big honcho himself to come on the line. With immense relief, and maybe even a touch of pride, I reported "The situation here has been resolved, Mr. President. Anubis has been sent off world to a planet where he is trapped."

"How, General?"

"Well, we used a bit of trickery, playing on his ego--"

On the other end of the line, Hayes chuckled. "Yes, I’ve encountered that ego."

"--and some good work by the people here."

"Well done, General."

"I had lots of help, Sir."

"Then convey my appreciation to all of the SGC. I knew you could do it."

"I appreciate your confidence in us, Sir."

"You wouldn’t be there if I didn’t believe you could handle the job. So, General, get the SGC back in operation."

"We’re in the process of doing that already, Mr. President, calling in personnel for the shift change right now. I anticipate that the Stargate program will be back in full operation tomorrow."

"Excellent, Jack, excellent."

x--------x--------x

By the time I was done with all those pesky details of getting the SGC on the road back toward normality, more than an hour had gone by. I was hoping that cleaning up this mess would help me feel better, but once again, I was wrong. The headache was still hammering away inside my skull, and my shoulder throbbed every time I moved it. If only I could get home for a good long relaxing soak in my whirlpool tub, I thought wistfully.

Maybe tomorrow, but more likely, with all I had to do, it was gonna be next week. I sighed, and dialed up my next phone call. Oh, the fun of being ‘the man.’

x--------x--------x

Done with my sixteenth, or maybe it was sixtieth phone call, I hung up the phone and discovered that, somehow, Doctor Breitman had just appeared in my office. She was standing in front of my desk as if she’d materialized out of nowhere. On top of that, she was giving me the evil eye; they must teach that at doctor school, too, I thought sourly.

"General?"

"Doctor?"

"The infirmary?"

I purposely ignored what I knew she wanted. "Yes? It's up and running to its normal standards of perfection, I expect?"

"And waiting for you, Sir."

"I've got too much to do. Later."

"It is later, General O'Neill."

"Not later enough," I sighed. "Look, Doctor, I'm fine. I've been working away here and haven't died yet."

She didn't smile. She really has no sense of humor whatsoever. "I would be remiss in my duty if I did not insist on examining you, Sir. As CMO of this facility, I am adamant."

Oiy. She was the only person on the base who actually could give me an order. "Okay. You've got five minutes."

But she didn't get her five minutes, because the moment I stood up, everything got all wobbly-wacky again, and then, very suddenly, it went all gray and black and for the second time that day, I hit the floor.

Thank God my office is carpeted.

x--------x--------x

Something was tickling my nose and I raised a hand to brush it away.

"Leave the oxygen there, Sir," the doctor's voice insisted. "Just relax."

Relax, right. I had somehow, I hadn't a clue how, gotten from my office to a bed in the infirmary, and I was supposed to relax? For cryin' out loud, what kind of a nonsense order was that?

There was a lot of activity going on just over my head. People were talking really fast, throwing back and forth all those big and scary medical words that would prevent any sane person from relaxing. Not to mention the uncomfortable feeling of people doing things I knew were going to be unpleasant, because that's what they always do in the infirmary. Been here, done this, didn't like the needles and the tubes and scent of eau de disinfectant one bit.

"What happened?" I had to know.

"You passed out, General," Breitman told me.

Someone was rolling up my sleeve and I heard a gasp and a female voice asking "Ma'am? Look at this."

Breitman turned away and murmured something I couldn't quite make out amidst all of the activity, before she turned back.

Unexpectedly, something sharp was jabbed into the crook of my elbow. I looked down to see a nurse taking a blood sample. "So why the needles?" I demanded.

"We need to check your blood, Sir."

"For a concussion?" I managed to ask.

"For possible after effects of being possessed by Anubis."

"Oh for cryin’ out loud, he was inside me, what, ten minutes? Fifteen tops."

"I know, Sir, but Vaselov’s friend, the cosmonaut Anatole Konstantinov, died after being taken over by Anubis, and Colonel Vaselov was dying when he left here."

"They were possessed for days, weeks, whatever," I countered.

"That is true, Sir, but in the last hour, every one of the personnel here who was ‘host’ to Anubis--"

"Pick some other word, would you, Doctor?"

She nodded "Everyone who was inhabited by Anubis has begun exhibiting similar symptoms."

I looked around and spotted Carter was on a bed to my left, looking asleep, that young nurse in the bed beyond her, also looking asleep, and several more SGC personnel occupying beds further down. "I don’t have any symptoms," I insisted.

"You are not experience headache, nausea, and muscle weakness?" Brietman asked.

"Yeah, but I did hit my head."

"Yes, Sir, those symptoms may be from the blow to the head. But all the others are showing the same symptoms. We’ll know for sure once we get your blood tests back."

"What, it’s going to be full of Anubis leftovers or something?"

"No, Sir, but the others all have elevated white cell counts, indicative of stress to the immune system, just like the Russian victims."

"Great," I groused.

"They also have skin lesions."

"No legions on me."

"Actually, Sir, you do have several spots on your forearm."

Oiy. I remembered the skin on my arm had been red and itchy. I raised my head to try to look around, but a nurse had pulled the curtains around my bed. "The others?"

