Part 7 - Revelations
The next morning, when Jack woke up, Janet knew he was suffering. The fairly minor sickness from the previous day had - from another day in the rain - worsened. It was no longer a cold. Fraiser could see it in his eyes. He had pneumonia, just like she and Sam had predicted. Only this time, Janet hated to admit she'd been right. She wished she'd been wrong. Somehow, though, she'd known.
"How are you feeling this morning, Colonel?" Janet asked as she briskly walked to Jack's bedside, knowing she probably shouldn't have asked that question so cheerfully when she could clearly see he wasn't feeling well.
"Rub it in," Jack said hoarsely.
"Not at all, Sir. Just being a doctor. I can see you're not well. I'll take a blood sample, and do some regular checks first, then see what results I get," Janet explained as she took Jack's pulse and then prepared a needle to take a blood sample. "Arm thanks, Colonel," she smiled as he stretched his arm out for her.
"I know you all love this part," Jack said as Janet took two syringes full of his blood.
"What's that, Colonel?" Fraiser asked with a smirk.
"Taking blood. I'm sure you're all vampires and get some sadistic pleasure from taking people's blood."
"Oh, of course. It's part of the job description, Colonel. No wonder you never made it as a doctor," Janet smiled as she labeled Jack's blood sample to send off to be tested.
"They never told me that part," Jack called after her, just catching her chuckle as she left.
A few moments after Janet left, Kayla arrived. "Good morning, Colonel," she said brightly. She wasn't one to remember any particular bad mood she was in and stay in it just because she'd started it. No, the past day was forgotten. 'Tomorrow's a new day,' her dad had always said, and she'd always remembered. Almost always.
"If you say so," Jack grumbled, feeling the full brunt of the sickness now. He had no distraction from the horrible, sick pounding feeling in his head in the Infirmary. No way to forget about the terrible knot in his stomach.
"How are you feeling?" Kayla asked.
"Peachy," Jack answered sarcastically.
"Feel like talking to me about what we discussed yesterday?"
"How much you know about me, or how much the Pentagon pays you to come out here and pretend to care?"
"You think that, don't you?"
"Think what?"
"You believe I am only here because I am paid to be. You think I'm one of those cartoon doctors who answers their psycho patients with patronizing quips and mutters sarcastically behind their blissfully unaware backs, don't you?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, yeah. To be perfectly honest with you, Dr. I- know-everything-about-everyone, I do think that. I think you're paid to come here, sit down and act as though you understand me and my life, pretend to be a caring, understanding, honest and good-natured long lost friend or relative that I haven't seen in years, while you silently wish you had a gun, but not to shoot me with. And no matter how much money you are, or aren't paid, I think you should go find some other psycho to pretend to care about, cos right now, I'm just not in a really forthcoming mood."
A silence fell on the pair. Kayla was, to say the least, surprised. She had thought Colonel O'Neill was beginning to trust her, and felt angry with herself for not noticing sooner that he in fact couldn't stand the thought of seeing her. Jack was waiting for Kayla to get up and leave. The stinging, burning, raging and aching pain he felt over nearly every inch of his body was making him irritable, and he made it all that much worse by being angry at himself for letting his pain do that to him. He felt angry with himself, not Kayla. He felt angry with himself for everything that had happened and, although he was only now beginning to finally realise it, had been taking his anger out on Kayla. It wasn't her fault, and he didn't really feel anything of what he'd said to her. Everything he said was a twisted representation of what he really felt about himself. All the anger and doubt, was directed at himself. And the fact that nearly everything Kayla said was the truth, or very close to it, made Jack even more angry, because he wanted to hide everything he felt. He didn't want anyone to know and the fact that she did made him angry at himself for not hiding it well enough.
"When I was a teenager," Kayla broke the silence quietly, "just after I finished high school, my parents were killed at a shopping mall massacre. It was horrible; nearly forty people were killed."
"I'm sorry," Jack murmured.
Kayla nodded. "I saw it on the news before I even knew my parents were there. But, when I heard the news story and I heard the news reporter's voice, something.somehow I knew it was something that was going to affect me. I saw some pictures of the scene, as the man with the gun was being taken away by the police. I saw some shops, behind where they were standing, and that's when I knew.
