Chapter Four

Jack couldn't believe it; he figured he'd have at least two more days before anyone demanded his appearance. Hammond had said to take a few days off. Damn. He was just beginning to work the stiffness out of the bruises. That whole ride had knocked the stuffing out of him, he'd slept more than he'd slept in years and still felt tired.

'Getting old, Jack.'

And why was he to report to the Infirmary?

Bet some butter-finger dropped his blood draw. Janet would have her needle collection out; as sure as his name was Jack O'Neill. And they'd all be primed and aimed for one target - his butt. Crap.

In deference to the bruised status of his shoulders he bumped the truck door shut with a hip and slowly limped across the tarmac to the entrance of Cheyenne Mountain.

Jack was grateful for the empty elevator cars, one on each of the two descending shafts that dropped him into the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain. Humming tunelessly, he slouched against the shiny wall and half-dozed for the trip.

Once the elevator doors opened, he pushed off from the back wall and limped into the hallway. Funny, but he'd never noticed how long that hallway was before. 'Nope, Jack. You aren't a kid anymore', he thought morosely.

Once he got to the Infirmary there seemed to be a lot of hustle and bustle going on. The last few days had put him out of the loop in regard to the roster of teams, so he wasn't sure what was going on. From the looks of it though, figured one of them must have had a hot mission. Maybe if he stepped in and wasn't immediately noticed he could slip out again.

'Now, that's a plan', he thought with glee. He could say with a clear conscience that he had reported to the Infirmary. It wouldn't be his fault that they didn't have time for him once he got there. Besides he would just be in the way. If they really needed him, they'd find him - in the commissary eating cake - and out of range of Doc's needles.

Only he didn't expect to be found so soon. So much for Plan A.

"Colonel. Stop right there!"

The volume of those words from such a tiny woman made him flinch, and he scrunched his eyes shut. 'Duh oh.' At the sudden silence he chanced a peek from beneath one half-raised eye-lid. Why was everyone staring at him with their mouths open, like he'd just returned from the dead, or Netu - unexpectedly? The only movement was from the owner of the voice too large for such a tiny woman - Janet Fraiser.

She was streaking across the Infirmary straight for him, a Napoleonic Power Monger scud missile, with his name written in magic marker across its nose. Talk about shades of Dr. Strangelove.

"Somebody get the colonel a wheelchair. Move it people."

'Wheelchair? What the hell for?' Jack brought up his hands; fingers spread and started to back away, only his ass hit the closed doors behind him. Trapped.

"Ah, what's up, Doc?"

Was this a foothold situation? Had he been called back to be absorbed, assimilated or eliminated? Or whatever this month's flavor of Billy-Bad-Ass alien preferred?

Janet stopped just short of knocking him down. A wheelchair materialized from nowhere beside her.

"Sir, let me help you into..."

"Whoa. Wheelchair. So not happening."

"Joyce, let's help the colonel to a bed."

Jack flattened himself against the wall, something was very wrong here. Unerringly, and still with a certain amount of pain, he raised his arm, hand ready to strike that conveniently located large red alarm button that adorned every conceivable wall of the SGC. He'd always been of the opinion that some lucky company made the Fortune 500 when the SGC was created.

"Stop!"

For the second time everyone - and it appeared that 'everyone' assigned to the Infirmary, plus a couple of platoons of SFs were present - froze.

"Sir?" Janet's voice cracked with concern, but she'd turned the volume down, way down. Smart woman.

"Scaring the colonel here. And the colonel is wondering just who you people are, and what planet you all come from?"

Fraiser took a step forward.

"Uh, uh," he sing-songed. "Explanation time, or..." and moved his hand closer to the panic button.

"You've been exposed to radiation," blurted out Janet, her hands made an abortive move towards her lips, like she hadn't meant to say what she'd said.

"Me? How?" He asked, never relaxing his command of the panic button. Jack was having a hard time believing this wasn't anything but a foothold situation. When would he have been exposed to radiation? For crying out loud, this was just plain crazy. Wasn't it?

"Let me get you settled and I'll explain," Fraiser looked hopeful. But hopeful as in: 'stupid earthling' or 'poor Colonel?'

"No. We'll do this my way. Clear out the personnel. Cause I'm feeling very pressured and my fingers are itchy," Jack wiggled his fingers over the button.

