Chapter Ten

Jonas had imagined that the last couple of days were the worst as far as his experience in dealing with a critically ill Jack O'Neill. His team leader's non-responsiveness and downright scary compliance had been enough to send him running to Doctor Fraiser more times than she really wanted. He could tell; he could see it in her face. She believed he was overreacting.

To his dismay, he discovered that he was wrong though, very wrong. It could - and would - get worse. Much worse. Only... not the way he imagined.

Dr. Rodney McKay finally had left for Siberia, and everyone had breathed a collective sigh of relief. Though the scientist had tried to help, in his own bumbling fashion, his social ineptitude grated on everyone's nerves, including Quinn's. Sure, he was grateful for the creative idea of the pellets for O'Neill's sake, but McKay didn't let anyone forget it was his idea. One could only be grateful for so long.

The two days that the man slept - even when Jonas had tried to wake him, repeatedly - had Jonas convinced he was dying. Even after it had been patiently explained that O'Neill's body needed rest.

Recovery since the ending of the Naquadah Nectar regime after the fourth batch of pellets were expelled and pronounced totally clear of any evidence of residual radiation. Even after the next two batches - given as a precaution, along with four more doses of the Nectar - still arrived unscathed by radiation, he was convinced that all was not well.

Jonas now knew better.

Colonel O'Neill woke in a foul and noisy mood and the first thing that Jonas discovered was that all the attentive nurses - so ready to help before - could not now be found even by shouting into the seemingly empty Infirmary. And on those rare occasions that Fraiser appeared, she gave him instructions that, on the surface, sounded simple and easy to follow.

"Get him to eat, and don't let him out of bed."

Yes, on the surface it did sound simple, ridiculously so. Or so he thought at the time.

First Jonas had to get out of the Infirmary to get the food, and since he had no idea what kind of food, he asked the cook. The cook looked extremely happy to hear that he needed food for the colonel and provided a tray of small cups of colored gelatin and small bottles of juice and an insulated container of hot broth.

So far, it had been relatively simple.

Getting back with this bounty unfortunately proved nearly impossible, it seemed that everyone had heard about his errand and wished to inquire about the colonel. Yet not one would help him haul the heavy tray to the man in question. No, when he asked, they all insisted that they were much too busy and had to be elsewhere - immediately - if not sooner. That in itself should have been his first clue that things were about to take a turn for the worse.

After what seemed like forever, he made it back to O'Neill's room with the tray full of food for the colonel.

The room was empty.

"Don't just stand there like an idiot, give me a hand!"

Thank goodness he'd set that tray down on the first flat surface he could find, otherwise its contents would have covered the floor after hearing that raspy squawk from thin air.

Beckoning fingers popped up over the edge of the empty bed alerting him to the source of the voice that he hardly recognized as Colonel O'Neill. And sure enough the man himself was slumped full length on the floor beside his bed along with part of the bed sheet draped around him.

Jonas would learn - through experience - lots of experience.

O'Neill was heavy. He was stubborn.

And Jonas kept finding him on the floor way too often. The only change in the routine was that he got further and further away from the bed before hitting it - the floor that is. Conversely, the colonel did not get any lighter. Realistically, he knew it wasn't so, but the man seemed to gain fifty pounds each time Jonas had to pick him up off the floor.

Forget trying to get him to eat either.

"You don't have red. I want red jell-o."

"Pizza, I want pizza."

"You're kidding?" This comment was directed at the oatmeal.

"I'm bored."

"No, not that. The bathroom."

It was complain, complain, and complain some more.

"When the hell do I get to go home?"

Soon was Quinn's hope. And that thought made him feel such a traitor to his vow. After all, it was his job to fetch and carry for O'Neill. Daniel must have been the greatest of friends to have endured this kind of servitude for five years.

So all Jonas could do was place himself between O'Neill and his too-soon wants and desires. And in so doing he discovered that making it appear that he was giving in slowed the colonel down, at least enough so that Jonas could keep up. The man could barely stand unaided, but always seemed to be leaving him behind. How the colonel managed to do that was something Jonas hadn't been able to figure out yet.

