Category: Missing Scenes & Epilogue; drama; Jack's POV

Season: 6

Episode: Paradise Lost

Spoilers: Paradise Lost, of course

Summary: What we missed during and after Paradise Lost

Pairing: None

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of SciFiChannel (bless them for S6 and S7), 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 Note: Thanks Jude, our discussion prompted this...

I knew that sound, faint thing that it was.

I was close.

But you know what they say, close only counts in horseshoes.

And hand grenades.

And this was the latter.

Shit.

I hit the ground, hard, stunned for a split second, instinct taking over as I spun to face the attack I knew would follow.

Something was coming out of the brush, running at me... a pig? I’d just been blown up by a pig?

There was no conscious thought to pulling the trigger, no time for the brain to analyze and decide and then give the order. It was instinct, pure and simple.

Whether it saved my life or not, I don’t know.

Would Harry have shot me?

At the time, all I saw was that squealing, slavering wild creature coming at me, and the next thing I knew, my gun was up and my finger was squeezing the trigger, the pop-pop-pop of my 9 mm loud in the jungle-like forest.

I *saw* the damn pig, but I *heard* a human scream, which meant it was Harry. Disconcerting, that. Sure, I’d been telling myself that the damn plant we were eating was causing this, was making me hallucinate, but it had only been a guess, until now.

Now I knew. Or thought I knew.

Scary thing, not knowing what’s real and what’s not. Especially when someone’s trying to kill you.

With your own gun.

I was kicking myself 12 ways to Sunday about letting him get the P-90. I have *never* liked being outgunned.

And there’s nothing worse than getting shot with your own gun.

With the adrenaline pumping and my heart beating a mile a minute, for a moment there, I thought I’d escaped any damage from the grenade.

And then I moved and found out different.

“Aggghhh.”

Crap.

There was something sharp and thin and inches long stuck into the inside of my thigh, a couple of inches above my right knee. Stung, but I didn’t have time to examine it further, because if Harry came back and popped me with my P-90, a little wound like that was going to be the least of my worries. Well, to be honest, it would have been no worry at all because I would be dead and therefore not worrying about anything.

I forced myself upright, staggering a bit, stumbling forward through the thick foliage, following the path where I’d last seen that thing, which must have been how my warped brain imagined Harry.

Not a bad analogy, actually.

And then I could hear him.

Fool. Making that much noise in a situation like this could get you killed.

I knew that, but then, I’d spent most of my career in the real world, fighting real wars, not flying a computer and playing hide and seek at the beck and call of politicians.

Cautiously, I advanced.

Harry was hiding under a rock ledge, wedged in, examining the bloody wound in his left side. When he looked up at me, his eyes looked a little wild, even for Harry Maybourne. “You shot me!” he complained.

“I didn’t know you were there,” I admitted, stepping closer.

“Stay back!” Harry waved my gun around.

“Put that down.” I didn’t trust the damn fool not to shoot *me*, on purpose or not.

Harry crawled out of his hiding place. “You wanted to kill me from the start.”

“I set the trap for the pig.”

Harry suddenly dived into the brush and ran.

“Where ya’ goin?” I could have followed, but what was the point? He'd probably shoot me. Or talk me to death. “Harry! I found somethin’,” I shouted. “Stop eatin’ that plant. It’s messin’ with your head, Harry.”

For about half a second I seriously thought about going after him, but why bother? I never could talk any sense into the little rat bastard. “Awww, screw you.”

He wasn’t going to listen.

Crap.

Damn you, Harry.

Damn you to hell.

Aw, shit.

My leg *hurt.*

I looked down. I could see something sticking out of my pant leg, a splinter of wood from the tree where the grenade had been set, I imagined. A dark stain was already growing on the dirty green material of my BDUs, something hot and sticky trickling down my suddenly chilled skin.

I needed… Damn, I needed all the things I didn’t have, like first aid supplies, bandages, disinfectant, antibiotics and, soon, I’d be really wishin’ for a nice dose of painkillers. Not that I didn’t want that now, right now, because my leg was suddenly all shaky and I could feel sweat popping out on my face and pain was washing up my leg in sickening waves.

