Chapter 14

"O'Neill."

"T."

Jack slid his sunglasses down his nose and gazed warily at the figure before him. Two hours to the minute after Jacob left saw him driving his truck in through the tunnel to his parking spot. After nodding to the SFs on duty, all business, as if his crap didn't stink and he hadn't been escorted off base under guard twenty-four hours ago, he'd strolled towards the checkpoint to find his teammate standing – waiting – hands behind his back, as if he'd stood there all night. Or maybe Teal'c and Jacob had some kind of 'let's synchronize our symbiotes' special op going on. Could be his headstrong teammate had parked himself at the security entrance hoping for the opportunity for a little Kick the Colonel when Jack got himself invited back to base.

Something was different. Jack took advantage of the few moments between noticing the Jaffa and reaching him with his casually hasty stroll. Over the past three years men and women at the base had gradually learned to trust the taciturn alien, to treat him as a member of the command, no different from a particularly forceful non-com. Younger airmen had found him to be a patient teacher; older, more arrogant officers found out the hard way that they could be knocked on their collective asses with little or no effort. Teal'c had earned both groups' respect without any help from Jack. But lately Teal'c's impressive bulk had been shadowed, as if an aura of anger and pride wrapped him in a thick shroud labeled with a 'Keep Out' sign written six feet high in blood red letters. Lately airmen scurried out his way, took one look at his thunderous expression and visibly turned to quivering piles of jelly. Jack let his gaze track down his teammate's face, across his relaxed jaw, down the muscles of his neck – not bunched with restrained violence - over broad shoulders that still rivaled the current WWF champ's but no longer appeared to be itching to get out of their cage and spread some damage around. Why was Jack finally noticing the Jaffa's closed-off fury when it looked like it had disappeared?

He stopped, drawing in a long breath as he gathered up another round of 'should haves' and 'why didn't yous' aimed straight at his silver birds. There sure was a better view out here where his head wasn't up his ass. Jack nodded, grimacing, trying to load that one gesture with enough meaning to communicate his fault, his responsibility, and his intention to put things right to his brother-in-arms. A tiny inclination of Teal'c's head seemed to acknowledge everything Jack didn't say.

"Are we …" Jack paused, hoping the other man would fill in the awkward blanks. One eyebrow twitched. That was it. Jack spread his hands. "Help me out here, buddy."

"General Hammond has sent me to escort you to the infirmary."

Infirmary. Riiiight. Jack's single focus had been to get geared up and head out to Vorash to stand between Daniel and his pain, but there was still that tiny little hiccup about frat regs and commanders' responsibilities and looming charges making an iris-shaped wedge between him and his archaeologist. Gotta document the funky brain damage probably caused by Anise's – Freya's? – whichever's handy dandy mind fucker. Or armbands. The excuse du jour that Hammond had grabbed on to. "Okay," Jack glanced around coolly, noticing for the first time that the SFs were keeping their distance, eyes averted. The military equivalent of 'see no evil, hear no evil' - offering the only kind of privacy Jack was likely to get. He slid one arm of his shades behind the button on his shirt and put his hands in his pockets, offering his teammate his full attention.

The lines and planes of Teal'c's face were no longer hard – tight and angular, sculpted out of dark marble that could cut you if you got too close – but there was still an unsettled anticipation behind the calm; pent up energy that was searching for an outlet. His hooded gaze was fixed somewhere over Jack's left shoulder. "I would have come regardless of General Hammond's wishes or requirements." His voice was clear as crystal in the cool morning air. "There is much that must change. Much that must be made right."

Yep. Everything the Jaffa was saying was true. First, that Jack could count on him. 'Always knew it, big guy,' he said to himself. Second, that Jack had better get his act together right the hell now, or Teal'c would 'happen' all over him. Jack waited, listening. He owed Teal'c this, this lecture, warning, wherever his teammate was headed. But, damn it, words would not touch the way Jack felt, the burning in his chest, the unfurling dread in his belly. "Look, T. I screwed up. I know this." His impatience probably sounded like disdain.

