Chapter 11 – Where There's a Will…

Jack hated hospitals. Or infirmaries, or sickbays, or clinics. Whatever you wanted to call them. The places where the sick and dying congregated. Waiting. To get better, to get worse. To die.

And that smell. Didn't matter if the infirmary had been relocated. It took its smell with it wherever it went. The slightest whiff made him cringe.

But he had to go. For Daniel. Daniel might want to be alone, but then again, maybe not. That had to be Daniel's choice. And he couldn't make the choice if Jack didn't give him the opportunity to kick him out.

He'd been to see Daniel a couple of times since the return visit to 549, but Daniel had either been sleeping, or McConnell and Sam had been there and there'd been little for him to contribute to the conversation. Now the translating was done, the answers were found. Sam had filled him in on the details, and together, they had gone over every possible objection they could imagine Hammond might throw on the table. They were ready, counterpoint for every last point.

And now Daniel was alone. All the more reason to leave him alone. All the more reason not to. Maybe he'd be asleep.

No such luck. He was propped up against the pillows, his knees pulled up with a piece of paper balanced precariously on top, his arms lax on either side of his body. He seemed to be reading whatever was on the piece of paper, his head bowed over it, a wisp of hair falling across his forehead. His hair was noticeably thinner. It caused an unexpected twist in his gut. He teased Daniel enough about his long hair, but this was certainly not the way he wanted to see it go.

"Hey." Jack said it softly, but Daniel still jumped. Maybe he'd been dozing after all.

The piece of paper slid off his knees and fell to the floor. Daniel followed its descent with his eyes, but made no move to stop it. "I liked it better as poetry."

Must be that final translation they had been working on, the one Sam had gotten so obsessed about. Thank goodness for plain old pig-headed determination. Without it, they'd be backed up against the wall right now with nowhere to turn. He retrieved the piece of paper and very carefully laid it down on the bedside table. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess." He reached up and very gingerly brushed the stands of hair off his forehead. Probably afraid they would come out if he wasn't careful. He was probably right. Simple cause and effect. The movement caused the hospital gown to shift slightly away from the opposite shoulder, revealing that the tube Jack had assumed led to somewhere or other lower down actually stopped near the collar bone. Actually, it didn't stop there. It was very neatly taped down, but he could tell it went right on into Daniel's chest. He really didn't mean to stare, but it was… revoltingly fascinating.

"Central line."

"Huh? What?" Jack jerked his eyes back up to Daniel's face. He was looking very calmly at Jack. How could he be so calm? Jack knew what the damn thing was. He just hadn't expected to see one stuck into Daniel.

"To replace the IV they were using for the meds. The veins in that arm kept blowing. And, well…" His voice trailed off, and he looked down to where the arm in question was resting behind his upraised knees. "I'll spare you having to look at it. They're getting ready to remove the dead tissue." He said it very matter-of-factly, his eyes squinting slightly like he was examining the finer details of some piece of ancient alien junk.

"Geez, Daniel…" It was all he could think of to say. Real good. Great way to reassure your friend.

"It's okay." He was still looking dispassionately downwards towards his arm.

The matter-of-factness sparked a sudden rise of anger. "It's not okay, Daniel. It may be a lot of things, but it's not okay."

"No, no, that's not what I mean." He reached up and tugged the gown back over the insertion point of the central line. "It's just… Well… Hell, I don't know what I mean. I'm just so damn tired. The amphetamines were helping, but Janet cut them off as soon as we'd finished the translations."

Whoa. Talk about your basic change of subject. That was about the last thing he expected Daniel to say. "Amphetamines? You're joking, right?" What was he talking about? Doc Fraiser handing out speed?

"Yeah." He managed a small smile. "She insisted I stay informed about my meds, so I insisted she give me something to keep me alert enough to help with the translations. She didn't like it. Not one bit. But she did it. I guess she's not too worried about me becoming a junkie at this point."

"No. I guess not." There was entirely too much truth lurking behind that comment. Jack switched tactics. "So." He pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. "Hammond's tied up in a conference call with the President and the Joint Chiefs. They're not real pleased about all that government property disappearing. Those toilet seats ain't cheap, you know."

The result was what Jack was hoping for. Daniel laughed – a genuine, if somewhat raspy laugh. He ended up coughing. And then retching in soundless heaves. He didn't seem to be able to stop, and grabbed the edge of the sheet to cover his mouth.