"Going for a walk."

Jonas told him he would get him a wheel chair.

"Going for a run."

Jonas did an about face and decided that it would be wiser if he walked with him. He could fetch the wheelchair later.

"Look what Siler snuck in."

Jonas helped him clean up the suddenly regurgitated sandwich before Fraiser popped in on one of her flying visits.

His reward for taking the flak and feeling his way through getting the colonel well again was seeing the man slowly recover. Flesh started filling out, bandages started coming off, more and better varieties of foods became available. That made his present hell bearable - almost. Soon, very soon, Jonas hoped that he might be able to actually sleep in a bed again - uninterrupted even.

***

Teal'c's eyes snapped open as his symbiote showed its discord with the decision to follow the tradition to honor his wife, Drey'auc, she who was born of the Cordai Plains. Numerous candles, their lengths surrounded by melted mounds of wax flickered about the darkened room and his eyes automatically adjusted to the dimness within, an apt reflection of his own inner isolation.

In life, Drey'auc had staunchly upheld the old traditions, thus, Teal'c knew his decision to renounce his allegiance to Apophis must have been doubly hard for her to understand, much less support. So many times in the past, before the fateful day of his defection from the ranks that called Apophis their god, she had rebuked his misgivings and doubts, urging him to forget his dangerous thoughts.

For not only had his decision placed her and their son, Rya'c, in mortal danger. When he left Chulak with SG-1, they had lost the security and prestige that his previous position as First Prime had provided. Later, when she had renewed their relationship and made his cause her own, he had been pleased, but surprised. But that was how she was, passionate in her likes and dislikes - she was a warm sunny day when pleased, and as stormy and tempestuous as the cold season when angry.

Teal'c marveled anew how her act of self-sacrifice was so in keeping with her ardent manner, for she was a passionate woman who loved and hated with equal ardor. When confronted with her mature symbiote, she had chosen death rather than sacrifice an unknown Jaffa to her own needs, even if that Jaffa still served a Goa'uld out of his own ignorance or fear.

Tradition demanded that he mourn her passing with three days of fasting without food or drink, however, the circumstances surrounding her death had not allowed him this luxury. The mother of his son would have found a way to strike him down with her fury if he had shirked his duty toward Rya'c. And Rya'c's need for his father's love and acceptance had never been greater.

Their son had reacted with anger, striking out toward his father, blaming him for his mother's untimely death. It took time for that anger to abate, forging a bond that brought father and son closer together. Then, almost before her ashes from the funeral pyre had cooled, he, along with Bra'tac and his son, had been thrown into battle against Anubis and his Jaffa Army.

Teal'c smiled with pride as he remembered Rya'c's courage in battle. Drey'auc would have been proud of their son and he wished with a pang that she could have witnessed their son's heroic actions that led to the destruction of the weapon of the Ancients that Anubis had used against his brothers, the Tau'ri.

Teal'c believed that surely the Kaloch of such an honorable wife and mother as she had been granted the boon of residence at the heavenly Kheb. If he were worthy of ascension, at death his soul would make the final journey to reside with her there.

It was only after bidding good-bye to Bra'tac and his son that Teal'c had felt free to honor his departed wife in a way that was fitting to her memory. His brother, O'Neill's request that he be left alone in the Infirmary fit well with his need to mourn the passing of his wife. Now, his three days of fasting would come to an end and he would leave his self-imposed seclusion.

His abdomen heaved as his symbiote thrashed within its womb; it was hungry and resented his fasting. Teal'c sent waves of reassurance; he would eat and drink soon. But first, he must see O'Neill, by subterfuge if need be.

He opened the door to his room and lingered a moment in the doorway as his eyes adjusted to the bright hallway. Then he headed for the most likely spot for his prey. O'Neill had been confined to his bed in the Infirmary, an area that had been forbidden to him by O'Neill's wishes.

Until now, he had been willing to abide by those wishes. However, now he was not. As he neared the corridor that intersected with the entrance to the Infirmary, he became more cautious, moving as if he were in enemy territory. His stealthy footsteps went unnoticed by those he sought. When he heard familiar voices, he flattened against the wall and crept forward.