The day before, I'd had a fight with my parents. I wanted to go to a party that night, but they wanted me to go to a family function with them. It was my uncle's birthday party. We had an argument, and I went to the party without speaking to my parents. They were upset with me, but not because I went. They were upset because I didn't tell them what I was going to do; I just went.
The next morning, when I got up there was a note on the kitchen table for me. They'd gone shopping without me. I was supposed to be going with them, looking for a new sofa. Sounds silly, but we always liked doing stuff like that as a family. We always went into all the different stores and sat on all the chairs and laughed about the colors and designs and pretended that we wanted to buy things just to see how low we could get the salesmen to drop the prices for us. It used to be great.but they went without me. I was angry with them for leaving without even telling me, of course. I slammed doors all day and dropped things that wouldn't break just to make noise, because I was so angry. Even when it was late in the afternoon and they still hadn't come back, I wasn't worried because I was too busy being mad.
When I saw the story on the news, I realised. I saw the furniture store we always liked, because of all the interesting stuff in it, and I knew. I knew they would've been there, and I knew, before I even got the call, I knew.
Of course, now, I realise there would've been nothing I could have done to make it any different. Nothing I could have said that would have saved them, but I still wished I'd been there. I blamed myself. I knew it was my fault. If only I hadn't gone to that stupid party. If only I'd told them what I was going to do the night before. If only I'd said sorry for going. If only, if only.
I sat around for weeks, trying to figure out everything I'd done wrong. I had a list. I wrote down all the things I knew I'd done that would surely have made a difference to what happened that day. May 12th. I'll never forget that day.
After the funeral, after everyone cried and said how awful it was and how sorry they felt for me, being left without parents, I realised it wasn't my fault. It took me months to realise it and more months to accept it, but it wasn't my fault. I know now, there's nothing in the world I could have done to change what happened. Even if I'd been there with them that day, probably the only thing I could have done would have been to get killed too. That wouldn't have solved anything. Wouldn't have made anything better. Just would've been three people dead, instead of two. I feel the loss I felt that day, even now, but not on the same level, because now I see what I couldn't see, then. I see the truth."
For the first time in weeks, Jack recognized the feelings Kayla spoke of. She didn't sound like a patronizing voice in his head, telling him to move on and forget all about the past few months. Telling him that he was being stupid and that he shouldn't be holding onto these feelings anymore. That it was his fault, there was nothing he could do, so he should forget it. He didn't feel like that, now. Not after listening to Kayla. She sounded like a real person, not a doctor. And this time, instead of sounding like the typical TV stereotype doctor, making up a situation to sound like they knew how their patient felt, Jack knew she wasn't doing it for his benefit. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't doing it for her own benefit.
"I lost my son a few years ago," Jack murmured.
"I'm very sorry," Kayla said.
"So am I."
"What happened?"
"He shot himself," Jack said, not surprised when Kayla gasped. "With my gun. My wife blamed me. I blamed myself, and I still do. I'll never forgive myself. Just like I'll never forgive myself for.for M."
"It wasn't your fault, Colonel," Kayla reinforced. "You need to let yourself see the truth, just like I did. The truth is; I couldn't have done anything to save my parents, just like you couldn't have done anything to save Myra. You couldn't have saved her, Colonel."
Jack shook his head. He just wasn't ready to accept that, yet. Not yet. Something wouldn't let him believe that was true, yet. Kayla frowned. She could see in his eyes, that Jack didn't believe she was right, yet. She could see he was uncomfortable with accepting that he wasn't at fault. Perhaps he was used to feeling that way - feeling as though it was something he did wrong. Perhaps it was his way of coping.
After another few minutes of silence, Jack was suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that he was breathing loudly. Almost as though he was out of breath and searching for the air. Reaching out for it, but still not getting enough. Kayla saw the sudden, almost panic in his eyes as he began to gasp for air. His face changed, the colour left it. His skin was suddenly almost transparent, and his eyes were wide. Something serious was wrong, Kayla decided, without having any medical proof. She quickly went to find Janet.