That didn't keep Jack from seeing the blood. The vivid red was like a kick in the gut, leaving him breathless. It took him a couple of tries and a few hard swallows, but he finally managed to stand up and say, "I'm getting Doctor Fraiser."

Daniel shook his head, pressing the sheet more firmly to his mouth. "No," he managed to gasp between deep, hitching breaths. "There's… nothing… she can do."

"Daniel, I–" He stopped. He didn't know what to say, what he could possibly say. Daniel made another hacking noise that almost sounded like a word. "What was that? Did you say something, Daniel?"

"I said… go. Please, Jack. Just go."

And that was the closest Daniel would ever get to kicking him out. He got up and left.


There was a moment of silence after Sam finished outlining the plan. Jack kept his eyes locked on Hammond, waiting for objection number one. Hammond didn't disappoint him. He went straight for a whopper, right off the bat. "Explain to me how this situation is any different from when SG-1 was thrown back to 1969. As I recall, Captain Carter, you felt it was essential not to use your knowledge to influence the outcome of future events."

Sam just stared at him for a moment. When Jack had discussed with her all the possible sticking points prior to the briefing, she'd said she felt this particular one would be pretty far down on the list. She'd thought the General would be more concerned about the potential dangers of bringing alien technology back to the base, just as he had been when they'd gone and gathered the notes. Jack knew this was an entirely different ball of wax, though.

Sam quickly rallied her wits. "With all due respect, Sir, this really isn't the same at all. None of us are actually from the future, not even Daniel, even if he was there for a short time. We don't have extensive knowledge of what's going to happen like we did when we were in 1969. We only know one thing, really – the time and date when Daniel is going to reappear – tomorrow morning just before 0800."

Score one for Sam. Jack leaned forwards and added the slam dunk. "You have to admit it's similar to the way we used the timing of the solar flares to get back home. Information, I should point out, that you gave us. Sir."

Hammond smiled ever so slightly, like he'd expected Jack to make that point. Touche. Really, they knew each other entirely too well. Hammond now shifted to a slightly more philosophical tack, just as Jack suspected he might. "Fair enough. But is it even possible to change what's already happened? Do we even have the right to decide how it's meant to be?"

When Jack had brought that up during their strategy session, Sam had just about exploded. She'd even called him by his first name, like it was an insult. He was glad she'd gotten riled up, though. She was much more composed now, and it showed in her answer. "Determinism is not something I've ever given much credence to, Sir, but that's neither here nor there. Daniel doesn't deserve to die like that. Not when there's something we can do about it. We can't just let it happen."

Hammond didn't respond immediately. Instead, he looked slowly around the table, fixing Jack, Sam, Teal'c and Fraiser each with an individually probing stare. Jack didn't flinch in the slightest, and if any of the others did, they didn't show it. He did, however, feel like he was on the verge of losing what he had left of his patience. He wanted to get this over with already. They'd been waiting long enough. He decided to throw the rest of the cards on the table so they could get the show on the road.

"Sir, we understand the security of this facility and the safety of its personnel are priorities, but based on what Daniel told us about tomorrow, we're looking at minimal risk. The tachyons haven't spread in over 48 hours. It looks like we're not going to have a problem finding the tachyon decelerator and setting it off. We wouldn't be having this discussion otherwise. All we have to do is wait just a few minutes longer so we can get him clear of the area. We can't leave him behind if we know can save him."

Just a few more beats of silence, then Hammond nodded and folded his hands in front of him on the table. Oh, yes. Decision time. Finally. "All right. SG-1, you have a go to return to P4J549. Only the relevant artifacts will be retrieved and strict quarantine and containment procedures will be observed. Assemble the necessary equipment and report to the 'Gate Room at–" He paused and looked at his watch. Jack suppressed a surge of irritation. Yeah, George, it's late. Real late, and we're all very tired, so let's get a move-on. "23:30 sharp. Dismissed."

Hammond turned toward his office, and Sam and Teal'c filed out of the conference room, but Jack caught Janet's elbow as she walked past him. She'd already given her report on Daniel's current condition at the start of the briefing. She'd been consulting with experts in the field of radiation treatment, phrasing everything very carefully in terms of the hypothetical so as to not compromise the security of the project, but even so, the responses weren't exactly encouraging.