"What are you doing so far from your bed, Colonel?" Dr. Fraiser stood, hands on her hips in front of O'Neill who was seated in a wheelchair. Jonas stood behind him.

"Me? Just out for a walk," Jack winced and adopted a look of seeming innocence, an expression Teal'c had come to recognize as one designed to mislead others.

"And you," Dr Fraiser turned her ire on the accomplice, Jonas Quinn. "I gave you orders not to let him overdo it."

"I... we were on our way back... honest." Jonas, obviously not as skilled at subterfuge, could not hold her gaze and looked away.

"Good, see that he gets back to his bed."

"Yes, ma'am." Jonas nodded and smiled eagerly, but did not move.

"Now would be nice." Dr. Fraiser crossed her arms across her chest and glared at the pair. "Not later, not in a few hours, but now."

Jonas swiveled the wheelchair in place and pushed it back down the hall toward the Infirmary.

Meanwhile, Dr. Fraiser continued on in the opposite direction. Nearing the intersection where Teal'c had secreted himself, she paused for a moment; head cocked, and then shook her head and continued on her way. "You need a vacation, Janet," she muttered to herself. "Now you're jumping at shadows."

Teal'c waited until the doctor had passed before moving into the intersection. Ahead of him, he could hear raised voices.

"Think Doc bought our story?" O'Neill tipped his head back to talk to his driver, Jonas.

"No, I don't think she did. She knows you too well. It's just a good thing that I got you into this wheelchair when I did or she would have caught you."

"Aw, her bark is worse than her bite. Besides, I knew what I was doing." O'Neill bent forward, cupping his chin with his palms. "And I was doing just fine without you."

Jonas stopped the wheelchair to lean forward over his charge as he gasped with apparent disbelief and outrage. "I found you on your knees on the floor, Colonel. If I hadn't shown up when I did, Dr Fraiser would have found you on the floor... again."

"I was doing fine; besides, there's no crime in sitting down on the floor if you want. Is there?"

Jonas raised both hands in the air. "I don't believe this!"

"What?"

"You!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you! Just last week you were at death's door. And now you won't follow doctor's orders on anything."

"That was last week. Now I'm better."

Teal'c nodded and silently backed away. As he returned the way he'd come, he reflected that it was clear to him that O'Neill was indeed on the road to recovery. And most fortuitous of all, he was bonding well with his newest team member, Jonas Quinn.

***

Janet flattened against the wall as Jonas shot out of Colonel O'Neill's private Infirmary room, he didn't slow or acknowledge her as he dashed for the outer hallway.

"Leaf lettuce, I say, none of that damned Iceberg!"

The colonels' bellow had much improved over the last couple of days; he was in fine voice as she finally attempted to walk past the open doorway.

'No, you are not sneaking past the colonel's doorway. You just want to ensure that he isn't disturbed. That's why you're tiptoeing,' she told herself firmly. 'Yeah, Janet. And if you repeat that enough times you might even believe it.'

"Doc."

She was tempted to continue on; she really didn't relish another session of 'when do I get to go home?'

"Doc... Please." His voice was soft but held a plea for her attention that his usual temper tantrums didn't have.

She hesitated, thinking. The man could guilt-trip her so easily with that little-boy-lost voice of his. But the use of that final plea worried her, that wasn't a word that he used in their verbal fencing about his release from her care. Something was wrong.

Leaning back, she peeped into the room; Jack sat meekly on the bed, just looking at her, a far cry from the tyrant who had just sent Jonas scurrying on yet another trivial errand.

"What, Colonel?"

"Ah, I have a request."

"Colonel," liberally injecting a warning tone in her voice. So help her, if this was another one of his games . . .

"Please." His low plea pulled her in once again. She lamented being such a sucker for brave honorable men who were ill or injured. "Janet... "

'Oh, now I'm worried!'

"Colonel?" Janet sat in his bedside chair, all the while watching him for some clue as to what he wanted and to determine whether or not he was on the up and up. He fiddled with something in his hand, concealing it with those beautifully long fingers of his. She waited; he would speak when he was ready.