"Janet," Kayla said taking her friend by the arm, "quickly."
"What's." Janet tried to speak as Kayla dragged her by the arm to the Infirmary. When she saw Colonel O'Neill's colorless face and the terror in his eyes as he gasped for breath, she understood. "What happened?" she asked immediately, rushing to the Colonel's side and taking his pulse.
"Nothing," Kayla replied, watching on worriedly as O'Neill began coughing violently. "I was talking to him and then I noticed he was breathing very heavily, and his face lost all its colour, so I came to find you."
"Nurse!" Janet shouted at the passing nurse. "He needs oxygen, get the mask." The young nurse nodded and quickly got the oxygen mask set up and handed it to Fraiser.
The doctor took it. "Colonel, once this is over your face, just slowly begin to breathe in. It will take a moment, but you'll begin to feel better," she explained as she placed the mask over Jack's face and moved his right hand to hold it in place. "Breathe in slowly, Colonel. That's right. Keep breathing."
Jack gratefully sucked in gulps of air from the oxygen mask. His lungs craved more and more air, but no matter how much he breathed, it didn't seem to be enough - they still needed more. Jack's lips trembled as he swallowed more and more air. "Slowly, Colonel," Janet repeated, noticing how desperately Jack was breathing, like the air was going to get away from him if he didn't. "No hurry, Colonel, the air isn't going anywhere as long as you leave the mask on."
But it didn't matter how hard he tried, Jack just had to keep on rushing in more air. His lungs seemed to choke on the lack of air, but he was breathing it in as fast as he could. Then, Jack began to feel chills. His skin was ice cold. Not only were his lips trembling, but now, his whole body was. This sudden coldness made him lose his fast breathing rhythm. His lungs began to choke, and he so did he. He was breathing, but the air wasn't getting past his throat, it was just dying once it entered his mouth. "Janet, he's choking!" Kayla exclaimed in shock.
"There's nothing I can do," Janet said helplessly, taking note of the heart monitor and checking Jack's pulse again. "That's what the mask is for, but it's just not helping the way it should. His lungs are shutting off, and not letting the air get to them." Before Janet had the chance to ask Jack if that was how he felt, he lost consciousness. "This isn't one of the common strains of pneumonia," Fraiser stated. "His symptoms are too acute and too soon. Normally the early symptoms of any pneumonia are fairly standard: fever, cough, sore throat, headaches, weakness. The most common kinds of pneumonia don't display serious symptoms like this at all, most of the time. The fever is common, and the cough, but not this. Chills are a sign of a more serious kind and this serious lack of air, is definitely a bad sign."
"Janet, speak English," Kayla said. "Tell me what you're talking about. What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that, to me, this looks to be one of the more serious strains of pneumonia. Not just your standard kind."
"Serious. Explain serious."
"Serious, to a doctor, means fatal."
Kayla was silent for a moment. "Do you mean fatal as in, it could kill him?"
"Yes. I'm afraid that's exactly what I mean."
***
My lungs were burning again. I couldn't remember if they'd actually stopped. The girl had been taken away. She was so young. Her face was badly bruised and covered in gashes. She didn't deserve any of it.
The guards had been beating her. They were laughing. They thought it was all so damned funny! I couldn't stand it. Then they'd started on me. I made them stop. I made them leave her alone, then they started on me again. Something snapped. I don't know what it was. I heard the crack, and I felt it. In my leg. I couldn't stand up anymore. I fell to the ground and they started laying into me. My leg was throbbing and my head was pounding. Every inch of my body ached, throbbed, stung, bled or did something painful.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth. Some blood, but no words. I tried to get up or to scramble away, but I had nowhere to go. There was nowhere I could go. I wanted to call out for help, but besides the fact that my voice wouldn't work, I had no one to call. There was no one here that could help me. If only I hadn't made Carter leave.
