To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Category: Drama, Missing scene plus tag for Divide & Conquer
Season: Four
Summary: What O'Neill is thinking as he decides between Doc's solution and Anise's procedure, and later talks to the General about the whole mess
Pairing: None. Yes, None.
Spoilers: Divide & Conquer, obviously; nothing else specific
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. I know they’re not mine, but I’d gladly make an offer to purchase them. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.
Author's Note: My take on what we missed during and after this episode, from a definitely non-ship POV.
--------------------------------
Colonel Jack O'Neill, sitting cross legged on the bunk, his face grim and eyes dark, watched as Dr. Fraiser wheeled the medical equipment into his 'room.'
Cell more like it, he thought.
Fraiser glanced at his face, then as quickly looked away again. She desperately wished she didn't have to do this, that she had a viable alternative, that she had some hope to give him. "It's the only way we can be absolutely sure you won't try to hurt yourself." If only he wasn't looking at her like a condemned man looked at his executioner.
"No choice?" he asked.
"No. You won't feel anything," she promised, knowing it was so little comfort, but all she could offer. "It will be like falling asleep."
"For how long?"
She had no adequate answer to that question, either. "As long as it takes to find a treatment with better odds than the one we have available."
Daniel interjected, quietly, needlessly reminding everyone that there was little time for debate. "The President is due to arrive in less than an hour."
The room got quiet. No one could look at anyone else.
Hell of a decision to have to make in two minutes, Jack thought.
A sound, someone at the door, and O'Neill lifted his head, the hope in his eyes fading quickly as he recognized Teal'c's somber visage joining them. No reprieve. Just another voyeur come to watch his final minutes, Jack thought. "Come to say your goodbyes?" Even O'Neill couldn't miss the flat tone in his voice, his inability to put any sarcasm in his words.
"If there is anything that you require, O'Neill?" the Jaffa asked.
"Another option," the Colonel answered quickly.
Anise/Freya spoke up for the first time. "There is still time to try the procedure."
O'Neill was staring hard at the floor, his heart hammering as he realized what he needed to do, the only thing he could do. His quiet words surprised them all. "You said if you'd been able to do a proper autopsy on Aster you might have been able to solve this thing?" he asked the Tok'ra, remembering the Lieutenant's messy suicide.
"It would have provided much more information," Anise agreed.
Very quietly, O'Neill whispered, "I'll do it."
Daniel's head jerked up. "What?"
Jack tried to explain away his answer. "Hey, I've done the drugged out strapped to the bed thing."
"And if what happened to Lt. Aster happens to you?" Daniel too was remembering the Lieutenant's tragic self inflicted end.
"Maybe it will help Carter," Jack answered softly, tonelessly, no hope in his voice because there was no hope in his heart. "Her brain is worth a lot more than mine," he finished, apologetically.
------------
Jack couldn't meet their eyes. He just wanted them to leave. Silently he begged them not to make this worse for him, not to argue or plead with him to change his mind.
He didn't want to have to explain. He couldn't really.
They'd given him only a few minutes to think about it, to digest what Daniel told him before Doc all too soon had shown up at his door, explaining a decision had to be made and carried out before the President arrived. God, he was supposed to let Doc drug him into a coma? Indefinitely?
Control. He needed control, some sort of control, at least some illusion of control, his fate in his own hands. Even if it was a bad decision, it was *his* decision. He couldn't imagine anything worse than lying there, feeling nothing, knowing nothing, doing nothing, being nothing. Too much nothing. It wasn't for him. Anything was better than handing over his fate to... to fate. Fate had never been kind to him. He was a man of action, and even if it was a foolhardy, desperate action, it was something.
Fraiser was glaring at him, her look shooting him daggers.
"Jack, do you want to talk to Sam?" Daniel asked softly.