Dark eyes fixed on Jack's, stealing his hasty assurances right from the tip of his tongue.

"You were not alone in your folly, O'Neill. I am a veteran of many more decades than you. Had I not allowed myself to be swayed by my own weaknesses, to become complacent to the Goa'uld's tactics and blind to the evidence of fractures within SG-1, that the stress of battle had –"

"Hey, hang on there." Jack raised his hands between them. "It does say 'colonel' on my uniform, and - so - therefore, my team, my mistakes, my blame. And I'm not sharing." No more. He would not let Teal'c grab up any of his own responsibility, thank you very much. Not like - Jack's guilt flashed fire behind his sternum again. Not like Daniel had. No matter what Jacob had said, no matter how right the former general turned Tok'ra was, the situation still stuck in Jack's throat.

"That much is true," Teal'c agreed easily.

"What?" Jack felt like he was losing whatever train of thought he'd rode in on.

"I am simply agreeing with you, O'Neill."

"Oh. Well, okay." He shrugged, hands still caught in his pockets. "That was easy." He shifted his weight, relieved to find Teal'c falling in at his side as he had so many times before as they made their way to the elevators, Jack's fingers fumbling for his security card.

"Indeed. You are not the first commander to make this mistake, O'Neill," Teal'c continued, unrelenting. "To injure your leaders' cause in order to pursue selfish desires."

Ouch. "Thank you," he bit back at the Jaffa with just a hint of a snarl.

"Nor the first to wound friends –brothers – to break the bonds of warriors and overlook the consequences of his actions."

Jack tried not to snap back, to cut off the awful flow of truth from his teammate's lips. Teal'c had every right to remind him of his stupidity and shortsightedness. He slipped through the barely open doors of the elevator and smacked at the controls with a little too much enthusiasm, feeling the weight of command press down thicker and stronger with every floor they passed.

"We will speak of your blame as well as my own foolishness, O'Neill."

Frowning, Jack turned to search the big man's face. The edge of anger was still right there, just below the surface, but, beyond that, deeper and wider, was a sense of loss, of sorrow, that turned Jack's impatience and irritation into concern. "Teal'c –"

"Do not mistake me," the Jaffa interrupted smoothly. "Because I choose to follow your commands," his emphasis was obvious, "do not think that I truly have less experience in battle, in warrior clans, in the giving and taking of those who serve together." His voice thinned to a knife's edge – a knife twisting in Teal'c own heart. "Or of the power – the need for a sense of normalcy, of constancy, when faced with pain and terror and confusion on a daily basis." He turned, stepping close, for the first time pressing the advantage of height and bulk and alienness as he faced Jack, wore the weight of his years, the lives he'd taken, the warriors that had fallen under his command, lives and deaths, torture and slavery, blood very definitely on his hands. "I am Jaffa. First Prime. I should have seen."

Meeting the sharp stare, the searing gaze of this man who had fought battles almost every day of his long life under the iron fist of a false god, Jack would not look away. He stood, unblinking, without argument, and listened.

"However," Teal'c continued pointedly, the word drawing out the power of his presence like poison, leaving him smaller, safer somehow, "no matter that my actions have injured my friends – my warrior brothers – there will be time for blame, for reproach, when SG-1 is again complete."

Jack held his gaze, one hand coming to rest on the Jaffa's shoulder. "Priorities."

The Jaffa turned away, hands once again caught behind his back, facing forward. "Indeed. These matters are far from settled no matter the findings of General Hammond and Doctor Frasier."

"Oh, believe me, I feel exactly the same way," Jack agreed darkly. Far from settled. Nice understatement there.

The numbers blinked on and off, the tension filling the elevator growing the deeper they descended. Moving through security on Level 11, Jack felt his jaw clenching around words unsaid and apologies unspoken. Teal'c and he were back on the same page with very little effort on Jack's part. That solid presence at his side felt great – and, at the same time, made Jack feel utterly, ridiculously small. His teammate deserved more – much more than an easy admission of guilt and a bare nod towards self-reproach. But right now …

The Jaffa beat him to the punch again.

