Out of the Fire
Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Category: Sequel to the episodes Out of Mind and Into the Fire
Rating: G
Season: Three
Summary: What happened when SG-1 returned home at the end of Into the Fire
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.
Author’s Notes: Campers, I need some feedback. Let me know what you think (please, please)
<><><><><>
SG-1 had been found, rescued and were on their way home. While General Hammond, Teal'c and the SG teams who had volunteered for the mission were mopping up on Hathor's base, the prodigal sons and daughter were sent home.
There was a crowd in the gateroom as the once missing three-fourths of SG-1 returned through the wormhole, dozens of SGC personnel were there, eagerly greeting Carter, O'Neill and Jackson. Doctor Fraiser had to fight her way through the gathering, initially assessing her patients with one quick look. Sam seemed worn out but okay, Daniel had a leg wound, and the Colonel, well, O'Neill looked exhausted, and something else.
She was even more worried when, after being gone for weeks, the Colonel did not utter so much as a token protest at being shanghaied straight to the infirmary. As Jackson was helped onto a stretcher, Janet found herself walking beside O'Neill. Somber was the only word that came to mind to describe his face. She saw him shiver, placed a hand on his arm, "Are you all right. Sir?"
"Peachy, Doc, just peachy," but it was said so softly, with none of his usual banter or humor, that she immediately knew something terrible had happened. "A little cold is all. This outfit's not... much," he said with another shiver. She was shocked that there was no smart remark uttered, no joke about the new SG-1 uniform. Her heart hammered. She did not like this.
Dr. Jackson's injury was routine, so she quickly turned his treatment over to the capable hands of Dr. Warner, and headed for the Colonel. He was sitting quietly on a bed, huddled into a blanket, his eyes closed, hands clenched tightly where they held the blanket closely wrapped around himself. Again, she saw him shiver.
Gently placing her hand on his shoulder, she said, softly, "Colonel O'Neill?"
The look in his eyes terrified her, she had never seen its like, and never expected to, not from this man. It was a look of raw misery visible in that brief moment before he regained his composure and slipped his mask of calm control back into place.
"I can't seem to get warm, Doc," he said to her with a half smile, trying hard to make it seem he was all right despite the continued shivering. It wasn't working, he could tell, and that was okay, because he really wasn't all right, and he knew it. When he'd had something to do, been too busy to think, back there on the planet, he'd been okay. But the moment things were back in hand, with Hathor's forces defeated and General Hammond having taken the situation under his personal command, the shaking had started, and the whispers in his head. If only the damn snake would shut up and leave him alone. Jack knew it was gone, knew it was only a memory, but he could still hear it, the echoes of its screaming and ranting.... Can it, O'Neill, stop it. Now, he told himself. He opened his eyes, found Doc staring worriedly at him. "We were all frozen, you know."
"Yes, I got that report. But the others don't seem to be so badly affected..."
"He was frozen a second time," piped up Carter's voice from behind her.
"A second time?" Janet looked from Carter to O'Neill. "Somebody better tell me the rest of the story."
Jack didn't want to, didn't know if he could, so he nodded at Carter, who briefly explained how Hathor had threatened to turn one of them into a host, O'Neill's unsuccessful bid to stop the implantation and getting zatted, and finally, how the Goa'uld larvae had entered his neck.
At this point Janet turned back to O'Neill, fighting to keep the horror out of her face, "Colonel?"
"I'm no gould, Doctor, just let Carter finish, okay," but Janet couldn't miss the shiver, a shuddering through the Colonel's whole body. She thought his teeth would start chattering at any moment, he looked so cold.
"The Tokra infiltrator saved him," Carter continued. "The Marines attacked and Hathor left the Colonel with Dr. Raully, but she was really a Tokra. She put him back into the cryogenic chamber, explained to him that would kill the Goa'uld. It's definitely gone, Janet, I could tell. I can't sense anything remaining of it. But when I reversed the freezing process, I think it was awfully fast, at least compared to what I remember of the first time."
"So, you were frozen twice, zatted once, infected and freed of a Goa'uld, that's right?" Fraiser summed up.
He nodded.
"Any other damage?" she asked lightly.
"I think that was enough," he said so softly she thought she'd misheard.
"All right, then Sir. We'll get an MRI to check first on that...