"No." He couldn't. If he went to talk to her, he knew she'd try to stop him, try to talk him out of it, argue with him, and he couldn't handle that. He had a very fragile hold on his resolve, and he needed all his strength to keep it. "You tell her. Please." O'Neill raised his eyes to meet Jackson's gaze. "Dying man's last request, Daniel, can't be denied."
"Jack..." there was pain in the young man's look.
"Just, please, Daniel. You'll know what to say."
Daniel considered a moment, then nodded. "I don't understand this, but then I've never understood..." He raised his eyes to meet O’Neill’s gaze, and Jack's agonized look stopped him cold. He took a deep breath. "I'll do it. Okay."
"Daniel, I," the Colonel waved a hand in the air, hopelessly searching for the words to tell the young man… what? He didn't know. How much it meant that Daniel was his friend. How much Daniel had helped him to get past...everything. How much he didn't want to do this, and how much he wanted the others to take care of each other if this didn't work. He couldn't find the words, tried instead to put all the meaning into the look they shared. "You know..."
Daniel's tiny smile was sad. "I know, Jack."
Jackson left, following Anise out into the corridor. Teal'c, Jack noticed, had also stepped outside, standing sentinel at the door. Only Doc was still there.
The moment the others left, Fraiser turned to him. "Colonel, please reconsider this."
He could only shake his head. "I'm just not into the sleeping beauty bit, Doc."
"Sir..."
O'Neill raised his head to look steadily into Fraiser's gaze for the first time. The look nearly stopped her heart, to see such desolation and hopelessness on his face. She'd seen the Colonel through many difficult times, but she'd never seen such a bleak and lost look like this.
He waved at the bed and the equipment now sitting next to it. "I just can't let you do that. I can't lie there, like that, like a vegetable..."
"Colonel, that's not how it would be."
"It's not? How would it be? Huh?" He snapped. It was the first bit of emotion she'd heard in his voice, but there was no matching spark in his eyes. "I've seen people in a long term coma, Doc. I know what it does. It doesn't take long and your muscles turn to mush. How long would it be, Doc, a few weeks, before I'd never recover, not really?"
"Sir, you'd be alive."
"Breathing, maybe, but as good as dead." Not able to do my job, to do what I love, to hold on to the one thing that's given me life for the past four years, he thought.
"Colonel, please, Sir, reconsider..."
"Reconsider what, Doc? Give me something to reconsider, some facts. Give me a real reason. Tell me there's some sort of hope that we could be un-brainwashed. Is there?"
"Colonel, there's always hope," Fraiser insisted, unwilling to concede.
"Wrong answer, Doc." He turned away.
"Then please explain, Colonel, so I can understand..."
O'Neill was staring down at his hands. "If I let you do this, I'd be like asleep, that's what you said, right?"
She nodded.
"And sleeping, I'd dream, right?"
"Yes, probably," she said softly, not meeting his gaze.
"And with the drug, I wouldn't be able to wake up from those...dreams... would I?" The Colonel didn't have to explain the rest. Doc had witnessed a couple of his nightmares, the kind of ugly subconscious recollections that all too often invaded his sleep. Nasty things, they were. He looked over at the bunk, at the restraints, and shivered. "It's no choice." Live a nightmare, die a nightmare. O'Neill had imagined his death a thousand ways, but never like this, never wasting away drugged out of his mind, in an underground bunker, an alien something in his head.
His options sucked.
Drugs. Suicide. Or experimental alien brain surgery.
Anise's 'cure.' He sure as hell didn't trust her, he wasn't sure he trusted any of the Tok'ra, not even Jacob. But at least it would be over and done with. He'd either make it or he wouldn't. He was *not* going to waste away strapped down to a bed, drugs pumping into him; tubes feeding him and other tubes carrying away his wastes. He'd just be lying there, dead to the world, dying slowly, bit by bit, and not even knowing it.
Not dead, but not alive, either.
He knew Doc meant well. She'd try, but the odds were impossibly long that some miracle cure would happen in time to do him any good.
Worse odds than Anise's machine. And at least with the Tok'ra device there was a chance, maybe not a chance for him, but a chance to help Carter.