"Lieutenant Evans seems the worst, she was hos—possessed by Anubis the longest. Several others here are also showing symptoms in varying degrees."

"Carter?"

"The lieutenant colonel seems the least affected, which may be due to the short time she carried Anubis. Or it may be related to the naquadah that is in her blood."

"And me?"

"You may also be more negatively affected due to the debilitating effects of your injury."

"Minor injury," I protested bravely.

"Certainly, Sir, though a concussion can be serious."

"I'm hard headed."

Ah, was that a hint of a smile from the dour doctor? "Certainly, Sir."

I had the distinct impression she wasn’t interpreting hard headed in at all the same way that I was.

With the worst of the medical staff’s poking and probing done, at least for the moment, I laid back on the bed and, unable to do anything else, promptly fell asleep. After all, the last eight days had been pretty damn stressful and I hadn’t been getting more than a couple hours sleep each night.

Then again, it might have had something to do with that last needle full of stuff the doctor had pumped into my IV.

x--------x--------x

I felt like crap—hot, sweaty, thirsty, my lungs stuffed with so much cotton every breath was an effort, my stomach sour, my ears ringing, my head throbbing and my body aching everywhere, especially my right shoulder. Damn, I hadn’t broken something again, had I? My arm itched, and I tried to move my hand over to scratch it, but something stopped it. Forcing my eyes open, I looked down to see a tube tapped to the back of my hand.

Oiy.

I must have mumbled something because suddenly, there was a shadow above me and noises. I listened hard and eventually figured out someone was talking to me.

"Hmm mmm?" I asked again.

"General?" The voice got softer. "Ma’am, I think the General’s awake."

Another hand touched my arm. "General? How are you feeling, Sir?"

Okay, that voice I recognized as the doctor. "Hmm mmm mmm."

"Sir, you’re running a high fever. We’ve found some toxins in your blood, apparently a little something left by Anubis."

I was aware enough to realize this was not good. "Hmmm?"

"Sir, we’re working to find a treatment, but so far, it seems to just require time to run its course. The symptoms are uncomfortable, but, with only short-term contact, we’re confident it’s not fatal."

"H--?"I licked my dry lips and tried again. "How?" I finally managed to mumble.

I could hear puzzlement in the doctor’s voice. "How did Anubis make you sick? We’re not sure yet."

"Nnn," damn, making words was really hard. "Nnnno." I made a mighty effort. "Oth’rs?"

"Others?" Breitman frowned. "Do you mean the others who were also affected, Sir?"

I nodded, much easier than making the immense effort to talk.

"They’re all ill like you are, General, but holding their own. And only those who hosted Anubis have gotten sick."

I felt too rotten to contest that h-word again. When I felt better, I promised myself, I was going to issue a memo, Words Not To Be Uttered Within Hearing of Your General: host, implantation, Russian, Maybourne, paperwork, NID, --- yeah, it was going to be a damn long list.

"So just rest, Sir." The doctor’s hand patted my arm and disappeared. It got really quiet, except for something that sounded like wheezing, which just might have been me.

Oiy.

x--------x--------x

I dozed. I napped. I snoozed. I slept. I probably even snored, just a teeny, tiny bit. My dreams I’m not going to tell you about, because the ugly ones were really ugly and the good ones, well, they’re too personal to share. And eventually, I woke up again feeling—better. Not right, not perfect, not back to my usual chipper self, but no longer feeling quite as low as a slug.

A tall slug, maybe, but still, it was a noticeable improvement.

I yawned and opened my eyes.

"Greetings, O'Neill."

"Mornin', T."

He nodded but contradicted me, albeit politely. "I regret to inform you that it is no longer morning, but long past mid-day of your second day here."

The cobwebs were clearing enough that I could take stock—head, no longer pounding. Back still aching but that's the norm. Body, stiff, but a long night, and half a day, in an infirmary bed will do that to anyone, even the guys half my age. Arm, a little itchy yet. Too many tubes and monitors and stuff stuck all over me, but overall, on the positive side, I was still alive and kickin'.

I shifted on the bed, my hand groping around until I found the controls and raised myself up a bit to look around. The curtains were closed again so I had to ask. "What about the others?"

"Colonel Carter has been released. The doctor says Lieutenant Evans is recovering, as are you."

"Recovered," I corrected. "Anubis is still gone, right? Mister slimy oily evil cloud of darkness is no more?"

"There is no sign of Anubis. You may be confident that he has truly departed from this planet. With my own eyes, I saw him exit your body and flow into Colonel Vaselov."

"Poor bastard."

"Colonel Vaselov was a brave man. He saved your life, O'Neill."

"I know." I owed my life to the courage of a Russian. I was going to have to spend some time thinking on that. Just when you thought you had your enemies pegged, they turned around and did something totally unexpected. Maybe he'd felt guilty, since he'd brought that thing here. Maybe he wanted his death to have meaning, by saving someone else. Maybe he just wanted to show me that he was a much bigger man than I was, after the way I'd treated him.

Maybe I was even going to have to rethink my opinion of Russians.

x----The End----x