"Snake," O'Neill interjected helpfully, sounding for the first time a tad like his usual self, Janet thought optimistically.
"We'll check the 'snake' is dead and gone, get your exam taken care of, then do what we can to get you warm and comfortable, okay Colonel?"
He nodded again, closed his eyes, looking worn and tired.
"Where did it...?" Fraiser asked.
Without opening his eyes, he brought one hand up to the back of his neck. "There."
"Let me check your neck then, first, Colonel," she said, and as gently as she could pulled back his shirt. There was a nasty, inflamed looking reddened wound, more than an inch long. "Why this..."
"It was big, Doc. Hurt like holy Hell." he said, quietly with another shiver as she touched the raw entrance wound at the back of his neck. "Biggest damn snake larvae I ever saw," he added, remembering it's malevolent eyes as it coiled on his chest, the speed of its attack, the pain of its penetration into his body. He tried to pull the blanket more tightly around his arms. "God, Doc, can't you turn the heat up in here?"
She looked at him with concern. "Sir, the heat's set the same as always. Let's get these tests done, shall we, then we'll get you warm."
<><><><><>
The MRI showed exactly what Fraiser had expected. The Goa'uld larvae was gone. There was inflammation in the tissues around the entrance wound and his spinal column, but his neurological tests showed no sign of any nerve damage.
Results of his tissue tests weren't the bad news she had feared, either. There appeared to be no permanent damage from the double freezing he had undergone, though his body seemed to be having trouble regulating his temperature. It was still a bit below normal, his extremities cool, and he obviously felt cold. Even now, on a bed in the far corner of the infirmary where he could have at least some privacy, he was wrapped in three extra blankets, and they had a heater blasting warmth at the foot of his bed.
Despite it all, he still looked cold, thought Janet. And oddly vulnerable. That was a word she never associated with O'Neill.
But it wasn't the physical symptoms that worried her most, though they were a big enough concern. These career military types were infamous for being tough and stoic, hiding their feelings. She'd met plenty who truly didn't have any feelings; some were cold hearted to start with, but far too many had simply had the humanity burned out of them. But Colonel O'Neill, well, she knew him well enough to know that he felt as deeply as anyone she'd ever met. He just didn't let himself show those feelings, but bottled them up and pretended they weren't there. It was a classic example of how not to deal with one's emotions, and it amazed her he was as relatively emotionally healthy as he was.
But this time, she feared, he was in trouble, very big, very deep, very heavy trouble. Because Dr. Fraiser had the sinking feeling that this truckload of emotion was more than even Jack O'Neill could carry, or bury.
She hoped she was wrong, God, she prayed she was wrong, because she didn't know if she or anyone else could find a way to help the Colonel to deal with this mess, if he couldn't do it himself. And the usual O'Neill do-it-yourself cure didn't look likely at the moment.
Fraiser sighed, looking again at the sheaf of test results, straightened her shoulders and headed for O'Neill's bed. He was wide awake, staring grimly at the ceiling, huddled into the blankets. "Colonel?"
He jumped at the sound of her voice. "Doc?"
"Got your test results here, Colonel. The MRI shows exactly what we expected, that the larvae is gone. Not a sign of it, and no trace of any naquada. It must have left your body, trying to escape the freezing. There's some tissue damage back there," she indicated the back of his neck, "but no nerve damage. We'll test again in a few days just to make sure, Sir, but it's gone. You're very lucky."
A bleak look crossed his face. "Lucky. Right."
"Yes, Colonel, very lucky. There doesn't appear to be any permanent damage."
"So you think," he whispered, not meaning to have said it aloud.
Fraiser only nodded. "Now, as for feeling cold, your body's thermostat, for lack of a better word, is still functioning below normal. I anticipate this could take a few days, up to a week, to get back to normal, but there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage there either. I'll need to keep you here under observation until then." It was as good a reason as any, she told herself, and one that he would accept. She didn't want him leaving the infirmary just yet, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let him go off anywhere by himself.
<><><><><>
Jack drank the soup she had requested for him from the cafeteria, savoring it's warmth before crawling back into his blankets.
Later, she went back to check on him again. "How are you feeling Colonel O'Neill?" she asked, checking his vitals. His only answer was a wordless shrug as he silently endured her exam.