Okay, move, O’Neill.

I needed to get back to camp.

I tried. I staggered a bit, and I swear, with every step, I could feel that splinter gouging its way deeper into my leg. As I moved, the blood was rolling down my leg in a warm, steady stream. Even as messed up as I was, I knew I couldn’t go on long like that.

I stumbled again, sliding to my knees, biting my lip not to let out a yell that Harry could have heard a mile away because, shit, I could swear I’d just driven that piece of whatever another inch deeper into my thigh.

Picking a spot where I’d have some rock protecting my back, I crawled off the trail, dragging my right leg. Sitting down, I pulled out my knife and slit the tough material of my BDUs, exposing the wound.

It looked about as lovely as it felt: torn skin, already swelling tissues, blood all over. I think you get the picture.

Funny how something that small could hurt that much.

I reached down and touched it. I knew my face was turning white as a sheet beneath all that grime, because for a moment, everything swirled and the sky and the forest did loop de loops and I figured I was going to throw up my lunch. Which might not have been a bad thing, actually, since lunch was that Caligula plant. But lunch stayed put and, before I could think about what I was doing and change my mind, I reached down with my hand and grasped the exposed inch of the splinter and pulled.

Now that hurt.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt, damn it.

My hand, already slick with blood, slipped, and I lost my grip.

“Arrgghhh.” God oh God oh God, I was going to have to do it again.

My hand was shaking this time. I couldn’t get a decent hold on the thin bit of wood.

Stop dawdling, fool, do it.

I pulled.

And I pulled again. Closed my eyes and saw stars racing through the blackness and groaned with the effort, pulling even as my fingers slipped. And when the bloody thing came away in my hand, I dropped it like a hot potato.

Oh God. I threw my head back, groaning, teeth clenched so hard I thought I’d break them, my breath coming in rasping gasps.

Don’t pass out now, damn you, you’ll be a sitting duck. Harry could walk right up and shoot you because you’d be defenseless. Embarrassing way for a special ops Colonel to go. I tried not to think, tried not to feel, tried only to concentrate on breathing. On listening. On living.

Looking down at my leg, the blood was still rolling out of the wound, one bright red drop after another, like beads on a string. I slid my hand over the wound, pressing down as hard as I could stand it. Doc was going to kill me for not washing my hands first, I thought, and then I realized it didn’t matter because unless I got damned lucky, Doc wasn’t going to know. I’d be dead of the infection long before anyone found me. Except Harry, and then I’d be dead of lead poisoning, so what the hell? Six of one, half a dozen of the other, dead was dead.

Having nothing else to use for a bandage, I kept my hand pressed against the wound. The blood kept flowing, a steady leak that would bleed me dry if I didn't do something. And soon. Hell, I didn't need to be a doctor to know that losing that much blood was not a good thing and I'd better find some way to get it stopped.

Some way.

Any way.

Now.

I brought my left hand up to wipe across my face, and realized it was covered with damp mud from the forest floor.

Mud.

Risky.

But then, when you're choiceless, you make the choice you have to make.

Digging my fingers into the wet ground until I had a handful of mud, I plastered it against the wound, holding it tight until the red fluid stopped leaking around the edges. Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to do, I knew that, but it sure as hell beat bleeding out on the spot.

I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, sorta dazed. I don’t know if it was the pain, the blood loss, or that damn psychedelic plant, maybe all three, I imagine.

When I finally snapped out of it, I knew I had to move.

Gritting my teeth once more, I managed to get upright, using my good leg and both filthy, bloody hands.

Camp seemed a million miles away. I knew it wasn’t far, but it seemed to take forever. Walk a couple steps, stop, listen, breathe, wait for the pain to subside enough to go on. I was shaky and dizzy, and it seemed oddly dark. All I wanted to do was to lie down and rest. Forever. Which it would be if Harry found me.

After all this time, I’d finally gotten to shot the slimy little SOB, but there didn’t seem to be much satisfaction in it.

Maybe I’d killed the bastard.

Maybe he’d killed me.