"The ways of the Tau'ri are not the ways of the Jaffa."

Making their way easily past bland-faced airmen and into the second elevator, Jack rolled that factoid around in his head. Alone again, headed towards another kind of confrontation, he sighed. "Wanna elaborate?"

One eyebrow rose. "It is not considered a weakness for a warrior's unit to become his family. In fact, it is expected – encouraged – that he put off his past alliances and seek to find his place, his comfort, friendships, those who would mentor him, as well as those who he himself would guide to maturity, among his warrior brothers."

"Yeah?" Jack frowned. "So you're saying …"

Teal'c drew himself up and gazed down his nose at Jack, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I would expect no less than that you 'care' for those under your command, O'Neill. All those under your command."

Jack's mind skipped back to the only words spoken out loud in front of Frasier, Teal'c, Anise, even Carter. He cared. For Carter. More than he was supposed to. Of course he did. She was one of his, his kids, his family. His heart lurched at the thought of Teal'c trapped behind that shield on Apophis' ship, staunchly accepting his fate. At the vision of Daniel's pain-filled blue eyes, more concerned for Jack's loss than his own impending death. Huh. Wasn't that a kick in the mikta? Maybe Daniel wasn't the only one who was aching for family.

The elevator door opened and Jack stepped out, his brother at his side. His step lighter, mind freer than it had been in a long time, he grinned.

"Yeah, I love you, too, big guy."

oOo

Janet Frasier filled one more vial, carefully labeled and stored it, and handed off the tray of Jack's bodily fluids to her nurse, the professional mask and unemotional attitude never wavering. Jack watched her sign off on his paperwork, his elbow bent, cotton ball pressed over the latest hole she'd made. Few words had been exchanged – simple requests and explanations, Frasier's eyes focused on her quick hands, readouts from her machines, never quite meeting his, her voice even, just a shade closer to friendly than clinical. Once she snapped the latex gloves off and tossed them into the trash, everything changed.

Warm brown eyes lifted to his, the wariness he'd expected nowhere to be seen. "Cup of coffee, Colonel?"

He returned her smile easily and hitched off the bed to follow her tiny form into her tiny office, tossing the cotton ball into the closest bin on the way. Sliding into the one chair that fit across her perfectly organized desk, he watched her back, slim shoulders beneath the white coat as straight as any airman he'd ever stood with in battle. Frasier had fought her own kinds of battles, wrestled life from death in hospitals, infirmaries, and on battlefields – Earthly and alien. Soldier, scientist, independent, strong woman, she and Carter had a lot in common. Not the least of which was the need to walk the tightrope of being one of few females on a base full of jock-wearing, testosterone-pumping, caveman-type alpha males.

When she turned, handing him a cup of the second best coffee on base, he nodded, realizing that he wasn't talking with the CMO, or his doctor, or Anise/Freya's SGC nemesis – he was talking to Samantha Carter's best friend. He sipped slowly, inhaling the fragrant steam, taking in the pinched skin around the doctor's eyes, the subtle shifting of her weight in the chair, the way she pressed her hands against the desk as if stretching cramped muscles.

"Today's my day for apologies," Jack began, suddenly sure that Frasier hadn't slept since … since before Anise and her mind-dredger showed up.

"Sir-" she held up one small hand and took a slow breath. "Jack," she corrected with the hint of a smile, "that's not why I brought you in here."

He raised his eyebrows, silently asking her to go on.

"I should have seen it."

Oy. Jack groaned, loud and dramatically, eyes closed. "Not you, too." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I don't think I can take another one of these 'mea culpa' sessions, Doc. First Daniel, then Teal'c –"

"No, sir," her clipped tone brought his head up. The exhaustion was still there, but now it was hidden behind a sharp, cold rage. "Unlike Daniel, Teal'c and I really do have something to be guilty about. I'm sure he's already brought it up with you, but I'd appreciate it if you'd let me speak."