He wouldn't look her in the eye, and finally, very quietly, asked, "Doc, have you got something to help me sleep?"
She almost dropped her stethoscope. Jack O'Neill, Mr. I Hate to Take A Pill, Any Pill, asking for a sleeping pill? Shit. "Sure, Sir, I'll have the nurse bring you something. There's nothing more healing than a good night's sleep."
"Right." He didn't sound convinced.
<><><><><>
O'Neill slept through the night, thanks to the medication she gave him, but looked unrested in the morning. "Sleep well?" Fraiser asked.
"Like a log." he answered, tonelessly.
"Dreams?"
"None. Don't remember a thing." He didn't smile, either. Oh God, thought Fraiser.
She checked the larvae's entrance wound on his neck, put on a fresh bandage. "This is healing nicely, Colonel. It will be gone in a few days, and I don't think it will leave much of a scar."
He nodded. "That would be good."
Not knowing what else to do, she sent him for another MRI, to reassure him more than her. He didn't argue, lay quietly for the tests, then stood behind her as she showed him the results on the computer generated model. "See. Nothing. The tissues are healing. It's gone Colonel."
He shuddered. "I know." He just didn't sound, or feel, convinced.
<><><><><>
She kept him in the infirmary, worried about him because of how quiet he was, how passive, and chilled. The only time he strayed from his bed was when she found him sitting beside Daniel's bunk, wrapped like a mummy in his blankets, watching Jackson sleep. Maybe he was worried about his friend? "He's doing fine Colonel, I've just given him a sedative to help him sleep. He needs rest and time. His wound was infected and the antibiotics haven't kicked in yet. He'll be back to normal in a few days. Like you."
"Ya think?" but there was none of his normal spirit in his favorite stock answer.
He reached out a hand to touch Daniel's arm. "At least I spared him this," he murmured.
"Well, he was frozen, too," Fraiser started, and then realized what the Colonel meant. "You mean you volunteered for that thing?"
"I told her to go ahead with it. Better me than him or Carter," or so I thought, O'Neill told himself. At least I saved him from this, and Sam, too. They didn't have that thing screaming in their heads, taunting, evil, showing him what he was going to do to his friends, showing him their dead bodies, crushed by his own hands-- he brought his hands up to clutch his head. "Agggh." he groaned.
"Colonel?" Fraiser's concerned face was suddenly there right in front of him.
Jack didn't know how he had gotten to his feet, his fisted hands clutching at the spot where that thing had invaded him. "I'm okay."
"Come on, Colonel, back to bed. You still need to rest."
He complied without complaint, curled up on the bed, wanted to sleep but was afraid to close his eyes, because that thing was there, right there, the moment his eyelids slid shut, evil eyes, glowing in the darkness.
Despite his vigilance, sometime that evening, he fell asleep.
<><><><><>
Dr. Fraiser was alone in her office, the door open to the infirmary where O'Neill and Jackson were the only remaining patients, when she heard the hoarse shouting. She ran, knowing where to go, waving away the nurse who had also responded to his cries.
O'Neill was thrashing on the bed, hands clasping his head, chanting "No no no no no. Get out get out get out get out get out."
"Colonel." she grabbed at his hands and he pushed her away. "Colonel, Sir. Colonel O'Neill, it's Dr. Fraiser." She dragged his hands away from his face. "Jack, it's Janet. You're in the infirmary, you're home, you're safe, the Goa'uld is dead, it's gone."
"Not gone, not gone, it's still here in my head, Doc, still here. Oh God." he was shaking, and his teeth really were chattering this time, she realized.
Not knowing what else to do, Dr. Frasier remembered that Sam had told her how he had hugged her, after she'd freed him from the cryo-chamber. Janet sat on the edge of his bed, took his shoulders, pulled him to her, wrapped her arms around him, cradling him like you would a child in the midst of a nightmare, holding him and hugging him, patting his back soothingly. He responded, wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight, like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.
After a while she felt his agitation quiet, his breathing ease, and his tremors still. He was asleep, leaning against her shoulder. Gently, she eased him back down on the bed, but when she tried to pull away, to break the contact, he became restless. Human contact to chase away the Goa'uld, she thought, it was what he needed, and the one thing he would never ask for. Well, she wouldn't make him ask. She stayed, sat on the hard chair, holding his hand, touching his arm, maintaining the contact through the long hours until her wristwatch told her it was nearly dawn.