She managed to get away. The girl. She ran. She would pay for that, later, but she got away for now and I was grateful. I drifted away - I don't know where to - as the guards kicked me. I was somewhere cold; I didn't drift away to somewhere nice - somewhere I wanted to be. It was cold, and I could hear the guards laughter. I could hear them sneering and hissing things at me. Their voices were like echoes, going around and around in my brain as the pain slowly blurred my consciousness until I lost it all together.
***
"Janet, are you.Colonel," Sam said as she entered the Infirmary, stopping her sentence as she saw her CO's gaunt, sweaty and colourless face, half hidden by the oxygen mask.
"He's unconscious," Kayla informed the Major from her chair at Jack's bedside. "How long has he been like that?" Sam asked, more concerned by his appearance, than his unconsciousness.
"Almost an hour," Kayla replied, nodding to the empty chair beside her. "Sit down."
"What did Janet say was wrong with him?"
"I said I think he's got one of the more uncommon kinds of pneumonia," Janet said as she exited her office, a folder of papers under her arm. "His symptoms don't point to the more common strains. I thought it was Mycoplasma Pneumonia; only his symptoms are far too acute for that. His cough is dry, and inconsistent."
"Ok, Janet," Sam said, raising her hands, "let me speak English for a moment. Are you saying this is a good thing, or a bad thing?"
"No, I'm definitely not saying it's good," Fraiser clarified, getting a chair. "I'm just trying to eliminate the different possibilities, and so far, I've ruled out all the common kinds of pneumonia."
"So you think he's got a serious kind?" Sam asked just to make sure.
"It looks that way, yes," Janet said, taking out a few papers. "He has a serious lung infection. Fluid on the lungs is dangerous, and the fact that he was having such a hard time breathing before indicates just how serious this is. I'll need to check a few things first, but if we don't get this fast, it will only get worse and I won't lie; he could die."
Sam licked her lips, frowning and looked over at her CO. Come on, Colonel, she thought desperately; trying to channel her thoughts through to him somehow, don't give up now. You've made it through worse than this; you can't give up now. Please.
"I wouldn't mind if someone stayed with him all the time," Janet continued. "I think it will be better to keep him awake as long as possible. I know he needs rest, but I'll feel more secure knowing he's with us than if he drifts off to sleep or falls unconscious again. It's just a precaution."
"I'll stay," Sam said firmly, looking at Kayla.
"Ok," Kayla smiled. "Let me know when he wakes up. I'd like to keep talking to him, if possible."
Sam nodded distractedly. "If you need me, I'll be around," Janet said as she left.
Once again, Sam nodded distractedly, but hadn't really heard what either doctor had said. After a while, seeing no one else was around, Sam leaned forward and rested her hand on her CO's. "I don't know if you can hear me, Sir," she said softly, "but doctor's always say patients can hear people, even when they're unconscious, so that's good enough for me. I just want you to know, that you can't die. Even if you want to. I don't understand what you're feeling, or how it's affecting you, or why it's making you do what you're doing, but I do understand that it's not just affecting you. If you go on like this, doing this to yourself, it won't just hurt you. It'll hurt me too. I don't know if that makes any difference to how you feel, but I know that I care about you.
Colonel, you once said you cared about me a lot more than you were supposed to. The only thing I didn't say to you that day was the only thing I was thinking the whole time. I care about you a lot more than I'm supposed to, too." When Sam looked up from her hand, resting on her Colonel's, she saw his eyes open, looking at her. She was suddenly glued to her chair, and confused as to what she should do. Had he heard everything she'd said? Had she wanted him to? Was she glad he'd heard? Why was she worrying?
"Colonel," Sam almost sighed, "how do you feel?"
Jack took the oxygen mask off his face and tried to obliterate the nausea in his head. "Been better," he croaked, his throat dry and sore. "Been worse, too." Sam frowned inside. She wished he would stop doing that. Stop comparing the fact that he'd almost been tortured to death with things that happened in the present. Stop making things seem insignificant by remembering the fact that he'd been worse off, before. "I'll get Dr. Fraiser," Sam said, to stop herself saying everything she'd just thought.
"No," Jack said, trying to grab Sam's hand as it slid away from his. She felt the contact, and stopped.