He'd really meant it when he said her brain was worth more than his. It was a fact none of them could argue, not Daniel or Doc or Teal'c or even the General.
Fraiser tried one more time. "Colonel..."
"No," he stood up and looked her in the eye this time. "The decision is made. No Rip Van Winkle thing for me. You know what they used to say. Better dead than tied to a bed." He shrugged. "Same difference." He'd been willing to die to save Carter once before, on Apophis's ship; he'd been willing to get snaked to protect her and Daniel; he'd risked his neck a hundred times over for his team and for his country, and so what was one more risk? He'd spent his life taking chances, and now was no time to be worrying about the odds.
What was one more insane chance in a whole lifetime of defying death? He'd made a career of surviving the impossible.
And if he didn't, well, he'd at least die a useful death, instead of wasting away.
-----------
The door opened again.
Teal'c was back. "Anise is prepared to perform the procedure. I will escort you, O'Neill."
The Colonel nodded once at Doctor Fraiser, climbed shakily to his feet, and walked out the door.
His legs were numb, and he was shocked that they held him up at all, much less carried him down the hallway to his...fate. His mouth was dry. He could feel his heart racing.
Dead man walking, Jack thought. God, he hated the looks on the SFs faces and even Teal'c couldn't maintain his usual stolid pose. He thanked God Daniel had left, and that Carter couldn't see.
Then he heard her call to him. He hadn't meant to look, but he did, turning to see their faces, Carter, Daniel, Doc, all staring after him with dread, like they were watching a ghost, like he was dead already.
<<<'Forgive me. I let you down, all of you. I thought I'd saved Carter on Apophis's ship, but I didn't, not really. I failed again. All I had to do was find the strength to keep the armband on another few minutes and we'd have gotten out of there. I wouldn't be a zatarc, and neither would Carter, and Daniel's eyes wouldn't have that haunted, abandoned look. Forgive me. I go to do the right thing. You know it and I know it, but that doesn't make it any easier.'>>>
-----
He thought the walk down the hallway took forever. The Colonel counted the steps for something to focus on, something to drown out that inner voice screaming in his brain that he didn't want to do this either. How could he let someone go poking around in his brain, someone he didn't trust, a machine he didn't trust. Oh, shit. They were there already, in the room, and he was letting Teal'c strap him down to the chair, his eyes meeting the big alien's, both of them knowing...everything.
The truth, he was supposed to tell this machine the truth. Hell, when was the last time he'd told anyone the truth? He wasn't sure he knew how, anymore. It was his job to *hide* the truth. His whole head was full of deep, dark secrets, things he couldn't say even here, in this classified place.
In the end, he confessed.
O'Neill answered Anise's questions, followed Carter's lead and admitted what he knew he shouldn't tell, revealed how much he cared about his team. No longer lying to anyone, not even himself. He'd let SG-1 become his family and violated rules he knew existed, rules that had been written for good and right reasons. As an officer, he knew that; as a man, he couldn't live up to it. How could he *not* care about the people he worked with, day after day in this insane job?
At least he wasn't a zatarc, and that meant Carter wasn't either. By the time someone unfastened the restraints he was so shaky with relief that he could barely climb out of that chair. Listening while Carter talked, while Carter admitted she, too, cared more than she should, he felt his heart sink. He didn't want to listen; he couldn't not listen.
So he and Carter would be saved, but SG-1 wouldn't.
Before he'd even had time to process that thought, they'd realized that if neither of them were zatarcs, then someone else had to be, and then there'd been gunfire and betrayal and death.
Marty had been an okay guy, for a Tok'ra. Not many of those Jack had ever liked, respected or trusted, but Martouf was one. He'd earned that, back on Netu. Another good man, er, good guy, claimed by this war, O'Neill thought sadly as he watched Carter cradle the bloody body.
-----------------
AFTERMATH--
When it was all over with the President and that Tok'ra ambassador guy signing their treaty, O'Neill made a quick move to get the hell out of the mountain.