Jack made a vague gesture with one hand and held onto his cup for dear life.

"I should have noticed. No, that's not quite right," Frasier's mouth tightened. "I did notice. And so did you. I noticed that Sam was changing, that she'd lost her edge, her focus. One year ago, she'd never have imagined a time when she'd put her ambition on the back-burner to pursue a man." The doctor shook her head. "The woman who swept into the briefing room her first day on base talking about where her reproductive organs were located, who spit nails after that mission to Simarka where they dared put her in a dress, and her male teammates had the balls to tell her she 'looked good,' would not be concerned about what color lip gloss to wear, which mascara wouldn't run in high alien humidity, or how her BDUs should be tailored to fit her butt." Her voice rose, her outrage spiced with self-blame. One hand flattened the file folder on her desk as she tried to rein in her temper.

Jack leaned back as if trying to escape the verbal storm, bracing himself for more. "Gee, why don't you get it all off your chest there, Doc."

"Dammit!" Frasier gave the folder a good whack and then wrapped the other hand around her fist. "If I hadn't been so distracted by that … by that Tok'ra excuse for a scientist, all boobs and superiority," her sharp snort could have been a laugh, but Jack recognized it for the grunt of self-mockery that it was, "if I wasn't so busy trying to justify my inclusion in both the armband fiasco and this zatarc testing, or felt so threatened by Anise's disdain, I would have seen that my best friend was turning into a simpering idiot whenever you were in the room."

Carter hadn't been quite so … forthright … in her demands to be 'one of the guys' in a long time. Not since Jack's ego had kicked his friendliness up into something altogether different and dangerous. Not that he noticed that she was wearing more makeup. Perfume. Standing closer. Gazing... sheesh. He was a complete moron. Yeah, it took two to completely foul this team up, but the shit that was in fact slapping against the fan in bucket-loads would always, ultimately, absolutely, positively be Jack's fault. He'd barely opened his mouth when Frasier speared him with one pointed finger.

"And you! All puffed up and preening whenever she told you you were right, even when you were dead wrong!"

The last swallow of coffee tasted like battery acid. Jack put up both hands. "Guilty," he shouted back, grateful to see that his bark snapped the doctor out of her flow mid-tirade. "Guilt acknowledged and accepted, Doc. Now why don't you tell me what you've got hidden away in that folder to cover my flat white ass and get me out to Vorash to round up my archaeologist?"

For a minute it looked like Janet wouldn't be distracted, that she'd simply take a deep breath, wind up, and let him have it all over again. Then, as Jack watched, she pushed it all back down, darkening the half-circle bruises under her eyes, deepening the haze of exhaustion, and the tightness of her muscles. He hated doing it, forcing her to swallow the stress, the worry and dread for her friends, Jack's teammates, but, as a soldier – an officer – she knew, she understood about priorities. And as a doctor, Janet Frasier knew all about what was acute and what could wait. What had to wait.

She flipped the folder open, the pages rustling with the force of her movements. "Brain chemistry, sir. I'll be performing Major Carter's tests later today, but the results we have so far tell us that the Atonik armbands' virus had some long range effects that we were unaware of." Her finger followed a red line along one graph. "High levels of testosterone in you, and a huge dopamine imbalance. That is the chemical that induces those 'madly in love' to, quite literally, act madly – stay up all night, take on ridiculous risks, throw themselves in front of a moving train to protect the person they've fixated upon."

"Sounds … sciency."

"You're familiar with the signs, sir. Racing heart, sweaty palms, flushed skin – those are the result of norepinephrine, an enzyme that feels just like adrenaline." She paused for a moment to glance up at him. "All three of you said that you experienced rushes of something like adrenaline that kept you from thinking about what you were doing. These two chemicals can induce sleeplessness, elation, intense energy, craving, loss of appetite, and, most importantly, singularly focused attention."

"So, Carter and I were singularly focused on each other."

