Re-born on the Fourth of July
He hated every single, solitary holiday anyone had ever invented.
He hadn't always felt that way, of course. There'd been a time when he'd loved them, all of them, every silly Hallmark occasion, every excuse to send Sara flowers and buy presents for Charlie...
But they were gone, and he was alone now, and even worse, for the nineth day in a row, he was stuck not just on base, not just underground in Cheyenne Mountain, but in the infirmary.
He hated the place.
He hated the needles, the noises, the nurses coming to poke, prod or puncture him; the lack of privacy and the lack of action; the bad food and the boredom.
He wanted out.
Doc said no.
He didn't feel so bad, not now. He could actually walk about six steps before doubling over, but hey, it was only six steps from his front door to his couch, so why couldn't he go home? At least today.
Fourth of July.
Everyone else was gone. They had places to go, things to do, people to see.
He didn't begrudge them their families or their plans; if he admitted it, he was envious, actually.
But mostly, he missed what he needed to be doing tonight, sitting on his rooftop, watching the fireworks.
He was a huge fan of fireworks.
Like father, like son, Charlie had been, too.
He thought those might have been the best days of his life, that Fourth of July, the one where he was on leave the whole weekend, and he and Charlie and Sara had gone up to the lake fishing, hiking, camping all that week, just being a family. He and Charlie had played dozens of games of catch, hell,
he'd even organized a game of softball among all the campers.
And then, on the Fourth, he and Charlie had hiked to the top of the hill overlooking the lake. All alone, just the two of them, a boy and his dad, watching the fireworks from that town across the lake. Together, they'd ooohed and aaahed and had just been, well, just a dad and his boy.
Jack wiped a hand quickly across his face, praying no nurse would walk in and notice the dampness in his eyes. Damn. He was a Colonel in the United goddamn States Air Force and he was too goddamned tough to get teary-eyed. Over anything.
Must be those damn pills Doc was making him take, supposed to be relaxing the damaged muscles in his back. Not that they worked anyway, he thought disgustedly. Still hurt like hell every time he moved, or even thought about moving.
"Colonel, you've been awfully quiet today. Are you feeling alright, Sir?" the nurse asked.
"I'm just absolutely goddamned fine," he snarled.
She set his pills on the tray table, ducked her head and left.
Way to go Jack, he told himself, abusing the nurses. God, he was such a heel. She'd just been trying to be nice to him. She always was. Lt. Carroll, yeah, that was her name, always spoke to him, better than some of the others. They were scared of him, probably, what with the way he had a tendency to yell, complain and bully the nursing staff. Or so Doc always said.
As if Doc didn't bully him, when she had the opportunity. Hmmph.
He took the pills the nurse had left, swallowed them with a sip of water, and laid back on the bed, hoping the damn things would work this time and he could doze away this day, like every other day.
Didn't work, of course.
His back hurt, and his boredom level was through the roof, and even the damned cable TV system was out, and since it was a holiday no one was there to fix it.
Daniel had gone with Carter to visit her brother. Hell, he'd all but ordered them to go and get away for a few days, so why was he upset that they weren't here? And he'd insisted that Teal'c go to the Land of Light and visit his family. Holidays were for family, and Teal'c had a family he spent too
damned little time with, so off he'd gone. Janet too had taken the holiday off, to spend with Cassie. And even General Hammond was visiting his daughters and granddaughters.
Jack had told them all he would be fine, told himself he would be fine. It was just another day. So it happened to be a holiday, one that made him think of the family he'd once had and still missed every day, and missed a thousand times worse on a day like this, when the memories of what he'd shared with his son wouldn't leave his head.
He stared glumly at the sorry supper he'd been brought. Seemed like even the cooks were off today.
"God," he groaned.
"Colonel O'Neill?" Nurse Carroll was suddenly by his bedside, a worried frown on her face. "Sir?"
He was lying back on the bed, hand over his eyes. "I'm fine Lieutenant." And then he added, softly, "thank you, Lieutenant."
"Yes, Sir," she said and left.