He knew Carter was having a bad time of it over Martouf. He knew as her friend and CO he should have gone to check on her, but he couldn't. Daniel was with her, so Jack knew she wasn't alone. That was good. His kids taking care of each other for once, leaving him to take care of himself.
Or at least, take care of business. Because O'Neill knew that the truth was, Hammond was going to find out about what he'd said to that machine, and he'd know that O'Neill was a liability, that he was no longer fit to command, that he'd lost his perspective and with it, the right to lead SG-1.
So yeah, he'd evaded the zatarc thing and stepped right into another mess, equally ugly, and equally fatal to his career. Jack walked quickly toward the elevators, lost in thought, but he was too slow to elude a short legged, overweight General who was years older than he.
Damn.
"Colonel, can I see you for a moment?" he asked. Hammond had that look on his face, that 'I really don't want to have to do this but it's my job' look. O'Neill had seen it before, and it had never led to anything pleasant.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, the Colonel followed him back through the briefing room and into his office.
Neither one of them said a word.
Jack didn't know for sure what Hammond was thinking about, but he was thinking about how he was going to miss this place. How he loved the Air Force and how he'd spent his whole adult life being an Air Force officer, after spending most of his life before that dreaming of being an Air Force officer. How life outside this place seemed pretty bleak. What do you do after you've seen the universe, lived on other planets, talked to aliens, flown big and honkin' spaceships? Nothing Earthbound could begin to compare.
Jack knew he'd screwed up, broken a cardinal rule of command, been unable to keep his feelings in check, and now he was going to pay the price.
Life sucks.
Once in George's office, Jack stood stiffly at attention as Hammond moved behind his desk. The General didn't sit down, just stood there, with his back to O'Neill, for a long time. Finally, George sighed and still not looking at his subordinate, said, softly, "Jack, you know I think very highly of you..."
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir, and I think the same of you," a little respect couldn't hurt here, and it *was* the truth. He was the best O'Neill had ever served under, bar none.
"You're a damn fine officer and a good man..."
"Thank you." Jack kept his eyes glued front and center, which was about four inches over Hammond's head.
"You're irreplaceable to this place..."
"Sir."
"And to me."
"I'm honored." More truth. He was.
The General turned slowly to O'Neill, a sad look on his face. "But Jack, as much as I'd like to, I can't ignore what happened today."
"I understand, Sir." He did. He didn't like it, but he knew the rules and he knew why they were the rules.
"Well, I don't. Explain it to me, Son. Help me find a reason to not do what I know I should do." He waved Jack at the chair, inviting the Colonel to be casual, narrowing the gap between their ranks.
O'Neill sat down and scrubbed one hand across his face, gathering his thoughts. "Sir, you know I never meant for anything like this to happen."
"But it did."
"Yes. I care about my team more than a commanding officer can or should. I know that, I know it goes against all military standards, all the chain of command rules."
"They're good rules and they exist for good reason."
"I know that, too, Sir." Jack was staring at the floor, trying to find the words, because he knew he was fighting for his life in the Air Force, and he knew that deep down he was fighting for his very life, because his life was here. "General, I understand the reason why a commander shouldn't become attached to the personnel under his command. I know it can cause problems. I know I shouldn't have let them become my friends," He paused, searching for the right words. "But it happened. And, to be honest, it's a big part of what makes us work, what makes SG-1 successful. We're not like other teams. Hell, only two of us are military to start with. We've always been out of the mold, Sir. Just like this job, out of the mold."
"I should break you up, you know that, Colonel. I should have done it long ago, when I first saw this was happening."
"Yes, I know. And honestly, General, I can't tell you that I won't do something like I did on Apophis's ship, that I won't again stay behind when Carter or Daniel or Teal'c is in trouble, because I will..."
"Then I have no choice." Hammond's face was stern.