But the look on Fraiser's face changed his whole view of the situation. Would an alien - even in Fraiser clothing - look that unhappy about the idea that itchy had a literal meaning for him?

"Did you use the lotion, sir?"

Damn. He knew he was gonna wish it had been a foothold situation before this was all over with.

"Radiation?" His fingers drifted away from the red alarm button.

"Yes, from the Stargate."

"Carter said there was no radiation from the Stargate, it was just building up energy. No danger, except for the heat and the inevitable explosion; especially the explosion part," Jack was very sure of that information. Getting vaporized, but not fried, was on the menu. She was very good with all the little details like that. No radiation. Only... KABOOM!

The crowd was thinning out, nurses, orderlies, SFs, they were leaving; he'd never been able to discover just what kind of hand signals Janet used, but they were good.

He pushed away from the wall and limped towards her office. The pitter-patter behind him assured him she followed. Jack dropped into the chair just inside the door, leaned his head into his hands and closed his eyes. He was just too damned tired and beat up to experience an adrenaline rush for no good reason. They had damn well better be right. Oy!

His head jerked up at the touch of cool fingers against his forehead.

"How do you feel, sir?"

"Tired."

"You're not warm."

"Should I be?"

"We're... I'm not sure, sir."

"Not... What about that explanation?"

Janet rose from her crouched position on the floor next to his chair and pulled over the chair from the opposite side of the door to sit knee-to-knee with him. That more than anything set his alarms off. This was serious.

"We only just figured it out; and quite by accident - over lunch - Sam and I."

"You and Sam?"

"Yes, sir. We were having lunch, and she mentioned that the data recorders on the X-302 showed evidence of radiation. The same radiation that killed Daniel." Janet paused; Jack knew the pain of that loss showed on his face. Even though he knew his teammate hadn't really died, the pain was still there and came whenever someone mentioned him and he again realized Daniel was - for all intents and purposes - gone.

"From what Sam tells me, you were very lucky to have gotten away. Some of the release bolts were melted by the initiation of the chain reaction, the point at which the 'gate couldn't store any more energy. It became unstable and began to explode, ejecting a wave of radiation that may have reacted with the hyperspace window generator."

"At least that's Rodney McKay's theory. Sam's not real sure that happened; she favors the idea that the first radiation in an explosion involving naquadah or naquadria would throw off identical kinds of particles. They are basically the same mineral she says."

"I'd believe her," Jack replied. "She knows her stuff. McKay should stuff a sock in it."

He got a smile out of her with that quip. "So, I was micro waved a bit." He spread his arms wide and smiled, "What's the problem? I feel fine."

"It has to do with the type and dose of radiation. We're not really sure about everything - yet. But Sam believes that being so close to the 'gate when the first wave of particles were released that you most likely received a lethal dose."

"Lethal ya say." This was just getting better and better - NOT!

"It has to do with the particles. Large, slow and unstable. They couldn't travel far, their half-life is somewhere around a month or two... "

"That's good." 'Right? It sounded good. It had to be good,' he thought with growing dismay. 'This is not happening to me,' he gulped and struggled to pay attention to Fraiser's words. After all, his life might well depend on it.

"Ah, no sir. It's not. They will remain in whatever material they got stuck in and decay, giving off doses of destructive secondary radiation during that time; so even a small exposure is too much."

"This is what killed Daniel?" Jack shook his head as he tried to understand what she was saying - and to find a way to prove she was wrong. "But he died right away."

"Yes, sir. But he was exposed to a much, much larger burst of particles, and different, more immediately lethal ones. I'm sorry."

"So, I'm dying?"

"Yes."

"You're kidding. I feel fine."

***

Jonas had a method and it worked. Persistence won the day. Teal'c had become an undeclared ally in his campaign to atone for the tragedy that had unfolded on Kelowana. The undertaking of repayment of that debt was huge, one he knew he could never truly do justice to.

Becoming a member of SG-1 was a tiny part of his efforts. There he hoped to make a difference: for Daniel Jackson - who had died - and all those who knew and mourned him - and for his own planet, and all the unnamed planets under the domination of the Goa'uld. Jonas felt very obligated to carry on Daniel's work, and becoming his replacement seemed the logical thing to do.