Frasier nodded. "That's the theory, sir."

"Huh." Wow. She was good. "And the zatarc thingy?"

Janet's smile wasn't forced or tight this time. She closed the file and folded her hands. "That's easy, sir. As Anise demonstrated, only the literal truth would give off a 'true' reading." Her dark eyes were kind. "You didn't say you loved Sam, sir. You said you cared about her more than you were supposed to."

Jack scrubbed one hand over his face. The literal truth. Teal'c had known it all along. Team. Family. Throw his stupid, obnoxious behavior of the past year or so into the 'aliens made me do it' trash bin and move on. Frasier, Teal'c, Hammond – didn't sound like any of them was particularly worried by their little tap dance around the truth. Maybe Jack's definition of family should be expanded a bit. That left only …

"What about Daniel? If we're going with this 'theory,'" his air quotes reeked of sarcasm, "Daniel wore the armbands, too. Just what exactly was he fixated on?"

Janet's gaze fell to her folded hands as if she kept the truth caged up between them. "These chemicals – as well as the Atonik virus – affect everyone a little differently, sir. Temperament, relationship history, memory, all these are factors that shape the way our brains respond to stimuli." She curved her hands as if describing a winding road. "The paths taken by our neural impulses are carved deeply and smoothed to glass by all of these things, as if we're hardwired to respond in certain ways. Daniel's life has prepared him for loss, has taught him that he can expect only loss and pain as the end result of close relationships." Her smile was sad. "You and Sam reached out to each other. Daniel," she shrugged and started again. "Mentally, emotionally, physically, Daniel packed his bags and prepared to move on."

Jack jerked upright in his seat. "Hold on a minute. You're – are you saying that this … this neuro-whatsis crap is true? That we really are still being affected by the armbands?"

Now Janet was frowning. "Yes, Colonel. What did you think we were talking about?" She tilted her head to one side. "Sir. Did you think I'd – that my findings were falsified?" Eyes wide then narrow, teeth clenched, Janet Frasier bristled dangerously. "With all due respect, Colonel O'Neill-"

- which clearly translated as 'zilch' in Jack's mind –

"- no matter how I feel about certain men and women under my care, I would never disgrace my oath as an officer or as a physician by tampering with medical files!"

Shit. Jack quickly dug through his heavily filtered memory of Janet's words and Jacob's terse explanations, slapped them back into shape without his own guilt and blame to warp them, and finally listened. "But-"

Frasier was pissed. "You and Sam might have been skirting the edge of the frat regs for months, sir; acting like infatuated idiots, but the effects of the armbands is very real. Without their chemical 'nudges' you most likely would never have come under suspicion of being a zatarc because one clear thought about your emotions towards your teammates, those under your command, would have answered all of your questions and snapped you out of your little romantic daydream." She leaned closer. "You would never have second-guessed yourself, sir."

Holy shit. "Of course. Right." What the hell had he been thinking? That Frasier would doctor her own test results? Let something she knew to be false stand in someone's medical file? No freakin' way. And Hammond – he might bend over backwards to keep Jack from smack downs for insubordination or smart-ass remarks to high level flunkies or political weenies, but lie – outright lie? The man was as honorable and dedicated as they came.

"My head really is up my ass, Doc," Jack muttered. He reached across the desk and grabbed at one of her hands, holding her angry gaze for a long moment. "Janet."

She stared, her fury gradually drifting into concern. Acceptance. Maybe even forgiveness.

"I owe you and Cassie two tickets to that frou-frou health spa you like so much."

"Yes, you do, sir," she replied quickly, squeezing his fingers once before she let go. "But, more importantly-"

"I know, I know." Jack stood and knocked his fist against the desk. "I've got a wormhole to catch and a hurting archaeologist to drag home."

Her quiet insistence kept him from moving, from racing for the locker room and the armory – not necessarily in that order. Liquid brown eyes held him fast. "He needs you, Jack."

"Yeah. He does." Jack nodded. "Daniel needs his family."