"There's nothing she can do," O'Neill said weakly.
Carter sat down. "With all due respect, Sir, that's not true," she told him. "Yes it is, Carter. If I'm going to die, there's nothing anyone can do."
Sam was taken aback by this sudden statement. If he was going to die? Who said anything about him dying? Janet said if it wasn't treated early, there was that possibility, but it was still early. It certainly wasn't a near threat, or maybe that was just Sam's defence mechanism against the scary possibility. "Colonel, you're not going to die."
"How do you know?"
"Well, Sir, I don't know, but Janet's working on a few things. She'll be done soon, and then she'll have a better idea of what type of pneumonia you have, and it will be easier to treat."
"You don't know that, Carter. If I die, I die," Jack said, his voice getting weaker. "I deserve it," he added at a whisper.
Sam was suddenly aware that it sounded as though her CO wanted to die. He was sentencing himself to death without even having a full understanding of what was wrong with him, and he sounded very sure of himself. If I die, I die. I deserve it. "Colonel!" Sam said sharply. "That's not true."
"You don't understand, Carter," Jack murmured. "You can't understand. You didn't see what I saw. You didn't.you didn't hear her screaming. You didn't watch her suffer." Sam tried to stop herself frowning, but her brow creased in sympathy without her realising. How could he go on like this?
"Who?"
"She died because I didn't do anything to help her. She screamed and cried and begged for help while they tortured her and I didn't do anything."
"Who, Colonel? Who are you talking about?"
"Myra."
Sam was initially surprised. She remembered that name. That was the young girl she'd met working in the fields. She died. Sam hadn't known her well, and yet she felt great sadness knowing that poor young girl had died. But even if her CO had watched her die, and had tried to help, he couldn't have done anything to help her. No matter what he did, Sam knew nothing would have made any difference. "It wasn't your fault, Colonel," Sam said meaningfully. If this was the biggest trouble for him, he needed to know it wasn't his fault. Sam didn't know the details, but she knew just from her brief experience of that planet, that it could not have been her CO's fault Myra died.
"How can you know that, Carter? I was there! I didn't help her!" Jack exclaimed, his obvious anger toward himself evident in his colourless face.
"Colonel, I was there too. Maybe not as long as you, and I know I didn't suffer like you did, but I know how their system works. It's pretty obvious. If they wanted someone dead, nothing anyone could do would stop them. No matter what happened, Sir, it was not your fault Myra died."
"She was so young. She suffered so much for someone so young."
"I understand, Colonel. I know how you feel. I feel sad knowing she died too, but I know it wasn't your fault. No matter what you could have done, they would have killed her. It wouldn't have mattered if you'd tried to kill them all; they still would have made sure they killed her. I know, somewhere inside, that you know that too, Colonel."
Jack couldn't say anything to that. He wasn't sure if he knew or not, but the worst thing was, if he did know, he still didn't want to believe it was true. The anger he had towards himself, for so many things, wanted him to stay that way. It wanted him to stay angry at himself, and didn't want him to know the truth. Didn't want him to see that he really wasn't at fault. So many different things proved it wasn't his fault - he couldn't have done anything. This anger was bubbling inside him so dangerously, that he wouldn't allow himself to push it away, even though he knew he could.
Sam watched her CO's distant gaze, almost able to see his thoughts through his blank eyes. Why was he continuing to punish himself this way? She knew he knew it wasn't his fault. Somewhere inside his stubborn mind, he had to know that. Surely, he had to be able to see that. But then, why was he still making himself suffer? Why was he doing this to himself? Sam had to admit that she just didn't understand. She couldn't fathom how he could continue to blame himself for something that clearly wasn't, and could never be, his fault.
"Colonel, I don't know how you feel this about yourself," Sam confessed, her voice quiet and unthreatening. "I've tried and tried, but I still don't understand it. It's frustrating, because you know I always figure things out," she laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. "But I can't figure this out. No matter how hard I try. The thing is, Sir, I don't want to figure it out, really. I just want to help you."