Hell, maybe I was dead and I just didn’t know it yet.

No, I was sure dead didn’t hurt this much, because I had been dead and the one thing I knew about dead was that the pain stopped. Didn’t remember much else, but I remembered that.

So I wasn’t dead.

Living hurts, I *know* that.

Take a step.

Take another.

Don’t fall down.

Don’t.

Falling down would hurt, you know.

Not that it doesn’t hurt already.

I rinsed my hands, mesmerized as I watched the blood make swirling patterns in the clear liquid. I kept scrubbing my palms together, and then, in the end, gave up on getting them clean. Desperately thirsty, no longer caring if the water was clean or not, I scooped the precious fluid into my palms, bringing it up to my face, slurping it off my hands, feeling it run cold and wet down my chin and my chest.

Felt good.

Until I got cold.

Scrambling on hands and knees once more, I got up, staggering across the stream, stumbling towards camp.

At least moving seemed to warm me up.

I don’t remember a lot about how I got back to my camp, just a lot of stumbling, while the pain rose in dizzying waves, but all of a sudden, I realized I was there, standing in front of the little broken walled spot I’d called home for the last three weeks. I slumped down on my makeshift cot, easing my leg down flat. I had taken one of those rags that had been hanging from the ruins, I didn’t know what they were for, flags or screens or something, though I’m sure Daniel would have known. Didn’t matter. I’d been using that one rag as a towel, with my share of the tiny sliver of soap from the bar that had been in Harry’s backpack. We’d split it, back before Harry got paranoid and decided to kill me.

So the cloth was sort of clean, the cleanest thing I had at least. I folded it up and pressed it against the wound, wrapping another long piece around my leg and tying the knot.

Done at last, I sat back, leaning my head back against the wall, exhausted, the 9mm clutched in my hand.

I dozed.

I don’t think I passed out, but I could have. Quite a bit of time passed I think, maybe the whole night, because the sky had clouded over again when something woke me up.

Someone was out there, for real this time. Had to be Harry, damn him.

My leg had stiffened up so bad I couldn’t walk at all, so I just dragged myself off the cot and into the shelter of the doorway.

I tried to get Harry to listen, tried to talk sense to him, but he’d been eating those plants a hell of a lot longer than I had.

The one advantage I had was that I was still mostly in my right mind. So I could think my way out of this. Hell, after all, I’m a special ops Colonel and that’s what I do.

What I’m supposed to do anyway.

So I knew better than to wait. Harry was all focused in on where I was, so obviously I had to move. Easier said than done, gimpy as I was, but I forced myself to my feet, told my body to ignore how much my leg hurt and how shaky it was and the distinct possibility that it was going to dump me on the ground when I put my weight on it, but I didn’t have the luxury of giving in to the weakness…

Weak equals dead.

And while I didn’t exactly like where I was living, I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet.

So I moved.

Ran, sort of, in a stiff-legged bumbling gait.

Took Harry by surprise, I did.

Though I wasn’t sure if I could forgive him for trying to blow me up.

Twice, now.

Staring at Maybourne over my gun, I calmly explained his options. I guess Harry still doesn’t believe me when I tell him something, and I know I told him clearly: put the gun down or I’d shoot him.

He didn’t.

I did.

I tried not to kill him.

He may be just a sleazy ex-NID traitor, but he’s the only other human on the planet, and in case you haven’t noticed, I get sort of cranky when I don’t have anyone to talk to.

Maybourne went down, just sort of folded up like someone had let all the air out of him.

Dragging my right leg, I stumbled over to where he lay. He was still breathing, but he was bleeding, too. He must have retrieved his first aid kit from where ever he’d hidden his backpack, because I found a bandage and some disinfectant in his vest pockets. I cleaned him up as best as I could under the circumstances, bandaged up the new wound, then sat back to wait.

Like I would.

If there was any virulent infective agent around, we’d both be goners.

I just hoped it would be quick, but I had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be.

I’m never that lucky.

