Nightmares Shared-- Janet

by BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: POV/Angst, epilogue

Pairing: None

Rating: PG13

Season/sequel: One, episode Hathor

Summary: Janet tries to help Jack deal with the `Hathor thing`.

Disclaimer: The Stargate Characters, setting, etc. aren't mine; I'm just borrowing them to add to their stories; No money is changing hands; it's all in fun.

Authors notes: Please make sure you read Elizabeth's piece, "Nightmares Shared - Jack" and Magicsunbeam's piece, "Nightmares Shared-Daniel" first, as this is a companion piece for those two stories. They can be found at http://trappercrash.iwarp.com (there's a Nightmares Shared section... be patient, it loads slow).

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I jerk upright in my bed, gasping for breath.

Oh my God.

Whopper nightmare, that.

I sit a moment, getting my breathing back under control, taming the wild thumping of my heart.

I look over at the clock: 2:42 a.m.

I haven't had a nightmare like that in a long time. Of course, I've never had a day quite like today, wait, amend that, yesterday. The women rescuing the base, now that was cool; getting shot, that wasn't fun; realizing where the DNA for the larva had come from, that was decidely a shock; seeing the Colonel like that, what she did to him, how it was no longer him, his body mutilated, knowing I was helpless to fix the damage she'd done, knowing he'd rather die than let a Goa'uld larvae keep him alive, that made me want to choke.

Sticking my hand into that grotesque hole she'd made in his belly, feeling around in there, feeling for it... ewww. It was that touch of reality that made my dream so gross.

Huh, didn't think a doctor would get grossed out, did you?

Well, it *was* gross. Sticking my hand inside O'Neill's 'pouch', feeling around in there, afraid of what I'd find, fearing to find one of those larvae.

I shiver.

I wonder if they bite?

Never thought of that, at the time.

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What happened to the men, specifically to Daniel and the Colonel, nasty. Ugly. Nightmarish.

I'm worried about them, and it might surprise folks to know that the one I'm worried most about is the Colonel.

Yes, Daniel was, well, assaulted, in the most lurid meaning of the word. It's an ugly thing, but people survive it. She didn't do *that* to the Colonel. What she did to him was even worse for a man like him, a man who needs control, who allows himself to show no weakness, who hates the Goa'uld so thoroughly.

And he won't deal with it.

I've been here at the SGC for months, but the truth is, I don't know him that well yet. He doesn't just open up and let you in. But I *do* know this about John Francis O'Neill-- he may take a licking and keep on ticking, but he's as human as the rest of us under the bravado, the sarcasm and the world weary pragmatism.

He hurts, physically, emotionally.

He never wants anyone to know it.

And he *doesn't* share.

See, I know Daniel *will* share, because the Colonel will make sure he does. That's his job, to take care of his team, to see to their needs, to make sure they're getting anything and everything they need. So O'Neill will make sure Dr. Jackson deals with this.

It's one of the things that makes O'Neill such an extraordinary commanding officer, his ability to read his people, to see what they need, to understand them better than they understand themselves.

Makes it even more odd that he doesn't understand himself in the slightest.

Or maybe he just doesn't want to.

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Tomorrow, I'm going to have a talk with him.

Okay, most likely it will be me talking *at* him, and him sitting there, listening and saying nothing and pretending everything is fine, but I have to try. I've read his files. I know his history. I know he's a man of extraordinary resiliency, but I also know that behind those mile high, mile wide and solid steel walls, he *is* human. He's fallible and breakable and vulnerable.

And he won't let anyone in to help him.

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I'd ordered both of them to the infirmary first thing this morning for a check-up.

Daniel had been here and was gone already, his check-up completed. I couldn't find any physical problem, and though he looked tired, like he hadn't had much sleep, he also seemed to be handling things well. I had a sneaking suspicion he'd already had a visit and a talking to from his CO.

I sigh and sneak a look into the room where O'Neill is waiting for me, sitting on an exam table, dressed once again in his BDUs. He looks like his usual self. He's picked up several items from the bedside tray and is juggling them. I grin. He can't ever sit still, the SGC's very own Energizer Bunny. Suddenly, he stops, his hands drifting to motionlessness, his eyes closing. I can see his hands tightening around the things he's holding and the knuckles going white, nearly as white as his face. I see him shudder, like a cold chill has washed through him. One hand reaches down to touch his shirt, as if to reassure himself he's normal, he's still Colonel Jack O'Neill. He's still him.

And then his eyes re-open and he straightens his shoulders, deliberately, shaking off the flashback. Giving him a moment to collect himself, I knock, and walk in with a cheery "Good morning, Colonel."

He's trying really hard to act like nothing's happened, but I can tell. He's remembered... things. From yesterday. There's a look in his eye, a lingering darkness, and it's scary.

"Hey, Doc. How's the wing?" he nods toward my arm.

"Fine."

"Doc, that's my line. Took out the patent on it, in fact."

"Right." I pick up his chart. The nurses have already taken his vitals, bp, pulse, respiration, temperature, all spot on perfect, as usual. A complete battery of additional tests had not found a thing unusual, not even the hint of a scar. If I hadn't seen those gaping cuts with my own eyes, I'd never have believed it had ever happened.