One hand suddenly flipped open revealing his current play object; one of the pellets lay there starkly revealed. Inanely she wondered if it was one of those that had traveled through him. Or, if not, where he'd gotten it?

"I have to know," O'Neill said without preamble, Janet's mind scrambled to deduce the meaning of his words.

Jack's hand fisted over the pellet before he turned to search her eyes.

"I know you and Carter believe that there was no damage..." His eyes flicked toward his groin covered by the sheet. "But I want to be sure.

She knew that he would never say why, this conversation alone was more than she'd ever expected on such a deeply private subject.

Janet took a deep breath before answering. "There is only one way to know, sir," Janet dropped into military address to provide the necessary emotional shielding she knew he would need - that they both needed.

"Yeah, I know. Only... only, well, I don't know how to say this," his still slightly pale face pinked with distress.

"Sir, your body has been through a lot. Normal responses will take time to reestablish themselves." In her heart she knew this to be true. But to him, one case of dysfunction would seem catastrophic. "I'll need a sample to answer your question."

This time she didn't look at him but she wished she had when a strangled sound came from his direction. The man wasn't entirely easy to shock, but she'd bet this conversation would provide more than a few jolts to his recovering system - and his emotional state.

"How?"

"Self-manipulation," she answered in her best dry clinical manner hoping like hell that he wouldn't expect further explanation. "Sir."

"But, if..." Jack hedged verbally.

Janet had a sobering thought and put it into words. "Sir, you haven't?"

"Dammit, no!" Silence stood between them a beat longer than totally necessary. "Sorry Janet."

"Sir, I understand. This is a touchy and deeply personal subject. But I had to ask, I had to know the circumstances in order to advise you."

"And, your advice?"

"I'll bring you a sample cup. I'm positive that with the proper," she paused as she searched for the right words to use. "Mental image, you'll be able to provide me what I'll need to answer your questions."

He looked so miserable sitting there that she reached out and patted him on the leg.

"There's no hurry, sir. Just try. Don't expect it to work the first time, or even the second. You were very ill. When you succeed - and you will," Janet caught his eye and smiled with encouragement, "Call me."

Rising she headed for the door, his 'Thanks,' softly filled the room as she left to finish her rounds.

***

"Colonel, do you need help in there?" Jack jumped at the sound of Quinn's voice. He sent a mental message, 'Whatever you do, do not come in now, Jonas!'

"No. Did you find that book?"

"Yes."

"Gameboy?"

"Right here."

"Bet you didn't get the Tetris cartridge."

"Ah, that would be a no."

"Well, have to have it ya know."

"I'll find it."

Jack could hear the impatient sigh even through the door, but was listening for and heard the sounds of Jonas' passage across his sick room and out into the hall; and waited for the click of the door shutting. Something that had puzzled his fetch-and-carry volunteer, but the kid was good at doing what he asked.

Besides closing the door and keeping it closed was by far the simplest solution. Quinn's compliance caused Jack to sometimes forget that he represented his loss of Daniel, the slow burn of anger momentarily lost in the adjustment of co-existing with the man he still held responsible for that particular FURBAR.

With more reluctance than effort Jack jerked his mind back to the job at hand. He glared at the sample container while trying to ignore the condom that needed one of his hands to keep it in place, something he found rather embarrassing. A glance into the mirror showed him an uncharacteristically beet-red face. Since when did his emotions have this kind of free rein?

He uncategorically refused to use Carter as fodder for his fantasies, so this was turning into a Holy Grail sort of quest. It refused to rise to the occasion - to any occasion.

"Oh for crying out loud," he muttered with disgust. "What's so hard about this anyway?"

He missed his team, his freedom, his ability to go where and when he willed. He missed her smile. That stunned look in her eye when he said something a little too revealing about his understanding of her explanation. He . . .

'Oops. Speaking of hard...'

Jack smiled, he'd feel guilty later he decided as he let nature take an old and familiar course.