Darkness fell. I stoked up the fire, ate a little of the dried fish I’d kept in my home sweet hovel. Not that I was hungry, but I knew I needed to keep up my strength as much as I could. Harry didn’t look too good, he was pale and sweaty, and I couldn’t rouse him enough to drink.

Of course, I wasn’t much better. I drained my canteen and staggered down to the lake to refill it, soaking one of the rags and using it to wipe the homemade camo off of Harry’s face. It would have been funny under different circumstances, seeing Harry trying to play commando.

It hadn’t been funny looking down the barrel of my own P-90 though.

I was still kicking myself over that bit of stupidity, how I’d let down my guard enough to let Harry Slimeball Maybourne steal my gun. If I ever got a chance to write up my report on this mission, I was going to be embarrassed to let Hammond read that part.

If I ever got home.

When I got home.

I *was* going to get home.

I was.

Three weeks and I was not going to give up. I couldn’t. I knew they would come for me, I knew Teal’c and Carter and Jonas and Doc and the General wouldn’t give up on me. They hadn’t quit on me after months on Edora, or when I’d been accused of shooting Kinsey or when that Tok’ra snake had hijacked me and I’d ended up in Ba’al’s fun house.

If there was one thing I could count on in the universe, it was my team. If I'd taught them one thing, it was that no one got left behind.

That had kept me going.

It was still keeping me going.

I just didn’t know how much longer I could go on, now that I was hurt on top of malnourished. Even I can only live on fish for so long, that’s why I’d finally started eating that bitter tasting arutabaga plant.

And, if I had to admit it, I’m not good at living alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was a very long night.

I spent most of it doing a lot of thinking. About how Harry and I really weren’t all that different. How there’s a fine line, maybe even no line, between some of the things I’d done and some of the things he’d done. So why did he end up going overboard, going beyond all the rules in a way that got him branded as a traitor? I’d gone beyond the rules more than a time or two myself, so had I just been lucky?

Some of the things I’d done, well, I’ll admit, they didn’t bear looking at in the light of day, but even then, I’d always had my limits. And my family. They’d made all the difference for me, having them to go home to. They’d kept me grounded at a time when I could easily have gone darkside like Harry, when I could have gone too far.

And bottom line, what I’d done, I’d never done for my own gain. Harry, though, well, he'd done things I wouldn’t have done. But still and all, Harry and I, we weren’t so very far apart. I was probably closer to him than I was to an innocent like Carter.

And kick me for a fool, but somehow, I’d sort of felt sorry for him. I mean, this had to be the worst thing that had ever happened to Harry. He was used to a fresh uniform and a shave and a real breakfast every morning, used to being clean and well fed and sleeping in a real bed.

Comfort, see, it’s all relative. Me, I’d been through shit a hundred times worse than this, the bottom of the pit being those four months I never talk about. Hell, here, there was nobody beating and starving me, locking me in a dank, dark and airless cell. This place wasn’t so bad. I could bathe in the lake, fish to my heart’s content, hike and explore, stare up at the stars at night, and there wasn’t a single freakin’ politician or snakehead around to annoy me.

~~~~~~~

At dawn, Harry was still breathing. And still unconscious.

Taking my P-90 with me, and the 9mil, too, I hobbled down to the lake once more. Sitting along the shore, I stretched out my leg, gingerly peeling back the bandage. “Ow. Shit,” I muttered, grimacing as cloth stuck to dried blood pulled free. The wound looked nasty, the tissue around it an angry red that already warned of infection to come. Glancing back toward Harry every few minutes, just to make sure he wasn’t playing opossum on me, though I figured he was no way a good enough actor for that, I soaked the wound, washing around it carefully with my precious little bit of soap. Hell, for all I knew, the lake water would make it worse. But drinking the water hadn’t killed either one of us, yet, at least, so it was all I could do.

Refolding the little cloth pad so there was a clean side making contact with the wound, I slid the strip of cloth under my leg and slowly pulled it tight, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. Failed, of course, so I swore a couple of times and sat back, breathing hard, until I’d quit shaking enough that I figured I could move.

Harry still hadn’t wakened. I was beginning to get worried, it had been close to a whole day now, I figured.

About the time I was ready to give up on him, Harry woke up.

Okay, I was glad. Sue me. I knew I shouldn’t be. I know he’s a traitor and he tried to blow me up and he would have shot me if I’d given him the opportunity, but I’m only human. I really didn’t want to be the last survivor on the damn planet, with all the dead bodies. Sure, there was a nice fishing hole and all, but even I can tell ya’, a man needs more than that. Even me.