Janet spent the time thinking, until she felt like Cassie's hamster, going round and round on its little wheel, getting no where. She didn't know what to do to help the Colonel who for the first time she feared was unable to help himself.
<><><><><>
"You didn't spend the whole night there, did you?" his soft voice brought her awake. It was nearly 5 a.m., and the duty shift would be changing soon. She stood, stretched, tried to work the kinks from her back and shoulders. He was watching her, a strange look on his face. O'Neill looked exhausted, unrested, his eyes still hidden.
"Part of the job, Colonel."
He looked away. "No it's not. I-, I-"
God, he's feeling guilty and worse, she thought, he's embarrassed. Damn the man and his stubborn pride. Damn Damn Damn.
<><><><
Fraiser showered and changed. O'Neill was back at Daniel's bedside when she returned, again wrapped in a blanket. She sent him back to his own bed, watched as he picked at his breakfast, skipping the juice but slurping down the hot coffee, eating the warm bits and leaving the fruit and cereal, not at all his usual hearty breakfast. Janet sent him down for the next series of tests and again, brought him in to her office show him the results.
"We've done three full MRIs and there's nothing showing up, Colonel," she pointed out to him cheerfully. "I think I can safely declare you a Goa'uld free zone," she added, trying to instill a little of his humor into the moment. It didn't work.
Absently, he fingered the bandage on his neck, cringed.
"Does it hurt?" she asked, concerned.
"Sometimes. There's a sharp pain, like it's still there, burrowing deeper...."
"That's not surprising, Sir. The snake inflicted a lot of damage inserting itself into your neck."
"Oh, yeah," he muttered.
"Are you having any pain, numbness or weakness in your arms or legs?"
"Nothing," he shook his head.
"Still cold?"
He thought a moment, "some, not as bad I think."
"Good, that matches the rest of the test results. I think your body is getting itself back to normal. Look, Colonel, I want you to get out of here for a while, get some exercise...."
"Get my mind off things?"
She never could put anything past O'Neill, even when he was only operating at half his usual intensity. "That too. Get dressed, spend some time in the gym, do a little paperwork. Eat a good lunch, and I mean eat it, don't just play with your food. Come back this afternoon and we'll do the next set of tests."
He nodded, not even smiling at his release from the medical facility he was normally so eager to leave.
<><><><><>
Once in his office, Jack found himself shuffling papers around on his desk. A knock on his door, and Carter's voice asking, "May I come in Sir?"
"Sure," he waved at a chair.
"Captain?"
"How are you feeling, Sir?"
"Fine."
His standard answer, she thought, the one that meant he didn't want to discuss it. But she had to ask. "I uh, thought you might want to talk about it, Colonel."
"About what?"
"About what happened. Hathor and the Goa'uld."
"Not really, Carter."
"It might help Sir."
O'Neill shot her an exasperated look. "Fraiser send you?"
Sam looked at the floor. "Sort of."
"She thinks talking about it will help?"
"Yes Sir."
"It won't."
"You won't know until you try, Sir."
"Did it help you, Captain?" he asked pointedly.
"Some."
"You still get the flashbacks, the memories, though, don't you?"
"Yes Sir. But for me it was different, Colonel, Jolinar did meld with me completely. And Hathor's larvae didn't..."
"Only because it ran out of time, Carter. It was winning, it would have," he shuddered again, "taken over, used me."
"I know, Sir. No one can stop them. Not even you."
His voice got softer. "Captain, when it," she saw him shiver, "jumped into you did it...?
"Hurt Sir? Oh yes. But it happened so fast, I never had time to think about it, or anticipate it," she remembered the look of distaste and horror on his face as the larvae prepared to take him. She knew how O'Neill was repulsed by the Goa'uld, Hell, he couldn't even look at Teal'c's Junior, as he called it. "Sir, the memories do get less intense with time."
"That would be good, Carter," he answered dryly.
"Sir, I--" she didn't know what to say, just, "I know what it's like, Colonel."
No you don't, he thought, Jolinar was a Tokra, she didn't reek of evil, revel in your pain, relish hurting you, enjoy showing you the torture she would inflict on the only people you hold dear. O'Neill thought those things, didn't say them, couldn't.