She was puzzled, so she went back and picked up the Colonel's chart. Skimming through it, she found the note from this morning, the one that said he'd seemed quiet and ended with several question marks. There were a lot of words the nurses used to describe Colonel O'Neill, often not entirely complimentary ones, but Lt. Carroll had never seen quiet as one of them. She peeked around the door and saw he was still lying quietly, face still covered.
Making up her mind, she went to the office and dialed Dr. Fraiser's cell phone. It rang many times before a familiar voice picked up. "Janet Fraiser here."
"Ah, Dr. Fraiser, I'm sorry to interrupt your holiday, but I'm calling about Colonel O'Neill."
The lighthearted note left the doctor's voice, quickly replaced by concern. "The Colonel? What's wrong?"
"Ma'am, there's no change physically. But he's been so quiet all day, and now he hasn't eaten his supper. He's barely uttered a word, and before, when I took him his meds, he snapped at me, and then later, well, Dr. Fraiser, he apologized to me. Ma'am, he just doesn't seem right."
"Thanks for calling, Lee. Look, our picnic is nearly over here, and I know Cassie wanted to sleep over at her girlfriends house, so I'll drop her off and be there in an hour, okay? Just keep an eye on him and call me if you notice anything else. And thanks, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Ma'am."
Nothing happened over the next hour, and when Dr. Fraiser walked hurriedly into her infirmary, Lt. Carroll quickly intercepted her.
"Maybe I overreacted, Ma'am, but he just doesn't seem himself today."
"No, Lee, never apologize for caring about your patients. I know the Colonel is difficult, but I appreciate your noticing the little things. I'd rather have an unneeded call now than a full blown emergency later."
Janet grabbed her lab coat and strolled out across the ward, empty except for O'Neill, apparently dozing on his bed in the far corner.
"Good evening, Colonel," she said, cheerily.
"Doc?" His eyes snapped open and he stared at her, surprised, then let his eyes close again. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Cassie today."
"I was. We went to a picnic lunch."
"There's more to the day than just lunch."
"She's a teenager now, Sir, she doesn't want to spend the evening hanging out with her boring old mother. She's off with friends for the night, so I thought I'd come and check on my favorite patient."
He snorted. "Right."
She checked his pulse, respiration, blood pressure, and listened to his lungs and heart. "How are you feeling today?"
"Perfect. That's why I'm here instead of spending the holiday at my own home." He suddenly realized he'd let the bitterness creep into his tone.
"Colonel, I know you wanted to go home, but you're just not ready for it yet. The injury to your back is healing slowly."
"It could heal at home."
"But here you're getting twice daily rehab, and that means you'll be back on your feet sooner."
"Sooner than what?"
Doc smiled softly. "Sir, I know you're sick of this place, cabin fever's not uncommon down here, but you *are* getting better every day, and you *will* be able to go home soon."
"Not soon enough." He suddenly thought he sounded like a whiney child. Opening his eyes to meet her gaze, he said, "look Doc, I'm sorry. I guess I'm, uh, just having a bad day, huh."
"Sir, it's okay, really. You've been stuck here a long time, and we do sympathize."
"Not enough to let me go home."
"It's for your own good."
"Yes, mom."
Fraiser laughed, then let her face get serious when she saw he wasn't engaging in their debate with anything like his usual spark. "Are you sure you're okay, Colonel?"
His eyes met hers briefly, then slid away. "Doc, I'm not okay. I'm tired. I'm..." he suddenly stopped himself. "I just want to be left alone, okay?" and he slipped down lower into his bed, pulling the covers up, closing his eyes and ignoring her.
Fraiser stood at his bedside for a long moment, wondering what to do. She knew these signs, he was depressed. She'd seen it happen often with servicemen and women, especially those working, or hospitalized, on holidays. He'd sent his SG-1 family away, and she'd bet her medical degree that he was thinking about his other family, the one he'd lost.