~~~~~~~~~

The ship landed about a half mile away, down along the river.

I pulled the P-90 across my lap and sat next to Harry and waited.

It took a long time for someone to come, and when the man walked out of the bushes, it was a face I didn’t recognize.

“I am Jalen, of the Tok’ra.”

Tok’ra, huh? Okay, maybe I’d forgive the little snakeheads, just this once.

“You are O’Neill, I presume?”

Jalen looked perplexed.

Woohoo, three weeks with no one but Harry to talk to, but at least I hadn’t lost my touch for sarcasm. Thank God.

“You are injured.”

“Ya think?” I shook my head. “He’s hurt worse.”

The Tok’ra stepped closer, looking from me to Harry. “What occurred here?”

“I shot him.”

Jalen jumped back, looking at me suspiciously.

“Don’t worry. I won’t shoot you. Unless…”

“I am not here to harm you, O’Neill. I am here to take you back to the planet, where your companions await.”

“Let’s go then, huh?” I levered myself awkwardly to my feet, waiting while he bent down and picked up Harry. Slowly, I followed them toward the tel’tac.

Once on board, Jalen went to work patching up Harry, first giving him something to drink, then offering it to me. I shook my head no.

“It will not harm you. The drug strengthens the body and alleviates pain. It will not affect your cognitive abilities.”

“You don’t have a beer?”

He shook his head.

“Damn. I was afraid of that.” I stared hard at the Tok’ra, then over at Harry, who did seem to be breathing easier. Nodding, I reached forward and accepted the small vial. Tilting my head back, I poured it into my mouth, gagging on the bitter taste as the warm liquid rolled down my throat.

Warmth suffused my limbs, my whole body getting a sudden surge of energy that washed away some of the exhaustion. I sighed as the throbbing in my leg subsided to a dull ache.

Jalen nodded. “I will take you now to your teammates.”

“Wait.”

He turned to look at me.

I waved a hand at Harry. “He can’t go along.”

Jalen looked puzzled.

“He, ah, well, he’s in trouble. So I promised him that you guys could find him a nice, safe planet where he could hide out. But not too safe. He’s sort of, well, sleazy, if you know what I mean.”

“You want him unharmed, yet unable to harm others.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “He wanted to come here, this was supposed to be some sort of Utopia. But don’t leave him anywhere he might corrupt someone.”

Jalen still looked puzzled.

“Look, give him to Jacob Carter. He’ll know what to do with him, okay?”

The Tok’ra nodded. He gave Harry another dose of the drug. “This will make him sleep,” Jalen explained, and then moved the unconscious Maybourne into the back cargo hold.

The flight to the planet took only a couple of minutes. As Jalen maneuvered the ship to land, I could see figures emerge from the temple, shading their hands with their eyes as they waited. The ship had barely touched down before they were running towards us.

I stood up straight, knowing I was a mess, dirty and bloody and hurt.

Teal’c was the first one in the door, Carter on her heels, Jonas just a step behind.

“O’Neill,” there was warmth in the big Jaffa’s tone.

“Sir,” there was relief in Carter’s voice.

“Colonel,” even Jonas sounded glad to see me.

“Hi, kids, did ya' miss me?”

“Indeed, O’Neill,” Teal’c nodded in that stately way.

Carter was looking around. “Sir, where’s Colonel Maybourne?”

She *would* have to ask. “I shot him.”

Carter looked damned near apoplectic. "Twice, Sir?"

Teal’c stepped to one side, Jonas the other, and leaning on both of them, I limped out of the tel’tac, across the small open area, and, as soon as Carter had dialed up home, through the gate.

There was a whole reception committee waiting, the General and Major Davis and Doc and I think about half the base’s duty personnel.