"Sir, wait. Let me finish. I know that to the Air Force, each one of us is a resource, a tool to be used wisely and well, expended if necessary, for the completion of the mission. I also know that Carter and Daniel are much more important resources than I'll ever be...
"Jack..."
"General, it's the truth and you know it. They're so much smarter than any of the rest of us. They do things and understand things and figure out things the rest of us couldn't even start on in a million years. They're irreplaceable. We need them if we're ever going to stop the Goa'uld. They need to be protected. And if it means I give my own life for one of them, then that's okay, Sir. It's a sacrifice I'll make, because I won't ever willingly leave anyone behind."
"Your friendship with these people impairs your judgment as SG-1's commanding officer, Colonel. That's unacceptable, and you know it. Personal feelings get checked at the door when you put on that uniform."
"No, Sir. It doesn't impair my judgment. My judgment is clearer than ever." I raised my face to meet his eyes. "General, the fact is, I'm a resource that's about used up...
"Jack..."
"No, Sir, let's be honest here. I'm 44 years old with a bad back and worse knees. We both know I can't keep doing this a whole hell of a lot longer. I'm already past the age when most officers are confined behind a desk. The point is, General, my usefulness to this organization is about over..."
"That's a harsh assessment, Colonel. There are other things..."
"No, Sir, there's not. Not for me. This is who I am and what I do, and the only thing I've ever been good at. I've already been deemed expendable once before..."
"That was a long time ago. Circumstances have changed greatly."
"Yes. They have. But the bottom line hasn't." O'Neill paused, thinking hard how to say what he needed to say. "General, I do care too much about my team, too much to lose them. That means I will do anything in my power to save them, without losing sight of the mission. If it means I die with them, then the Air Force has only lost one aging resource it was going to lose anyway. If I die to save them, then I've saved an invaluable asset. Either way, the Air Force doesn't lose anything it wasn't going to lose anyway, and just maybe it keeps something that can't be replaced."
"Colonel..."
"General, I know I've stepped across a line here, and I know it's not the first time. But this is one time when crossing that line makes things better, when it's appropriate and most importantly, it's effective. It's what makes SG-1 work. Look around here, Sir. None of the other teams are still intact. Hell, what's the average time a team stays together? Three months? Six? This is a war, and we need to do whatever it takes to win it."
"I know that."
"General, so do I. And the fact that my team means more to me than Air Force SOP says it should doesn't change that. I'm not asking for any leeway, Sir. If I don't do my duty, if I don't put the mission first, then boot me out. I've been unorthodox, General, I know that. But I've always done what I needed to do to keep my team functioning. I've kept us alive. This isn't like any other military assignment anywhere. Ever. It's different. Sir, out there," Jack waved a hand at the Stargate, "everything is uncertain. We need the certainty of knowing we can trust each other. Completely."
He stopped, watching Hammond out of the corner of his eye.
The General was thinking, staring at the blotter on his desk. Long moments slid by. The clock ticked loudly. O'Neill heard footsteps in the corridor outside, an echo of voices, the thundering of his own heartbeat. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Hammond looked up at the gray haired man who sat across from him. "Colonel," he said, in that stern General's voice.
Jack's heart sank. "Sir," the Colonel stood at attention.
"Colonel O'Neill, today you and your team once again did remarkable work. You saved the life of the President. I don't condone what you've done, Jack, and I’m still uncomfortable with SG-1 having crossed the lines of good military order, but I'm willing to let it ride because I have confidence in you, son. I'll be watching carefully, and if there's ever an inkling that the friendship you feel for these people is overriding your judgment as their commanding officer, I'll reassign you so fast your head will spin. But until then, I guess I can't argue with success." Hammond shook his head. "Now, Colonel, get the hell out of here before I come to my senses and change my mind."
"Sir, I won't let you down," Jack promised earnestly, saluting and leaving quickly.
Hammond stared out the doorway at the retreating back of his officer. "You damn well better not, Colonel," he whispered.
--------------------------------------------
FINIS