Janet walked slowly back to her office, lost in thought, trying to come up with something to do for the Colonel, something to cheer him up. She was a mother now, herself, and though Cassie had only been a part of her life for three years, she couldn't imagine life without her. How the Colonel coped with the loss of his only child, his guilt over how it had happened, the way he blamed himself, punished himself over it, time and again...
She sat down behind her desk, and wondered what she could do. There had to be something. She suddenly remembered Sam telling her about that night on Edora, when they'd gone to watch the "fire rain", and her memories of the Colonel, sitting on that hilltop, how he'd said he loved fireworks.
Fireworks.
There were fireworks in town tonight, right outside the base. Too late to take him there, even if he was fit to ride that far in the car.
Janet grinned. Grabbing a wheelchair, she headed across the echoing infirmary and parked the chair next to O'Neill's bed.
The Colonel warily opened one eye, and stared from the doctor to the wheelchair.
"Colonel..."
"Oh for crying out loud, Doc, it's eight thirty at night. You're taking me for more tests now?"
"No, Colonel, not tests. It's, ah, it's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"I'm sure you do, Colonel, but not this one. You'll like this one, for sure. Now, let's go."
She took his arm as he shifted his feet off the bed, helped him into a robe and then into the chair. She grabbed a couple of blankets, stuffing them into the bag she'd already hung over the handles of the chair, and started wheeling him down the hallway.
"Where are we going?"
"Surprise, Sir, remember?"
"Doc!"
"Stop complaining, Colonel."
And with that, she wheeled him silently through the nearly empty corridors, down a back hallway, and up to the freight elevator.
He raised an eyebrow to look at her, and she smiled, wheeling him in and pushing the button. At the top, she pushed open the door and pushed the chair toward the doorway. "This may be a little bumpy, sir, so hold on..."
"Doc? What the hell?"
"Colonel, I am your Doctor, and this is my prescription for Cheyenne Mountain Cabin Fever Syndrome. A night outdoors..." she grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around him, and just then saw the first explosion blossom into a fiery cascade of red, white and blue, "and..."
"Fireworks."
Silence.
Fraiser snuck a look at the silent man, just able to make out his expression in the dim light. It was an odd mixture of anger, stubbornness and surprise.Another shell burst into the air with a boom, and red and green light flared in the sky.
Despite his determination not to, O'Neill smiled.
Fraiser grinned.
Another shell, a spectacular giant bloom of crackling silver light, illuminated the night.
"Wow," he said, in spite of himself, turning to grin sheepishly at her.
Fraiser leaned over and squeezed his shoulder.
He grinned, and the soft words were out of his mouth before he was even aware he meant to say them. "My kid loved fireworks. He...." Jack's throat closed, and he forced himself to go on, "he loved fireworks. The... last... Fourth, before he, the last Fourth, that year, we were up in the mountains, camping. Charlie and I walked up on the mountain and watched them, all by ourselves."
He sat silently a moment. "I think that was the best night of my life. He fell asleep and I carried him down the mountain, draped over my shoulder," his voice was shaking. "It was the last time I ever carried him. He was too big to let me...."
Her hand was once again on his shoulder, feeling it shake now.
They were both silent then, alone with their thoughts.
When the show was over, she climbed to her feet, and wheeled him slowly back to the door and the elevator. Once back in the infirmary, she helped him back into bed, noting the way he winced and the pinched look around his eyes that meant he was trying to deny the pain he was in. He sank back onto the bed with a quiet sigh as she reattached the IVs.
She got his evening meds and brought them, handing him the little paper cup which he upended into his mouth, then drank from the glass of water she handed him.
As she started away, he reached out his hand to touch hers.
"Thanks, Doc," he wanted to say more, but he didn't have the words. And then he looked up into her face, and knew he didn't need more words. She understood the gift she had given him, a few hours out on the mountain, with the best memories of his son. "Just, thanks. I think I can sleep now."
She nodded, and left, unable to say anything. Back in her office, she let her face sink into her hands. Medicine wasn't just about writing prescriptions, stitching wounds or splinting broken bones. Sometimes, it was about restoring the spirit, not with the tangibles of medicine, but with a simple gift from the heart.
FINIS