The creature looked almost human, but there were several noticeable differences. One of them being the odd shape of its face and the things hanging out of its chin – that kind of gave it a catfish look. Another were its crazy eyes, and the lack of real hair – it had an odd-looking dread lock thing going on. And the creature exuded evil and hatred.

It didn't frighten Ian like the Ashrak had once frightened him, though. Even though he was dreaming about a creature he'd never seen before – and a dangerous creature at that – it wasn't something for him to be afraid of. No more than the Goa'uld were something he was afraid of. It was something that needed dealing with, however, he knew. Something that would eventually pose a danger to those he cared about. And those he didn't.

"It's called a Wraith…"

Ian felt the Presence join him, and he could still hear a trace of sorrow in the deep, timeless voice.

"Where are they?"

"Far away, Ian. There are other things to worry about first."

"But-"

"Jack's worried about you."

Ian felt a stab of hurt that had nothing to do with the bruise on his side or the cut, or even how awful he felt – even asleep like he knew he was.

"No, he's not. He hates me."

"You know better than that."

"I thought I did," Ian corrected. "But now-"

"Nothing has changed. He was on his way to come talk to you when he found you ill."

"He was probably on his way to yell at me some more."

There was gentle amusement. Which actually made Ian feel good, too, because he knew what Alexander had lost recently.

"Jack yells at everyone."

True. Ian didn't say anything, though. He couldn't. He knew how Jack felt about him. Jack thought he'd taken advantage of Cassie, and hated him for it. That was-

"He knows the truth, now," Alexander told him. "Cassandra Fraiser told her mother, who told Sam and Jack."

"What?"

"Apparently the good doctor tricked her daughter into telling her what happened – probably since she knew you weren't going to say anything. You're going to have to work on your self-preservation skills, boy, or we're going to have this kind of situation far more than-"

"You know I don't like being called that," Ian told him, grumpily.

"And I've told you that when you become as old as I am, you'll be allowed to call people whatever you want."

Ian didn't argue. What would be the point?

"Cassie told them what happened?" He almost cringed with embarrassment for her, and with remembered self-loathing at the way he'd treated her that night. She hadn't deserved that.

"She did. You'd better wake up and start trying to piece things back together, because things are coming to a head, and SG-1 needs to be fully functional when it does."

Before Ian could ask him what was coming, the Presence had vanished, leaving only him.

OOOOOOOOO

A cool hand brushing along his cheek brought Ian back to reality. And he was sorry it had. He didn't feel well, and now that he was sort of awake, he could almost remember coming around a few other times, hearing voices in his head, and hands on his body, and being moved around a lot. He felt exhausted, even though he hadn't been doing anything, but he couldn't remember exactly what had happened – which didn't happen very often.

He moved his head, slightly, trying to figure out where he was without opening his eyes.

"Relax, Ian…"

"Mom…?"

He was still a little out of it, and in his mind, he'd placed himself with the one person he wanted touching him the most just then.

"No, Ian… just relax, okay?"

The voice belonged to Janet Fraiser, he realized, and Ian also realized it had to be her hand on his cheek. He moved his head again, away from her touch. There was a very short list of people he wanted touching him – and Fraiser wasn't on it. Even moving his head made him tired, though, and he was glad she moved her hand, because he couldn't have dodged her much longer.

"How do you feel?"

"Where am I?"

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't think they'd stay open anyways.

"At the SGC. I had to bring you here so I could keep an eye on you. You've been very sick."

"It's just a cold…"

The hand came back to his face once more, and even though it was cool and gentle, he hated it there, because he knew how she really felt about him and he didn't want her fake sympathy.

"It's not a cold at all," Janet told him, gently. "It's an infection."

"Am I dying?"

Janet looked down at him, wondering why he wasn't opening his eyes, and shook her head, her hand running along his face, feeling the fever that still burned him, but was nowhere near as dangerous as it had been. He'd fought the infection off beautifully once they'd known what it was and had started him on antibiotics. The benefits of being young and healthy, she knew.

"No. We managed to isolate the-"

"Then go away…" Ian said, moving his head once more away from her touch, although he was running out of pillow, now.

Janet frowned, moving her hand, but she didn't chew him out as she might have. For one thing, she knew that as far as he was concerned, she was still angry with him – there was no way he could know she knew the truth about that night – and for another, he was sick, and petulance always seemed to accompany being sick. She'd allow it – this time.

"Get some rest, Ian," she told him gently, pulling the blankets up a bit and tucking him in. "We'll talk later."

Before he could comment on that, Janet moved away from the bed. She had a couple other patients to check on, and knew that the others would want to know Ian had woken up and spoken to her lucidly – finally.