The rundown of symptoms Daniel was experiencing had been even less promising. Considerable pain and nausea. Mucus membranes in the intestinal tract breaking down, leading to abdominal cramping and continued vomiting, now mixed with blood. Yeah, he could've told her that.

Overall blood volume, cell counts and platelet levels dropping. Hair falling out. And if that weren't insult enough, there were the decaying tissues in Daniel's forearm and indications that the condition was spreading up towards his shoulder. Necrosis. What a disgusting word. All too appropriate.

Right now, he wanted some answers of the sort that didn't go into a medical report and didn't really belong in an official briefing, either. "Do you have a minute, Doctor?"

She frowned as if she were a bit annoyed at being kept from returning to her patient, but she apparently decided it was best to let him ask his questions now and get them out of the way. Smart woman. "Yes, Colonel, I can spare a few minutes. Then I need to get back to the infirmary."

"I know. I just wanted to ask you what you've told Daniel."

"I haven't hidden anything from him. He's well aware of the diagnosis and the progression of the symptoms. He didn't want to hear about it, but I told him. It's better that way."

"I agree. But even if everything goes right, we could still be wrong. Nothing would change. Does he know he might not make it out of this alive?" How was it that saying the words could make it so much more real? They were just words, damn it. But words were what framed the truth.

She was going to deny it. He could see her rallying all the maybe's and not-sure's and what-if's as she drew in a deep breath. She held it for a moment, then let it back out. "He knows, Colonel. They always know when they go like that, when there's time to see it coming. They may try to deny it, but they know."

He wasn't sure how to respond. He'd fully expected to have to force the truth out of her, but she'd laid it right down in front of him. Complete capitulation. He hadn't been counting on agreement, but he understood what she was saying. What she'd seen in hospital wards, he'd seen on the battlefield. Time enough to see it coming could be as little as a few minutes. Daniel had already had days. "And there's absolutely nothing you can do?" It was a ridiculous thing to ask. Desperate. But here he was, asking it. Because it was Daniel.

She sighed and shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. "I can make him as comfortable as possible for as long as possible. We're replacing fluids and blood as fast as we can, keeping a careful eye on his medications. I switched him from morphine to high potency Dilaudid just before the meeting, but I can't just pump drugs into him indiscriminately. His system's damaged enough as it is, so we have to be careful not to introduce a potentially lethal combination."

Potentially lethal… The words repeated themselves in his mind. There was a fine line between cruelty and kindness. He'd balanced on the razor sharp edge where death would've been mercy, if only his captors had the slightest hint of mercy in their constitution. The cruelest kind of mercy possible. The mercy of giving up. No, not just of giving up, but of actively pursuing the end.

He realized he was staring at Janet. She was staring back, doing that female trick of mind-reading that generally annoyed the hell out of him. "Oh, no. Don't you dare even think of asking me that."

He didn't so much as twitch, his eyes locked on hers in what could easily have become a battle of wills. There couldn't be any victory, though, nothing but a sick feeling of having given up too soon and enough damning self-recrimination to last a lifetime. He shook his head. "No. I'd never ask someone else to do something I wouldn't be willing to do myself."

She sighed, the tension in her body minutely relaxing. "I know. I couldn't do it, either. Even if there weren't such a thing as the Hippocratic Oath."

"You gave him amphetamines, though." He grabbed the opportunity to change the subject without even realizing what he was doing until after he'd made the half-hearted accusation.

She gave him a sharp, appraising look. "Oh, he told you that, did he? I'll have you know that under certain, very limited circumstances, that's a perfectly legitimate and viable solution for extreme drowsiness. He's still completely in control of his mental faculties, so within the limits of the law and medical ethics, he still gets final say on his own medical care. Period. End of discussion."

He briefly entertained the idea of arguing with her, anything to vent some of the directionless anger he'd been trying to deal with since Daniel had asked him to leave the infirmary. He couldn't yell at Daniel, and there was no point in yelling at Janet, so instead he simply said, "You're a very stubborn person, Doctor. That's at least one thing we have in common."

She eyed him warily, maybe trying to decide whether she should take his words as a compliment or an insult. "Yeah, I noticed that. I don't like to lose a patient, and you don't like to lose a team member."

Team member… "Oh, he's much more than that, Janet."

She looked at him for a few more seconds, then finally looked down at the floor. So much truth. Too much truth. "I know. I don't like to lose friends, either," she said quietly as she gave him the faintest flicker of a hollow smile and reached out to briefly touch his arm before she turned and left.