Jack pushed his thoughts aside and took the blank look from his eyes by looking at his second in command. Something about her expression made him want to talk to her. She was so concerned, so interested in everything going on for him. She was always there, her caring face and concerned eyes. For some reason, Jack was only beginning to realise all of this, now. Suddenly he could see her for more than just her logic and science. Somehow, now, in his eyes, she was more than just the person she used to be, although she hadn't changed at all.
Jack wanted to say so many things to her then. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for sending her back. How he wished she'd been there with him, although not having to suffer the way he had. How helpless he'd felt as he watched Myra dying, day after day, in front of him. How he'd thought of her then. How he'd missed her. How pathetic he felt now and how sick. Sick in more ways than one.
But for all the things Jack wanted to say, he said nothing. None of the words made it out of his mouth. All died before getting to chance to be heard.
Sam knew he wanted to say things. She saw, deep in his eyes, that he needed to say a lot to her. Maybe he didn't even need to say things to her, but Sam knew he wanted to. She could feel it, just by being near him. So many things were in his mind in those silent moments and she knew he wanted to say a lot to her. Although neither Colonel, nor Major, managed to say anything to each other, they both knew what the other wanted. Sam knew Jack wanted to tell her things - things he'd never told anyone else before - but he couldn't. Somehow, he couldn't. But he knew Sam knew he wanted to. He saw, just by her face, that she knew. A silent agreement met, Sam smiled. How they'd always been able to communicate that way - without needing to speak - had always amazed her. She didn't understand it anymore than Jack did, but they both appreciated the mutual understanding of one another.
"I'll see you later, Colonel," Sam said softly, almost a whisper, as she brushed her hand over his and left.
Jack didn't say anything to her, but felt strangely contented after having listened to his second in command, for once. Janet peeked her head out of her office and saw his expressionless face. He didn't look sad, angry or pained anymore. Even though he didn't look overjoyed either, she could see there was a satisfaction in his eyes. There was an air about him, now, that was different from before.
Janet smiled, pleased to see him this way. "Whatever you said, Sam, it worked," she whispered to herself.
The next morning, when Jack woke up, Janet knew he was suffering. The fairly minor sickness from the previous day had - from another day in the rain - worsened. It was no longer a cold. Fraiser could see it in his eyes. He had pneumonia, just like she and Sam had predicted. Only this time, Janet hated to admit she'd been right. She wished she'd been wrong. Somehow, though, she'd known.
"How are you feeling this morning, Colonel?" Janet asked as she briskly walked to Jack's bedside, knowing she probably shouldn't have asked that question so cheerfully when she could clearly see he wasn't feeling well.
"Rub it in," Jack said hoarsely.
"Not at all, Sir. Just being a doctor. I can see you're not well. I'll take a blood sample, and do some regular checks first, then see what results I get," Janet explained as she took Jack's pulse and then prepared a needle to take a blood sample. "Arm thanks, Colonel," she smiled as he stretched his arm out for her.
"I know you all love this part," Jack said as Janet took two syringes full of his blood.
"What's that, Colonel?" Fraiser asked with a smirk.
"Taking blood. I'm sure you're all vampires and get some sadistic pleasure from taking people's blood."
"Oh, of course. It's part of the job description, Colonel. No wonder you never made it as a doctor," Janet smiled as she labeled Jack's blood sample to send off to be tested.
"They never told me that part," Jack called after her, just catching her chuckle as she left.
A few moments after Janet left, Kayla arrived. "Good morning, Colonel," she said brightly. She wasn't one to remember any particular bad mood she was in and stay in it just because she'd started it. No, the past day was forgotten. 'Tomorrow's a new day,' her dad had always said, and she'd always remembered. Almost always.
"If you say so," Jack grumbled, feeling the full brunt of the sickness now. He had no distraction from the horrible, sick pounding feeling in his head in the Infirmary. No way to forget about the terrible knot in his stomach.
"How are you feeling?" Kayla asked.
"Peachy," Jack answered sarcastically.
"Feel like talking to me about what we discussed yesterday?"
"How much you know about me, or how much the Pentagon pays you to come out here and pretend to care?"
"You think that, don't you?"
"Think what?"
