AN: Last chapter before the weekend, kids! Enjoy, because I doubt I'll be able to update again before Monday. Tomorrow I'm rewiring our home telephone system so I can finally get broadband (yay!) and Sunday I'm off to play at the seaside... Have a good weekend, everyone!
o0o
Part TwelveSurrounded by a cacophony of displaced sounds, the first sensations of reality Jack recognised were darkness and pain. Horrific pain. It ebbed and flowed throughout his entire body as he fought to regain consciousness, before centring itself on his chest and to a lesser extent the back of his head, which throbbed in time with the ebb and flow.
A wave of intense worry and panic filtered through his mind. Which was kind of odd, since he knew it wasn't coming from him. He wasn't scared of death or pain. Not his own anyway. He'd determined a very long time ago that he would not fight to live, if he could not live his life his own way. Either he returned to being the man he had been before, or he wouldn't return at all. No way he was going to live out the rest of his life as vegetable, trapped in his own body. Confused now, he attempted to surface through the haze.
A faint beeping noise penetrated into his static filled mind and he tried to home in on its origin. After several agonising seconds, he recognised the sound for what it was. It was him. Or rather his heartbeat, registering on a monitor stationed beside his bed in the infirmary.
Heart monitor.
Bed.
Infirmary.
Again.
Great.
What had happened? The last thing he remembered was stepping out to take down the Super Soldier that had dared to enter his base. He'd seen an opening as it came round the corner and taken his shot. He'd known it would leave him wide open, but he wasn't going to let the damn piece of shit kill anymore of his people, shoot up anymore of his base. Not if he was able to prevent it.
The memory came to him with a sense of vicious satisfaction. He'd downed it. He remembered that much…but not before it had got off two shots of its own. He remembered knowing he was too close, that he wouldn't have time to avoid them…then it all went blurry.
He had a vague recollection of someone screaming his name…of wishing he hadn't been such an ass to Carter, that he'd told her when he had the chance…then he was shoved to the side.
Hard.
Burning agony in his chest.
He slammed backwards into something solid and unforgiving…
Pain.
Stars.
Carter!
Then…
Nothing.
Not quite ready to wake up and face the world, he drifted once more. Taking stock. Trying to get things straight in his head, sort through the swirl of thoughts. It wasn't easy with someone swinging what felt like a ten-pound lump hammer around inside it.
'Start with the basics, Jack.'
Reaching out past the pain, he concentrated on feeling. A mental command was sent to his toes. They wriggled in response. Promising. Repeating his actions, his fingers twitched. Good to know.
All limbs appeared to be present and accounted for. Guess he'd survived then. If he was dead, he wouldn't hurt this much.
Probably.
He felt like crap. And he ached. All over. But he was alive. Which was something. Whether it was a good something or not, was still up for debate. Right then, it sure as hell didn't feel like it. Wasn't there supposed to be a rule somewhere which said Generals were exempt from being shot? If not, there damn well was going to be one. Just as soon as he felt up to writing it.
A warm pulse of relief flooded through his veins, echoing in his mind. Once again, it was an emotion which didn't belong to him. Somehow, he wasn't the only one who knew he was alive. He recognised the presence making itself known. He'd know her touch, her feel, anywhere. Even inside his own head. She was back and she was okay. This time the relief which flooded through him was entirely of his own making.
Too tired and hurt to question how he knew, to even care how he knew, he simply basked in the feel of knowing. Until the heart monitor recorded the speeding up of his pulse in response.
"General?"
Bah. Damn machine had given him away. Traitor.
There was no chance of him slipping quietly back into delicious pain-free oblivion now. He concentrated on forcing open gummed-up eyes. A flicker of brightness registered in his mind's eye, then a full blown burst of light shone under his opening eyelid.
Involuntarily, Jack flinched away from the penlight and groaned as the light sent a spike of pain through his head. It was accompanied by a similar jolt through his chest, as it protested his sudden movement and he groaned again in complaint. Louder this time.
"General, can you hear me?"
'Gee, ya think?'
Out loud, Jack replied gruffly, "Yeah, I'm not deaf. Get that thing outta my face."
Ignoring her patient's command, the doctor – Brightman, his mind absently supplied - pointed the light into Jack's other eye, checked the pupil's reaction and then tucked the offensive object into her lab coat pocket.
Jack coughed painfully as his throat cramped at his words and winced as the action pulled on his chest. Then winced again as that pulled as well.