She was looking at me with that critical eye, pointing at a gurney that stood waiting. “Colonel…”

I was ready to protest, but right about then, that energy stuff the Tok’ra had given me must have worn off because I suddenly realized that I was really, really tired and my leg was throbbing again, and lying down on something, anything, even that stretcher, seemed like a judicious thing to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down in the infirmary, Doc started bustling around me like I hadn’t been gone three days instead of three weeks, but she was smiling as she began unwrapping the bandage around my leg.

“So Colonel, what did…” she stopped, the smile disappearing, her gaze jumping from my leg to my face and back down to my leg again. Her tone changed immediately from bantering to businesslike. “What happened?”

“Sliver.”

“A sliver? Did this?”

“How did you get it out?”

I waved my hand and rolled my eyes.

"Colonel, you should leave the doctoring to doctors. That's my job."

I shrugged. She knew I hadn't done it for the fun of it. "You weren't there."

She nodded. “How long ago did this happen?” she asked, gently probing around the edge of the wound, until she got too close, and involuntarily, I hissed, sharply drawing in a breath. “Yesterday.”

She was staring at the hole in my leg, then picked up some long metal doohickey. "This might hurt," she warned, and stuck it right into the wound.

Somehow, I managed not to leap off the bed. "Might?"

“Colonel, this looks contaminated…”

“What?” I wasn’t sure if she was shocked or mad. “Colonel, you don’t know what microorganisms were in that ground. There could have been a dozen infective agents…”

“Doc, the choice was bleed to death right then, or stop the bleeding and *maybe* die later. I took the maybe.”

Shaking her head in amazement at either my courage or my stupidity, Fraiser added, “Sorry, Sir, I do understand. We’re going to have to clean this up, get you started on some broad spectrum antibiotics and hope there’s nothing too alien in there to kill.” She was already waving at a nurse.

“I’ll scrub it in the shower,” I offered.

“Sorry, Colonel, sponge bath is it. We need to keep this wound dry…” she was pointing at the angry red spot on my thigh. Turning to the nurse, she ordered “Let’s get him set up with an IV, and start fluids…”

I brightened. “Fluids. How about a beer, then?”

“You need fluids, not beer,” Doc chastised.

“Beer is fluid.” I insisted.

“No, it’s not and you know that, Colonel.”

The nurse was back, swabbing across my hand trying to clean it up, then sticking a needle into the back of it for the IV. I had a sudden bad feeling I was going to be spending way too much time in this bed, before I got to go home to my own bed. Where I really wanted to be.

The nurse was back in a couple of minutes, carrying a tray full of stuff that included another IV bag that she hung on that little hatrack stand by the bed while Doc drew stuff out of a syringe and injected it straight into the line.

It just got more fun from there. Another nurse came and started cutting off my clothes, and while I was glad to see the dirty rags go, well, I just hate all the… exposure, you know? And a sponge bath, well, that’s no bath at all. And embarrassing to boot, letting a nurse wash in places that no nurse should ever go.

Not that that stops them, of course.

Fraiser threw me one of her stern absolute ruler of the infirmary looks. “Colonel, you’ve been on a restricted diet for weeks. Your system is not up to digesting complex proteins and carbohydrates. You’re going to have to work your way up to regular meals gradually.” She patted my arm condescendingly. “Start with this. I’ll have someone bring you some broth later.”

“Oh wow. Broth.”

Funny thing, though, I ate that little bowl of Jello and felt full.

I guess I dozed off then, because I drifted back to awareness to the sound of voices, Doc’s voice, actually, talking to someone other than me.

Yeah, I’m tough, I know.

“My main concern is the puncture wound in his leg, however. He’s running a slight temperature, and the area around the wound looks inflamed. Considering the unsanitary conditions and lack of disinfectants, an infection is inevitable. I just hope we can contain it.”

Now *that* I didn’t like. Opening my eyes to see Teal’c, Carter and Jonas all arranged around my bed, “I’m fine,” I insisted.

“How long did I sleep?”

“Close to 12 hours.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get much rest last night. Doctoring Harry and all.”