"Sir, I just want you to know, if ever you do want to talk, I'll be glad to listen."
"I know Captain. Thank you," and he turned back to his blank computer screen.
<><><><><>
Jack sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen, his fingers frozen (now wasn't that an ironic choice of words? he acknowledged) as he tried to write his report. He'd gotten as far as Hathor pulling the snake out of the Jaffa's pouch and waving it in his face.
Just thinking about her and that thing made him shudder, sent shivers coursing through him. He got up, got his jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders, went back to his keyboard, but he was still stuck. Stuck, back there, with that horror staring him in the face, and the realization of what Hathor was going to do to him. From the moment she had pulled the mature larvae from her Jaffa and asked which one of them would be taken as its host, he had known he had to be the one. He couldn't let the others be taken. He thought he could fight it, fight her, maybe win, at least save them if he couldn't save himself.
And he had concocted a desperate plan, to try to blunt Hathor's wishes. Volunteering, asking her to get it over with, hoping to get her to let down her guard, if only for a few seconds. And it had worked. He'd grabbed the creature, intent on squeezing the life out of it, stomping on it, choking it, anything.... And then the zat gun hit him, sending him to the floor, every muscle and nerve in his body twitching from the shock and vibrating with the pain.
He remembered being carried over and strapped down on that bed, helpless, while Hathor loomed above him. He could still hear the satisfaction in her voice as she told him how she and it, how they, were going to make him bow down to her, and do their bidding. Kill Daniel and Sam. Betray Earth and everything he believed in. He knew he couldn't stop it, couldn't stop her. Jack O'Neill's worst nightmare was coming to life in technicolor and triplicate-- helpless before his enemy, facing one of those gross snake thingys, and knowing, knowing, he was going to be used to kill his friends, a silent participant in their deaths.
Oh God.
And then she had placed that snake on his chest. He would never forget it's malevolent stare, the feel of it as it coiled on his chest, as it slithered across his skin, hissing. It's palpable anticipation of what it was going to do to him.
He was breathing hard, hands wrapped around his neck, trying to stop the memories now, and failing as he had failed then, failed to stop *it* from happening. In his mind, it was happening all over again.
Hathor's hand was there on his forehead, pushing his cheek into the headrest, baring his neck for the creature. The Goa'uld striking, thrusting itself into the back of his neck, delighting in the pain it caused him. The physical shock and then pain, like fire, or ice, or acid, searing his nerves as the thing buried itself into his flesh. Oh God, he used to think a zat gun hurt but that was nothing, inconsequential, compared to this agony. He remembered screaming, despite his vow not to. He shuddered again as he recalled the feel of that thing sliding under his skin. And then it was there, raging soundlessly inside his head, gloating, laughing at him, taunting him. It shattered every illusion he had ever had about his strength, his courage, his resolve. He was as nothing before it's power and evil.
Even if Jack O'Neill didn't believe in God anymore, he had no doubt the Devil existed. It had been inside him. He shivered.
His defenses could not hold out against the alien larvae for long. It battered him with that knowledge, with the images of what he would be made to do, of Daniel's crushed throat and his dying gasps for air that wouldn't and couldn't come, past the viselike grip of O'Neill's own hand. Carter's bulging eyes as she gurgled, drowning in her own blood, her blood trickling down his fingers as the light in her eyes died.
"Arrgggh," he shouted, burying his face in his hands, trying to block the memories. "Damn you. Get out, get out of my head. Get out!"
He gulped for air, retched, lost his lunch into his wastepaper basket. "Oh God," he said aloud, wondering what he was going to do, not knowing what he was going to do, but knowing he was losing this battle, overwhelmed by the memories.
So Jack O'Neill did what he always did when things looked hopeless. He fought back.
<><><><><>
Quickly, he rummaged through his desk, found the small item he was looking for, and pushed himself out of the chair, heading for the gym. Thankfully, it was empty. He turned on just the far bank of lights, and left the workout room in dim light. In the corner stood the punching bag. He took the thing he'd brought, the black magic marker, and drew the crude outline of a snake on the bag, a snake with big eyes and weird little wing-things like fins. He stepped back, looked at his handiwork, thought it looked sort of like a modern art version of a slug. "Ah, more Picasso than DaVinci," but it would do. *He* knew what it was, and that was all that mattered.