"You believe I am only here because I am paid to be. You think I'm one of those cartoon doctors who answers their psycho patients with patronizing quips and mutters sarcastically behind their blissfully unaware backs, don't you?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, yeah. To be perfectly honest with you, Dr. I- know-everything-about-everyone, I do think that. I think you're paid to come here, sit down and act as though you understand me and my life, pretend to be a caring, understanding, honest and good-natured long lost friend or relative that I haven't seen in years, while you silently wish you had a gun, but not to shoot me with. And no matter how much money you are, or aren't paid, I think you should go find some other psycho to pretend to care about, cos right now, I'm just not in a really forthcoming mood."
A silence fell on the pair. Kayla was, to say the least, surprised. She had thought Colonel O'Neill was beginning to trust her, and felt angry with herself for not noticing sooner that he in fact couldn't stand the thought of seeing her. Jack was waiting for Kayla to get up and leave. The stinging, burning, raging and aching pain he felt over nearly every inch of his body was making him irritable, and he made it all that much worse by being angry at himself for letting his pain do that to him. He felt angry with himself, not Kayla. He felt angry with himself for everything that had happened and, although he was only now beginning to finally realise it, had been taking his anger out on Kayla. It wasn't her fault, and he didn't really feel anything of what he'd said to her. Everything he said was a twisted representation of what he really felt about himself. All the anger and doubt, was directed at himself. And the fact that nearly everything Kayla said was the truth, or very close to it, made Jack even more angry, because he wanted to hide everything he felt. He didn't want anyone to know and the fact that she did made him angry at himself for not hiding it well enough.
"When I was a teenager," Kayla broke the silence quietly, "just after I finished high school, my parents were killed at a shopping mall massacre. It was horrible; nearly forty people were killed."
"I'm sorry," Jack murmured.
Kayla nodded. "I saw it on the news before I even knew my parents were there. But, when I heard the news story and I heard the news reporter's voice, something.somehow I knew it was something that was going to affect me. I saw some pictures of the scene, as the man with the gun was being taken away by the police. I saw some shops, behind where they were standing, and that's when I knew.
The day before, I'd had a fight with my parents. I wanted to go to a party that night, but they wanted me to go to a family function with them. It was my uncle's birthday party. We had an argument, and I went to the party without speaking to my parents. They were upset with me, but not because I went. They were upset because I didn't tell them what I was going to do; I just went.
The next morning, when I got up there was a note on the kitchen table for me. They'd gone shopping without me. I was supposed to be going with them, looking for a new sofa. Sounds silly, but we always liked doing stuff like that as a family. We always went into all the different stores and sat on all the chairs and laughed about the colors and designs and pretended that we wanted to buy things just to see how low we could get the salesmen to drop the prices for us. It used to be great.but they went without me. I was angry with them for leaving without even telling me, of course. I slammed doors all day and dropped things that wouldn't break just to make noise, because I was so angry. Even when it was late in the afternoon and they still hadn't come back, I wasn't worried because I was too busy being mad.
When I saw the story on the news, I realised. I saw the furniture store we always liked, because of all the interesting stuff in it, and I knew. I knew they would've been there, and I knew, before I even got the call, I knew.
Of course, now, I realise there would've been nothing I could have done to make it any different. Nothing I could have said that would have saved them, but I still wished I'd been there. I blamed myself. I knew it was my fault. If only I hadn't gone to that stupid party. If only I'd told them what I was going to do the night before. If only I'd said sorry for going. If only, if only.
I sat around for weeks, trying to figure out everything I'd done wrong. I had a list. I wrote down all the things I knew I'd done that would surely have made a difference to what happened that day. May 12th. I'll never forget that day.
After the funeral, after everyone cried and said how awful it was and how sorry they felt for me, being left without parents, I realised it wasn't my fault. It took me months to realise it and more months to accept it, but it wasn't my fault. I know now, there's nothing in the world I could have done to change what happened. Even if I'd been there with them that day, probably the only thing I could have done would have been to get killed too. That wouldn't have solved anything. Wouldn't have made anything better. Just would've been three people dead, instead of two. I feel the loss I felt that day, even now, but not on the same level, because now I see what I couldn't see, then. I see the truth."