“What *did* happen to Colonel Maybourne?” Hammond had just entered the room.

“I had to shoot him. Before he shot me.” I shrugged. “Sorry, Sir.”

The General nodded. “Nothing to be sorry about Colonel. The man was a convicted traitor. I doubt there’ll be anything but a routine inquiry into the circumstances. I’ll expect details in your report.”

“Yes, Sir.” Good thing I was going to have a few days before I needed to file that report, so I could think of how I was going to fudge the truth this time. Then again, like Hammond had said, no one was going to inquire too closely about the details of the death of a man convicted of treason.

Carter had just started to explain how they’d found me, when Doc reappeared, an apologetic look on her face. “I know you’d all like to talk, but the Colonel needs his rest. Come and see him in the morning,” she looked at my team. “Now out.”

Reluctantly, they all left, leaving me alone with Doc once more. She stepped up beside my bed, first taking my pulse, then resting her hand on my forehead. “So, Colonel, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” But something in the way she was looking at me made me suddenly uncomfortable.

“But?”

“Well, you are running a temperature. And your heart rate is a little above normal.” Pulling the sheet aside, she checked the dressing on my leg once more. “There’s some infection here, so I wasn’t able to put in any stitches. We need to let this drain.”

Infection. Damn. My leg did feel sort of hot and actually, I did feel rather warm all over, like someone had the heat turned a couple of degrees too high.

“Rest, then, Sir.”

^^^^^^^^^

I still felt feverish, though my head had cleared a lot. When I opened my eyes, the first sight I saw was Teal’c, standing at parade rest near the foot of my bed.

“O’Neill, it is good that you have awakened.”

“Yeah, well…” I looked around. “What happened?”

I shrugged, which used up about all the energy I had.

“The doctor has assured us, however, that you are recovering now."

“That’s good.”

“You will need extensive time to recuperate.”

“Not as much as she thinks,” I promised, fighting to keep my tired eyes open, then deciding to let them rest a minute.

“During the time you were gone, you were missed, O’Neill. By Major Carter, Jonas Quinn, and myself.”

“Thanks,” I answered without making the effort to lift those weighty lids.

“We searched diligently for you and Colonel Maybourne, however, finding two humans on one large planet seemed to be akin to finding a sewing implement in a pile of fodder."

“Needle in a haystack, Teal’c.”

“That is what I said, O’Neill. We searched for your locating beacon. Even the Tok’ra assisted, sweeping the planet for life signs. In the end, it was Major Carter who deduced that the device transported you to the planet’s moon.”

“It was a nice moon. Nice lake. Lots of fish.”

“Your stay was not unpleasant, then?”

“Nope.” Mostly not. “But I’m glad to be back.” I thought a moment. “I’m surprised Hammond didn’t assign a new team leader and put you back to work.”

“What?”

“I’ll have a talk with her about that. It was partly my fault, too.”

“Placing blame is not of importance, O’Neill.”

“It’s not?”

“Well, she probably thought I’d gone all glowy like Daniel, or something.”

“Indeed, she mentioned Daniel Jackson and how much she missed him.”

“Right.”

“We were all relived to learn that you will soon be well.”

“Me, too.” I agreed.

“You should rest, O’Neill.”

“Yeah………..”

I rested, and then, thanks to Doc’s quality meds, rested some more. General Hammond stopped by, and I gave him my report, omitting a few minor details, like the fact that Maybourne wasn’t dead when the Tok’ra took him away, but, well, I had never believed that a commanding officer needed to know every single, solitary detail of what had occurred on a mission. Especially a mission that had lasted over a month. So, I’d left out that little tidbit. Hammond hadn’t questioned it, though I could have sworn I saw the General’s eyes narrow a time or two, like he wasn’t entirely convinced with the story.

But he’d let it ride.

Hammond is a pretty smart guy, and I know the General understands me better than any other commander I’d ever had, hell, he probably understands me better than I understand myself.

Which, come to think of it, wasn’t so farfetched since sometimes, like now, I wasn’t too sure even I understood why I did what I did, regarding Harry.