And then, without bothering with gloves, or even wrapping his hands, he took a swing at the bag. Not much of a punch, not hard or fast, but a swing right at that snake. And in his mind's eye, it connected with that glowing eyed little worm, okay, big worm, big big worm, snake sized worm. But, BAM, one blow like that and it would be dead. And one like that, WHAM and it would be flattened. He punched the bag, and he kicked it, elbowed it and head butted it. Hit it again and again and again in every way his years of special ops training had taught him to strike and to kill.
The Colonel wasn't cold now, oh no, he was getting warm, feeling warmer with every blow, with every bit of damage he did. "Damn you. Damn you. Damn you."
He was so absorbed in what he was doing he didn't hear anyone come up behind him until a quiet voice said, "And just who is it that you're damning?"
Jack swung around so fast he almost hit Daniel, who of course, stood there innocently looking at him.
"That damn," left jab, "gould snake," right hook, "thinks it can tell me what to do," spin, kick. "Bitch," he added, with an elbow to the bag for good measure.
<><><><><>
Dr. Fraiser had checked with security, she knew Colonel O'Neill hadn't left the base, but she was getting worried. He was supposed to come back to the infirmary, and the way he'd been acting, she was just a tad short of panicked when he wasn't in his office, the lounge, the cafeteria, Sam's lab or Daniel's cluttered office. So where was he? Finally, she spotted Daniel sitting just inside the doorway to the gym. Inside, the colonel, gray hair plastered to his forehead and sweat soaking his shirt, was vigorously attacking the workout bag.
"This certainly is one way of getting his mind off things," said Dr. Fraiser, peering into the gym, relieved to have found her errant patient. After all, she hadn't discharged the Colonel, just told him to get out of the infirmary for a while.
"Not off things, Janet. Actually, he's um, beating it up."
Janet looked at Daniel questioningly.
"He's pounding on the larvae. And Hathor, too, I think."
"Good."
Daniel raised an eyebrow, looked at her. "The O'Neill method of emotional therapy, if you can't punch the real thing, whack on a substitute?"
"That's it." said Fraiser, remembering an incident with a hockey stick and a general's car window.
"This will help him get well?"
"Well? That's a relative term, especially when it comes to Jack O'Neill. I doubt anything will ever entirely make this episode go away. But yes, if it helps him feel back in control again, it will make him better." She watched for a few minutes, noting the exhaustion on his face. "How long has he been at this?" she suddenly asked.
"I'm not sure. I've been here nearly two hours, and I'm not sure how long he was at it before I got here. Quite a while I think." Daniel added.
"That's okay. As long as it takes. Daniel, when he's done, send him back to the infirmary, though, will you?" Even from this distance, she could see his raw and bloody knuckles. "He'll need a little first aid on those hands."
<><><><><>
A showered, shaved and changed into clean BDUs Colonel showed up in the infirmary over an hour later. Janet smiled.
So did Jack O'Neill. Not a big smile, but the first smile she'd seen reach his eyes since, well, since they'd gone off to that planet weeks ago.
"Colonel?"
"Ah, I think I need a little something...." he said, holding up his hands, showing her his skinned, raw knuckles.
She poured disinfectant over them, bandaged the worst spots. "You know, Colonel, there's something called gloves that will protect your hands..."
"Yeah, Doc. I'll remember next time."
Fraiser looked him in the eye, and he met her gaze. There were still shadows lurking there in those brown eyes, but there was life there, too. "Good. Glad to have you back, Sir." Finishing with the bandages, she pointed back at the bed. "Sleep here tonight, then we'll see about sending you home tomorrow."
"Oh for crying out loud Doc, why can't--
She raised a hand to stop him. "Colonel O'Neill, that bunk," she ordered, hardly able to hold back the smile that threatened to erupt onto her face at hearing that familiar tone of voice from him.
He didn't argue. She left him there, then, to settle himself in for the night, and when she came back, he was already sound asleep. She watched for a few minutes, said a silent prayer to whatever God looked out for the weary and the troubled, and thanked Him for helping a good man find a way to heal. Again.
<><><><>FINIS<><><><>