But he was also wished to help fill the personal void Daniel's absence had created in the lives of this teammates, and friends. Only his persistence had revealed the true extent of that vacuum. And he was duly surprised that Colonel O'Neill - who never showed it - felt it more intensely than any of those who called Daniel Jackson friend.

The idea that he, Jonas, and the colonel could ever develop the close bond Jackson had had with O'Neill was ludicrous. But he would do what he could. And being there for the man, offering his help and support, even if shunned, would be his goal.

Perhaps - just perhaps - the man would someday forgive him. Not that he would ever forgive himself for allowing a total stranger to offer himself up for his people when he had been right there. But, if that forgiveness ever happened, it would be a gift to the forgiver, a balm to their soul, a healing of the loss he could have prevented - and hadn't.

Hearing that Colonel O'Neill had been exposed to the same radiation that Daniel Jackson had been set Jonas into motion for he knew the man would need the support of a friend. Unfortunately the colonel's closest one was now gone and it was his responsibility to try to fill in. All Jonas had to do was find the man. Hmmm. Teal'c had mentioned the colonel's fondness for cake. Perhaps that could be a starting point.

"Colonel."

O'Neill jerked around, startled. "Jonas."

Jonas smiled broadly. Finally he'd been able to get close enough to engage the colonel in conversation. Six previous times he'd spotted O'Neill, but being the busy man he was the colonel had dashed off before the native Kelowanian could even cross the room.

"Yes, Jonas. If you have some time I wanted to invite you to share cake with me."

"Cake?"

"I understand you like cake, and I hear the Commissary is serving it." He smiled broadly.

"Cake? At the Commissary? Tempting, but no can do. Busy. Very busy." The colonel's eyes slid sideways and away from Jonas, already focusing his next task. "Besides, you heard wrong. I detest cake. Now pie. That's different. But not just any pie mind you. It has to be Mud Pie."

"Mud Pie? Does the Commissary serve that?"

"Not that I've ever heard. It's a rare delicacy. We humans learn to make it at a very young age."

"So all humans can make it, but it's not served at the Commissary?"

"Yepper. That's the gist of it. Weird, huh?"

"I'm not sure... " Jonas replied, puzzled.

"Gotta go," Jack grimaced and rubbed his hands together with mock enthusiasm.

"Perhaps there is something else..."

"Sorry, gotta go," Colonel O'Neill disappeared behind the closing doors of the elevator. Their entire conversation had been at a fast walk down the corridor to the elevator.

"Why would Teal'c tell me he liked cake?" Jonas spoke to the empty corridor. 'I must have misunderstood.'

Well, if he couldn't convince him to eat with him, maybe there was some task he could perform for him? And to discover what task needed performing he'd have to watch the colonel very closely and be nearby as much as possible as any good friend would do - as Daniel Jackson would have no doubt done.

***

"No, honestly. I feel fine. A little tired, that's all. Since when does that mean dying?"

Sam watched with great fascination as Colonel O'Neill slipped the cake-loaded fork passed past his lips. How they latched onto the metal and sucked the rich chocolate crumbs from it. Preventing her own mouth from opening as he slowly, oh so slowly withdrew the implement was almost overwhelmingly impossible. Her heart was beating like hummingbird's wings in her ears; and this line of thought had to end here.

"Yes, sir. You've mentioned that. And we did explain that the effects would not be immediate."

"So, how long do I have?"

Sam Carter refused to focus on the fork as it swung back up to forbidden territory, or at least the land that created forbidden fantasies.

Right now such fantasies held a sour edge to them. What good where they if the object of those fantasies ceased to exist? She'd already lost one friend - who just plain ceased to exist - unlike this time. This time there would be a cooling body to remind her of all the regrets of their vow to disregard their feelings for one another.

Damn.

'You do have a penchant for pulling brilliant ideas outta your butt... Ah, head. Outta ya head. When we need them.'

He'd shocked her, as he had intended. Only which had been the most shocking, his not-so flattering delivery, or the complete confidence it so badly hid? He always knew what to say or do to get her on the right track, to cut to the root of the problem.

Many would regret the loss of that ability to make clear the murkiest of problems. But her main regret would involve never being shocked again. No man had ever been able to stop her in her tracks with just a few words. And this man had been doing it to her for the last six years.

"Carter?"

"Oh, sorry, sir. Just thinking."