His voice had sounded weak even to his own ears and he cursed inwardly. It was the thing he hated most about being laid up in the infirmary. Showing weakness. Not being at his best and having other people around to see it. He loathed not feeling a hundred percent. These days, it seemed that each time he was injured, it took him longer and longer to get back to that point. And then when he did actually manage to reach it, he stayed there for less and less each time.
There was a moral in there somewhere, he was sure of it. Yeah. It was 'stop getting injured Jack, you old fart. You're getting old and your body can't cope with it as well as it once did'. Unfortunately, that seemed to be easier said than done. Christ, he hadn't even gone through gate this time and he'd still been injured!
There should be a rule preventing the bad guys coming to visit him. In fact, he'd get right on with writing it up, along with the other one about the non-shooting of Generals. Yeah. Just as soon as he felt like getting out of bed. Which wasn't going to be any time soon at this rate.
'Face it Jack-me-boy, you're old'.
There was no getting away from it. Right then, he felt every single damn one of his years and each and every one of them was pulsing with a bone-deep gnawing ache right there next to his collarbone.
He coughed again, harder. Unable to stop himself as the cramp turned into a dry tickle, aggravating his throat. His eyes slammed shut, water leaking involuntarily from beneath his eyelids as pain lanced through his chest once more, making him hiss sharply in response.
His eyes stayed shut as he tensed, forcing himself to keep still and fight the urge to cough, until the pain went away.
"Here."
Slowly, he opened his eyes again, blinking to dispel the water he refused to call tears. He wasn't crying. It was just a reaction to the fact that he was sore. Damn sore. A spoon full of ice chips hovered just beyond the end of his nose. He licked dry lips and obediently opened his mouth. Eager enough for something to ease his throat to ignore the ignominy of being fed like a baby.
There came the delicious feel of coldness on his tongue, before the ice began to melt and slide down his throat, easing the burning. His eyes closed in pleasure this time, as he savoured the sensation, before swallowing carefully. Funny how every time he landed in his back in an infirmary bed, it made him appreciate the small things in life. Like being able to drink. Move without pain. Take a leak by himself. Maybe it was karma. Or something.
He managed another couple of spoonfuls before gingerly shaking his head. Brightman placed the cup and spoon back on the stand at the side of his bed.
"Better?"
"Yeah…" He murmured.
Forcing the pain down with the ease of years of practise, he met her eyes and asked the most important question.
"So what's the damage, Doc?"
o0o
Brightman took a deep breath and began.
"Well, there's no obvious sign of cranial trauma, other than the contusion on the back of your head. There's been no major swelling to the site and no drastically erratic change in your blood pressure, which is a good sign. You do however have a fairly nasty concussion and I'm afraid I can't let you sleep for too long a period at any one time, in case it proves to be more serious. Therefore, I'm going to insist that you spend tonight in the infirmary, so that I can keep an eye on you and make sure your condition doesn't deteriorate."
Ah, great. Jack shook his head slowly, trying not to again set off the marching band inside it.
He opened his mouth to argue, but that was as far he got before Brightman cut him off.
"You're staying in, General and that's final. At least for tonight."
The glare she gave him impling that she'd be strapping him to the bed if he dared to even think about trying to leave it.
Crap. He closed his mouth without speaking. He hurt too darn much to argue.
He didn't relish the thought of being stuck in the infirmary, but knew from bitter experience that it was pointless to argue, not when the docs got that look on their face. Within these four walls, the medical professional was king, overruling even the base CO. Which meant if the doc wanted him kept in that badly, then in was where he'd be staying.
As a Colonel, he could have bitched, whined and generally made an ass of himself until they got fed up of him and threw him out. But he was a General now. He had to provide a good example for people to follow. These guys were the best. They did not need the added pressure of a bunch of injured soldiers acting up, merely because their CO's behaviour told them it was okay to do so. Which meant he'd have to grit his teeth, grin and bear it.
Yeah, command really did suck sometimes.
"So, I'm gonna live?"
Brightman smiled. "Yes, General, you'll live, though you will be unable to resume normal duties until that blast wound heals."
She paused before continuing. "There is a possibility that you may need a skin graft, but I'm hoping it won't come to that."
Another skin graft. Fantastic. Just what he wanted. Not.
"The force of the shot was enough to fracture your collarbone, so even when you are able to be up and around, you'll have to wear a sling for a few weeks as well, I'm afraid."
Oh, wonderful. A sling as well! This day was just getting better and better.