"Would you lie down for me, please, Colonel?" I point at the bed.

He obliges.

I pull up his t-shirt, and study his abdomen, palpating it. Normal, perfectly normal. Not a sign it's ever been... damaged. Nothing. Not like yesterday, when there'd been a big gaping x-shaped hole... I shake my head, dispeling the memory. "You can sit up." I tell him, and he does, pulling his shirt back down quickly. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Right as rain," he answers glibly, but I can still see the darkness in his eyes.

"How did you sleep last night?"

"Like a baby."

"Uh huh. How did you *really* sleep, Colonel?"

He's looking right at me now, defiantly. "I slept fine, Doc."

Okay, so maybe it was because I was tired. Maybe it was because my arm was hurting. Maybe it was because I just couldn't stand back and watch him lie to himself anymore. Maybe it was because I was genuinely worried about him because despite the fact that he routinely annoys the hell out of me, kick me for a fool but I like the Colonel. "Sir, don't lie to me."

He didn't say a thing, just blinked and kept right on looking at me, trying to sell me the innocent look.

I wasn't buying it.

"How much do you remember, Sir?"

Oh, he tried to evade the question. Waved a hand in the air. "Not much."

"How much?"

"A little."

"Like what?"

"Like... a bit here, a bit there..." his hand was rubbing his belly, and as soon as he saw my eyes take note, he snatched his hand back like his fingers had just been burned. "Nothing specific."

Liar, Colonel, very bad liar. "Like where we found you?" I flashed back to the scene, the Colonel slumped bonelessly in the whirlpool, the larva swirling around him. Seeing that x-shaped slit in his belly, knowing what that bitch had done to him, fearing the worst, because I knew that, short of being Goa'ulded, being made a Jaffa was O'Neill's next worst nightmare.

"Doc, you okay?" it's turn to be staring worriedly at me. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Colonel..."

"I know. I'm the patient, you're the doctor." He looks at me with concern. "Some pretty ugly stuff happened around here yesterday. Enough to throw a body's equilibrium off," he acknowledges. Not admitting that any of it had happened to him, of course, but reminding me it was okay for *me* to feel badly. Damn the man, here I was supposed to be helping him, and he was helping me.

"For all of us, Sir," I stare him straight in the eye. "How are you dealing with it?"

He shook his head. "The usual, Doc, you know me. A cold beer, a hot shower, a good night's sleep, all's forgotten."

"Bullshit."

Honestly, I think he almost fell off the exam table.

An eyebrow arches up theatrically. "Doc?"

"Colonel." I pull up one of the chairs, sitting, taking the time to think of my next words. "What happened here yesterday will have long term repercussions..."

"Yeah, I think Carter's already ordered the "Women to the Rescue, Kiss Our Guns" t-shirts," he jokes.

I glare. He quiets. "I'm concerned about how you're handling this..."

"I'm handling it," stubborn, the Colonel is.

"Yes, I know you think you are..."

"I am," he's giving me the full Colonel glare now.

"Sir, I think you should..."

"Doctor Fraiser, I think I know what I should do. I've had a bit of experience in dealing with... stuff," he finishes lamely.

"This isn't just ordinary stuff."

"It rarely is, around here."

Okay, this isn't working. Time to try a new tack. "You talked to Daniel, didn't you?"

He nods. "Sort of. He says he doesn't remember, but I don't buy it."

"So why would you think that I'd buy the same fiction from you?"

That gets his attention. His gaze softens, dropping down to look at his hands. The belligerance, the defensiveness, even the bravado is gone from his voice. "Doc, I'll handle it. I'm okay. Thanks to you and Carter and Teal'c and all the women on this base, all of us are fine. She didn't get me. It was a close thing, but it didn't happen."

"But it did, Colonel. She snared you, just as she snared Daniel and the General, and every other human male on this base. You were drugged. And then she cut you open and tried to make you into her Jaffa..."

He jumps up, and paces, turning away from me, staring up at the wall.

"How did she do it, Colonel?"

"Why, Doc, I didn't know you were a voyeur..."

"Medical interest, Colonel. I need to know."

"Why? It's all gone." he pulled up his shirt, showing me his flat, unmarked abdomen. "Same as always."

"There are no physical scars, Colonel, but those aren't the worst kind. They heal. The ones inside..."

"They heal, too, Doc, if you don't pick at them. Let them be. I'll deal with 'em." He raises his gaze to look into mine. "I know what I'm talking about, Doc. This is familiar territory. What she did... granted, it wasn't nice. It hurt. It, umm, stunned me. I didn't see it coming. I fell for her trap, let her ambush me. So yeah, I'm angry, angry at her, angry at me. But you know something Doc, anger is a powerful tool..."

"So long as you don't turn it on yourself..."

"I won't." He doesn't have to tell me what he means, because he knows I know, that he *had* done just that once, after his son... Could I trust him not to do it again? I look at him, at this unyielding, unbending man of iron will.

And I remember my dream, of holding his heart in my hand, and that it was a stout and steadfast heart, one scarred and battered by life, but not shattered. Still strong.

I can trust him.

I'll be there for him, if he ever wants or needs to talk, about this or anything.

Even though I know he won't.

It's not his way.

He keeps his nightmares to himself.

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