He smiled broadly at that. She'd miss that too. She treasured each and every expression of pleasure he displayed for her.

"I'm guessing that they sent you to drag me back to those vampires in the Infirmary."

Sam smiled and nodded. They had. Teal'c had found him the last time, early this morning. She was relieved it hadn't been Jonas. That would not have been a pretty scene. Despite Jack's acceptance of him as part of SG-1, the colonel seemed very uncomfortable around Jonas. That made it the colonel's second escape since the afternoon before, the afternoon Janet had told him about the radiation poisoning, and just before Sam herself spent about an hour explaining the how and why again.

It was then that Jack had revealed a small detail that he hadn't bothered mentioning to the right people. She was so not going to miss reading any of his mission reports again. He was just way too good at telling the absolute minimum to anyone.

She and McKay had gone round and round. The initial particle discharge had created a lightning-like shockwave; blue lightning that had been so painful it had rendered him unconscious. But the good part was that they would be able to formulate some facts about his exposure to those particles.

The sticking point was the thin veneer of Trinium found on the command module of the X-302. Trinium that had to have originated with the thin leaves that formed the 'gate's iris, the same iris that would have minimized any particles that flowed in the colonel's direction.

McKay postulated that the iris had vaporized and offered no protection. She disagreed, if it hadn't the colonel would have already been dead - not sitting here eating cake - and turning it into an x-rated event that left her feeling all tingly inside.

She did have to agree that the iris had been damaged or even partially compromised. There was the evidence of it coating the module, but to her mind there wasn't enough clinging to it to be used as proof of loss of the complete iris.

This had been pooh-poohed as poppycock by an indigent, and 'never to be questioned genius' who'd deny in a nano-second to having ever admitted to being something less in the brains department than she.

Like either of them could do more than document the history of the event that took the life of this man whose only complaint was that he just felt tired. Who found it hard to believe that he was at death's door. She found that hard to believe herself. But Janet Fraiser, one of her few remaining close friends not taken by the reaper told her otherwise, and she knew Janet was as good at what she did as the colonel was at what he did.

"Do I hafta go back?" Jack asked plaintively.

Sam smiled, so hoping that her melancholy didn't show. She didn't want him to suffer any more than he had too; and she so wanted to be able to pull a solution out of her 'butt.' Only, this time, she wasn't the one person who had a chance of pulling that off.

'Janet, please be an egghead.'

***

Jack went without any further argument. He'd put off the inevitable long enough, and if he were honest with himself, and he avoided that whenever possible - he knew he couldn't avoid it any longer. The itching was driving him nuts. Nuts enough to 'want' to go to the Infirmary. Nuts enough to go there with Jonas if he had to. He shivered at the very thought of that happening - him and Jonas - Brrr.

Carter had seemed a trifle disappointed that he didn't put up more of a struggle. But she'd get over it. She always did. She was a soldier first, a scientist... and a woman. Woman ranked somewhere after the first two. On their scale, not his. He smirked.

With time, she would get over it - and him - and keep doing what she did best, pulling yet another miracle out of her ass... head... saving his world's bacon long after the jets did their final missing-man flyover his grave and the flag off his coffin was folded and presented to his team.

As he walked into the Infirmary, he reinforced his mask of indifferent tolerance; there was no sense in not giving the Doc the full treatment. She'd be suspicious if he didn't. And all he really wanted was a little relief from this damned rash. And maybe, just maybe, Janet's domain was a Jonas-free zone.

She met them at the door, all bluster and fury in a pint-sized package wearing a white lab-coat.

"I'm back," he sing-songed and spread his arms wide. "Ya miss me?"

"Where have you been, sir?"

"They had cake," he replied as if that statement explained everything.

Carter had dropped behind but spoke up, "If you don't need me, I have an experiment to tend to, before a certain self-proclaimed genius ruins it."

Jack turned and smiled; one hand waved her out. "Yes, by all means, experiment, hypothesize... emasculate McKay." He paused a beat as if he'd just realized what he'd said. "Hey! Can I come with?"

Unfortunately she had long since fled the Infirmary. He wouldn't be in Rodney's shoes for the world.

He turned his attention to the doctor who was tapping her foot with impatience. "Me? I'll be here... laying around in the Infirmary, getting stuck with needles."