***

It had been a long few weeks and Jonas was undecided if he were happy or sad that his close association with Colonel O'Neill was at an end. He really wouldn't miss the man's constant complaining, that was certain, even if said complaining was his way of making him pay for his hand in Daniel Jackson's death. O'Neill's admitting to that made him feel guilty, mainly because no matter how distasteful being with the colonel during this time was, he know the man worked for a higher ideal. An ideal his own world would be a better place for if they too strove for such.

"Jonas?"

He had to admit, for better or worse, he would miss the man.

"Hey."

He was much smarter than he let on. After all, who else could understand the Iliad in Greek. Especially since it was essentially a dead language on Earth he'd discovered to his dismay.

"Dammit, Jonas, put the socks down."

"If they aren't the ones you want I can go get another pair," Jonas replied absentmindedly in an even voice he'd discovered was the best tone to take with this temperamental man. Yes, he was difficult, but so loyal to his team and friends. He sighed, if only he could truly be one of the latter and hopefully he could live up to the former.

"Jonas."

It wasn't his name that alarmed him; he'd heard it said hundreds of times, but not in this tone. He whirled around, the pair of socks in one hand and mentally halfway through the inventory of O'Neill's clothing back in his on-base living quarters seeking their replacement. He stared at the man seated on the bedside chair, barefoot and agitated. He'd learned to read the man's moods.

"The socks are fine. I have something to say."

"Do you feel ill?" Jonas asked with alarm.

O'Neill looked up at him and shook his head. "No, I feel pretty good for a man that just dodged the big one."

Jonas smiled at the improvement in his attitude; he knew that the depression was finally lifting. A depression that ran to the whole base, it had been as if the lights had been restored to the base and darkness was becoming a dim memory.

"I just wanted to apologize."

The statement shocked Jonas, not that Colonel O'Neill would apologize, but that he wanted to apologize to him.

"Colonel, I don't believe you owe me one."

"I've been more than a bastard to you. No one should have had to deal with me in the condition I've been in. It would have been hard enough on the regular nurses, but . . ."

"It was my choice. I felt obligated."

"I've come to the conclusion that you are not obligated." Jack's lips firmed to a straight line. Something Jonas knew meant he was not going to change his mind.

"Not..."

"That's my only word on the subject and I appreciate what you've done to help me through this, even if it was Fraiser's idea. No one should have been expected to do what you did."

"You do..."

"But if you ever utter a single word about anything you've seen, well... I'd just have to shoot you," O'Neill grinned, taking the sting out of the threat, but Jonas knew he was serious - deadly serious. And he didn't blame him.

What he'd witnessed the man suffer through was more than enough to reduce his stature in the eyes of those that needed to see him as strong and capable.

"Seen?" Jonas tried to look innocent. "I've not seen nor heard anything. I've just run a few errands for you," he looked deeply into the man's eyes, willing him to believe that this was something that would not be passed on to another living soul.

O'Neill studied him closely for a few moments, his decision, for once, was plain to read in his face. They had just both agreed to forget a few things. It was Quinn's turn to smile.

"Do you need some help with the socks?"

Colonel O'Neill didn't reply, but did lift a foot.

"No, no help then," Jonas sat on the bedside chair and began pulling a sock onto the offered foot. "It must certainly be a relief to be doing things for yourself again. Bet you can't wait to get home to have a little privacy."

"You don't know the half of it," O'Neill muttered with enough honest emotion.

Jonas felt privileged the man trusted him enough to express that emotion. All the hardship, on both sides, had been worth it. Working together as a team would be possible now.

His only regret was that he was unable to follow the colonel home, going off-base to another military installation had been one thing, going into a civilian environment was still out of the question according to the powers-that-be.

He had to wonder about the list O'Neill had given him only the day before. Did he also regret that he could not come? Probably not, most of the items on the list were classes on self-defense, weapons and information the colonel wanted him to be familiar with. But it did show him how much he must have been forgiven for his role in Daniel Jackson's death; all of the items were to improve his performance as SG-1's newest teammate.

That filled Jonas with a measure of satisfaction and pride. It was enough to humble him. He had been accepted. It might not appear that way to the world at large, but he knew where it really counted, in the hearts and minds of O'Neill and his team, he was being given the chance to truly become one of them.

He vowed that he would not let them down.