He was floating. It felt like he should be in a lot of pain – and every now and then there was a sharp ache from somewhere deep inside his stomach or his chest – but really, he didn't feel much of anything. From a detached part of his mind, he was pretty sure that was a bad thing, this lack of pain. Pain, after all, tells you that you're alive. At least that was what a couple of his friends had once told him – one of them after he'd been shot by a drug runner he'd pulled over on a routine traffic stop.

He was pretty sure he was alive. He could feel his heart beating. Every now and then he could feel it skip a beat, too. It didn't hurt, though. It just gave him a lightheaded feeling for a moment and then left him breathless. It wasn't normal, he knew, but he was detached enough that it didn't worry him, either.

"Anthony…?"

He heard a far away voice, and thought it was Doctor Fraiser's. It was female. He wasn't sure, though, and couldn't get enough strength gathered to open his eyes and find out. Or maybe he was afraid that if he did open his eyes he'd find that he wasn't really in the infirmary of the SGC. The rescue from Ball's ship had been some kind of injury-induced fantasy. It wouldn't have been the first time, although this one had been very real. Too real in some respects, because he'd never before dreamed that Cathy had died. Every other time he'd pictured her waiting for him on the front porch wearing a welcoming smile – and sometimes nothing else.

She was dead. He was certain it wasn't a dream. There was no way his mind would have her dead in his own fantasy. Even in the bleakest of times – and there'd been many. None so bleak as now, though. Without Cathy he was nothing. He felt his heart skip another beat, and this time hoped that it wouldn't catch the rhythm again. Why bother? He felt his eyes burn and the tickle of a tear sliding down his temple into his hair somewhere. After a momentary stutter, his heart picked up the beat and he held his breath while he waited for the odd sensation to pass once more.

Something wet and cool brushed along his forehead.

"Anthony… it's okay."

The tear was wiped away by the same cool cloth, and he forced himself to open his eyes, certain now who he was going to see.

Janet Fraiser gave the deputy a forced smile when he finally opened his eyes, trying very hard to maintain her bedside manner. He was failing fast, and after almost ten hours since his collapse, she still didn't have a clue why. She was taking a break, waiting for the last of the blood tests she'd ordered, and had come to sit near him as if hoping to find the answer she needed. It hadn't come to her. All she'd seen was a tear that told her he was more alert than she thought he was – despite the fact that she'd tried to get him to respond to her voice.

"Hey…"

She ran the cloth along his forehead and down his cheek to his chest. His temperature was running a little high, but it wasn't dangerous yet, and she was anxious to keep it that way.

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

"Hi…"

It was all he could manage, and at that it ended in a cough.

"Try not to speak," she told him, reaching for a cup of water with a straw and pressing the straw against his lips. "Take a sip, but not too much."

He complied, and managed to sip about a fourth of the cup – which was all she was willing to allow him just then. His kidneys hadn't shut down yet, but his heart and lungs were failing slowly but surely, and she was worried about putting any strain on his other organs for fear they'd all fail at once. If that happened, there was no way she'd be able to keep him alive.

"We're trying to figure out what's making you so sick," she told him, setting the cup back on the small table. "You need to hold on until we figure it out. Okay?"

She held the cloth gently over his mouth, and he knew it meant that he wasn't supposed to answer her verbally. He nodded, knowing it was what she wanted to see, and then closed his eyes again. He was off Ball's ship, but Cathy really was dead. Never had he ever so truly understood the phrase bittersweet before. Another tear joined the first.

"Doctor? The results are back from the last tests."

Fraiser wiped Officer Ruff's face once more, wishing she had more than just words to give him. Something was killing him, and something else was hurting him.

"Set them on my desk," she ordered. "I'll be right there."

OOOOOOOOO

"Any luck?"

Sam shook her head, hanging up her phone.

"He's not answering."

"Did you try Kira's phone?"

"She's not answering, either."

"Think we should go look for them?"

Sam frowned.

"It's Denver, sir. We could look for days and not find them."

O'Neill scowled.

"What the hell was he thinking, leaving like that?"

"When he left, Anthony was on his feet and looking fit."

"And now he's dying," Jack snapped. "Do you know how…" he searched for the right phrase and she knew by his expression he hadn't found it. "How messed up he's going to be when he comes back and Anthony's dead?"

"He's not dead, yet, sir."

"He's not going to last long at the rate things are going…"

Before Carter could respond to that, Hammond appeared at the door.

"Were you able to contact Doctor Jackson, Major?"

Sam shook her head.

"No, sir. I'll keep trying."

"You do that." He looked at both of them, and Carter thought he looked tired. Tired and defeated, she amended. Clearly he didn't think much of Anthony's chances for surviving, either. "There's nothing you two can do here… it's late, go home."

Jack shook his head.

"We'll stick around, sir. Just in case Fraiser needs us for something."

The general nodded. He wasn't going to force the issue.

"Call me if you get in touch with Doctor Jackson."

"Yes, sir."