"Right this way, sir. Your private room is waiting," she positioned himself on his six, probably to prevent any further escape attempts.

"What? No wheelchair ride this time?"

She was at his elbow in a flash, all hovering concern. "Do you need one, sir?"

Jack rolled his eyes; she was way too easy. "No, I do not need one. Still feel fine." He licked his lips and grimaced. "A little tired, but fine."

He preceded her into the room to stand by the bed and eyed it with distaste, reluctant to occupy it. The way he figured it, there would be plenty of time for that... later. For now, though, he would stay on his feet and out of the Infirmary as much as possible.

It didn't help that his teammate, his friend, Daniel, had died of the same danged thing that was slowly eating him alive not that long ago. And although Doc hadn't put him in the same room that Daniel had died in, it was still all too eerily familiar. And he so was not ready to go there, not now, not any time soon. Not if he had any say about it. But then, that's what this was all about... wasn't it? And according to Doc Fraiser, the bed in front of him was gonna be the last one he ever laid down in, as in his death bed, meeting up with the Grim Reaper, pushing up daisies, shuffling off to Buffalo and the fat lady was warming up in the wings to sing his swan song.

He didn't figure on any last minute saves either. Not that he'd let the Tok'ra try to heal him - or God forbid - offer him a snake in the head in exchange for putting off his one-way trip to meet Saint Peter - or in his case, Lucifer himself. And forget a sarcophagus; so not doing that either.

And as for going the way that Daniel had. Let's face it. While Oma had been 'Johnny-on the-spot' to offer his friend the chance to ascend, that was not an option for Jack. For one thing, he knew he did not have the credentials to join the glowy club, not that they would be foolish enough to offer it to him anyway. He was no Daniel - a man who had somehow managed to keep the forthright naiveté of a child. He was just Jack, cantankerous and cranky with a soul as black as the inside of a closet at midnight - a man who had sent plenty of other souls to the hereafter to wait for him - along with his only son, Charlie.

Fortunately, for him, Fraiser seemed to realize how he felt and was willing, for now, to give him a little latitude as far as where - and how - he spent his last days at the SGC. He'd escape her clutches in the Infirmary for a couple of hours before she sent someone, usually someone from his team, to reel him back in for a check-up. And so it went.

He snorted, so much for that plum assignment that the President had offered him. Not that it was still on the table, what with the Russian 'gate on the way and all - even if it was taking the slow boat from China - just his luck.

Janet closed the door behind them and crossed her arms over her chest. "You know the drill, sir. Have a seat and take off your shirt so I can examine you."

"You already did that earlier today. What do you expect to find?" He was content to play out their old rivalry for all it was worth. At least he could do that, for now, but later... He shook his head and banished those evil forebodings from his mind.

She stepped closer, her face softening with sympathy. "I know this is hard on you, sir. But let me do my job, which is to keep you alive and kicking for as long as possible."

He shrugged and sat on the bed, and scratched his chest, then winced with pain and rubbed his shoulder. "To tell you the truth, Doc, I have been feeling a little... weird lately."

"Weird, sir?" he had her attention. "What do you mean by weird?"

He stared at a point on the opposite wall that had suddenly become very interesting to him, avoiding what he would see in her eyes. Concern... and pity. Her concern he could live with, he was used to it - that very trait was what made her so good at her job; it was the pity that he could do without.

"Oh, you know... weird." He raised his hands and then let them drop onto his thighs, the slap of his palms sounded loud in the small room. He sighed as his voice took on a plaintive, almost scared tone. "It's kind of hard to explain, Doc. And I itch like crazy."

Pursing her lips in obvious concern, she stood in front of him and intentionally blocked his view of the opposite wall. "Itchy? Oh, well, I can check into that itch during the exam. Now, sir - strip."

He smirked and fingered the bottom hem of his black t-shirt. "I love it when you talk dirty, Doc."

He drew the shirt up over his head and laid it on the bed beside him. "There, ya satisfied?"

Her gasp drew his attention like road kill draws flies. Her eyes were wide as one hand covered her mouth.

"What?" For once his confusion was real, because she wasn't looking at where the itch was. Not even close.

"Sir, your shoulder... it's bleeding."

He rubbed his shoulder, the same spot he'd rubbed before... and gazed at his fingers with incomprehension. They were red with blood - his blood. "What's going on?"