But it was over, done with, and I resolved not to think about it.

After three days chained to the bed by IVs and ever vigilant nurses, Fraiser had finally relented to my pleas for a change of scenery (and no, I hadn’t missed Doc’s muttered ‘God save me from little boy’s tantrums’… there was *nothing* wrong with my hearing) and brought me a pair of crutches.

“Down to the end of the hall and back. That’s it,” she’d ordered me sternly. “You’ll be surprised how weak you are after a couple of days in bed.”

Well, no, actually, I wouldn’t be. I’ve been laid up enough times to know exactly how shaky I’d be, and I also knew that I could tough it out as far as I needed to go. So, with Teal’c playing bodyguard, or prison guard, I wasn’t sure and didn’t care which, I slowly crutched out of the infirmary, down the hall, turned left to the elevators, and waited for the arrival of a car, carefully ignoring Teal’c’s questioning glance.

“Doctor Fraiser did not give you permission to leave this level, O’Neill.”

“She said I could go to the end of the hall and back. She just didn’t say which hall. Or which floor,” I smirked triumphantly at the Jaffa.

Teal’c nodded. “Indeed, she did not say so specifically. However…”

“However, Teal’c, I *do* outrank her. And I’ll only be gone a little longer than she expected…” By then, the elevator had arrived and I made my way carefully inside, punching the button for the floor I wanted.

“I shall accompany you, O’Neill. So that I may assist you back to the infirmary. “

“Not necessary.”

“I shall do it anyway.”

“Suit yourself, T.”

Once we’d arrived on level 19, I carefully crutched my way down the familiar hallway. Finding the door ajar, I entered Carter’s lab. She was seated on a tall stool, peering into some sort of microscope thing, her face furrowed with concentration.

Before I could ask, Teal’c appeared at my side, a chair in hand, setting it down next to me, then nodding and going back out the door. With a sigh of relief, I lowered myself into the chair, thankful to give my aching arms a rest. Crutches were a pain in the butt... and the biceps.

“So, Major…”

Carter jumped, spinning to face her visitor. “Sir,” her face reddened. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Figured that.”

“I’m glad to see you out of the infirmary, Sir.”

“So, you developed an allergy to the place or to me?”

“Sir?”

“Well, Teal’c came to visit, Jonas, the General, even Siler… but you never visited, Carter. What’s up?”

“Nothing, Colonel. I’ve just been… busy.”

“You’re always busy, Carter. But usually you do come and pay your teammates a courtesy call. Unless, of course, I’ve done something to upset you.”

“No, Sir.”

“Then what did you do that you think will upset me?”

“Sir?”

“What did you do that you think will upset me?”

She shook her head. “Sir?”

“Look, Carter, I’m not blaming you for what happened.”

“But… Sir, I let Colonel Maybourne get my zat.”

“Yes, you did.”

“And I shouldn’t have. I should have been more careful. I should have…”

“Major, there are a lot of things we all should have done. I should have shot Maybourne the first time he showed up here, way back when that oversized mosquito bug-thing bit Teal’c. I should have called Security the moment I found him on my deck, eating my hot dog, one of the expensive bun-length ones, by the way. The minute he opened his mouth, we should have realized Maybourne was a lying little weasel and his story just didn’t make sense. We should *all* have questioned his motives more closely. When we went to that planet, I should have chained him to Teal’c, and I shouldn’t have let him take *my* gun…

Her head snapped up. “Your gun?”

“Yes, my gun. He got my P-90. While I was sleeping…”

“But Sir, you were gone for weeks. You had to sleep.”

“Right. My point is, you didn’t do anything I didn’t do. We were both way to trusting of Maybourne from the get-go. And none of us can keep up our guard every minute of every day.”

“But...”

“No more buts, Carter. Harry was a slimy little weasel, very good at lying, and very convincing.” I sighed. “Look, Major, I won’t kick your butt for your mistake if you don’t kick my butt for mine. Deal?”

She straightened. “Yes, Sir.”

“Okay, then, so help me get back to the infirmary before Doctor Fraiser kicks both our butts…”

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