Brightman gave him a sharp look, as if she could read the sarcastic bent of his thoughts in his face. Which she probably could, given that she was one of Frasier's protégé's. A pang went through him at the thought. God, he missed the Napoleonic little power monger! Who'da thunk it? But he did. Every time he was stuck here. Her memory yet another reason for him to loathe being stuck in the infirmary.
Belatedly, it occurred to him that Brightman was still talking and his mind was wandering. He forced himself to pay attention. Oh yeah, no doubt about it, he had a concussion alright. He was in too much pain for happy drugs to be the cause.
"You were very fortunate it was only a glancing blow, you know. Mere centimetres to the right and it would have killed you."
"Thought it had done." The words were out before he realised he'd uttered them.
Yep. Definitely concussed.
Brightman narrowed her eyes. "Do you remember what happened?"
He shrugged, then regretted it as he winced and she glared. Thinking it best not to antagonise her any further, he reluctantly answered.
"Shot…was pushed…got hit. That's it."
She nodded. Jack cocked his head to one side. "What happened?"
She wouldn't meet his eyes. The look on her face telling him she didn't want to say.
"Doc?"
He didn't make it an order, but the tone of voice implied one. She sighed heavily before meeting his eyes and replying.
"Airman Willis pushed you out of the way."
Willis. He frowned, trying to put a name to the face. Willis…SG-8. An ever-present cheeky grin and freckles below a shock of spiky cropped ginger locks popped into his mind. Damn. He was just a kid.
"Did he - ?"
The sorrow in her eyes gave him his answer. "I'm sorry, sir."
She looked away before continuing. "Like I said, you were extremely fortunate."
Thinking of the dead airman who had blocked the path of the shot, Jack muttered quietly, "Yeah. Real fortunate."
A kid. A goddamn kid. With everything to live for. Dammit! Why? Why had he done it? Better that it had taken him, than a boy who'd yet to even truly experience life!
He wasn't the one that people had to dive in front of, in order to protect, for cryin' out loud! He was supposed to be the one protecting his people! Not the one getting them killed. They weren't supposed to die for him.
He wasn't worth it.
"Sir?"
Pulled out of his reverie, Jack saw the understanding and concern in the doctor's eyes, and knew that his train of thought had been obvious. He fought to keep his face expressionless as he answered her unspoken query.
"I'm fine, Doc. Go check out the others."
Brightman stared at him for a long moment. He returned her gaze steadily, keeping his face a blank mask to disguise the turmoil within. With a heavy sigh, the doctor caved and reluctantly stepped away, tugging open the curtain . Then she hesitated and turned back around.
"Willis was doing his job, sir. He knew the risks, the same as the rest of us. If you insist on blaming yourself for what happened, then you do no justice to his memory and he will have died for nothing! He looked up to you. He respected you, sir. The same as everyone else in the SGC. He did no more than any one of us would have done in his place. No more than you yourself have done in the past.
"I know you're used to being the one saving everybody else, but you're the commander of the SGC now, sir. In the eyes of those you command that makes you someone who needs protecting, because we don't want to want to lose you.
"You may not like it, but you are going to have to accept it. I suggest you think on that while you try and get some rest. I'll send someone in to check on you in half an hour. You'll be due for some pain relief by then."
Pause.
"Sir."
On that final note, she spun on her heel and walked out. Pulling the curtain closed behind her and leaving a dumbfounded Jack O'Neill to stare after her in shock. For once in his life, unable to form a reply.
o0o
TBC…
Review Responses:
froggy0319 - At the risk of giving away upcoming plot devices, let's just say that he tries...
Quinndolynn - Thank you! And yes, I know, he has to be okay because he's Jack, but the thing is, I like whumping Jack... And see you didn't have to wait a whole weekend for another chapter and I still didn't leave you on a cliffhanger! Isn't I good :grins:
shetlandlace -Thank you! I fully intend to have a great weekend, hope you do too. Tho you are making me feel a li'l guilty now, cos I know what's gonna happen next...
PhDelicious - There's a reason for me not posting everything at once...and that's because I'm a slow writer. It takes me a week to write probably a couple of chapters, then they have to go to my co-writer for approval and additions and then go for beta. Which means there'd be a long gap between updates if I posted it that way and I'm sure you all wouldn't want that! Plus if I'm currently :counts quickly: four chapters ahead, it means I can tease you with hints about what's going to happen next :laughs evilly:
justme - Thank you! Hope you have a great weekend. And if you want to avoid withdrawal, you could always print it off and take it with you! ;)