For the first time in weeks, Jack recognized the feelings Kayla spoke of. She didn't sound like a patronizing voice in his head, telling him to move on and forget all about the past few months. Telling him that he was being stupid and that he shouldn't be holding onto these feelings anymore. That it was his fault, there was nothing he could do, so he should forget it. He didn't feel like that, now. Not after listening to Kayla. She sounded like a real person, not a doctor. And this time, instead of sounding like the typical TV stereotype doctor, making up a situation to sound like they knew how their patient felt, Jack knew she wasn't doing it for his benefit. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure she wasn't doing it for her own benefit.
"I lost my son a few years ago," Jack murmured.
"I'm very sorry," Kayla said.
"So am I."
"What happened?"
"He shot himself," Jack said, not surprised when Kayla gasped. "With my gun. My wife blamed me. I blamed myself, and I still do. I'll never forgive myself. Just like I'll never forgive myself for.for M."
"It wasn't your fault, Colonel," Kayla reinforced. "You need to let yourself see the truth, just like I did. The truth is; I couldn't have done anything to save my parents, just like you couldn't have done anything to save Myra. You couldn't have saved her, Colonel."
Jack shook his head. He just wasn't ready to accept that, yet. Not yet. Something wouldn't let him believe that was true, yet. Kayla frowned. She could see in his eyes, that Jack didn't believe she was right, yet. She could see he was uncomfortable with accepting that he wasn't at fault. Perhaps he was used to feeling that way - feeling as though it was something he did wrong. Perhaps it was his way of coping.
After another few minutes of silence, Jack was suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that he was breathing loudly. Almost as though he was out of breath and searching for the air. Reaching out for it, but still not getting enough. Kayla saw the sudden, almost panic in his eyes as he began to gasp for air. His face changed, the colour left it. His skin was suddenly almost transparent, and his eyes were wide. Something serious was wrong, Kayla decided, without having any medical proof. She quickly went to find Janet.
"Janet," Kayla said taking her friend by the arm, "quickly."
"What's." Janet tried to speak as Kayla dragged her by the arm to the Infirmary. When she saw Colonel O'Neill's colorless face and the terror in his eyes as he gasped for breath, she understood. "What happened?" she asked immediately, rushing to the Colonel's side and taking his pulse.
"Nothing," Kayla replied, watching on worriedly as O'Neill began coughing violently. "I was talking to him and then I noticed he was breathing very heavily, and his face lost all its colour, so I came to find you."
"Nurse!" Janet shouted at the passing nurse. "He needs oxygen, get the mask." The young nurse nodded and quickly got the oxygen mask set up and handed it to Fraiser.
The doctor took it. "Colonel, once this is over your face, just slowly begin to breathe in. It will take a moment, but you'll begin to feel better," she explained as she placed the mask over Jack's face and moved his right hand to hold it in place. "Breathe in slowly, Colonel. That's right. Keep breathing."
Jack gratefully sucked in gulps of air from the oxygen mask. His lungs craved more and more air, but no matter how much he breathed, it didn't seem to be enough - they still needed more. Jack's lips trembled as he swallowed more and more air. "Slowly, Colonel," Janet repeated, noticing how desperately Jack was breathing, like the air was going to get away from him if he didn't. "No hurry, Colonel, the air isn't going anywhere as long as you leave the mask on."
But it didn't matter how hard he tried, Jack just had to keep on rushing in more air. His lungs seemed to choke on the lack of air, but he was breathing it in as fast as he could. Then, Jack began to feel chills. His skin was ice cold. Not only were his lips trembling, but now, his whole body was. This sudden coldness made him lose his fast breathing rhythm. His lungs began to choke, and he so did he. He was breathing, but the air wasn't getting past his throat, it was just dying once it entered his mouth. "Janet, he's choking!" Kayla exclaimed in shock.
"There's nothing I can do," Janet said helplessly, taking note of the heart monitor and checking Jack's pulse again. "That's what the mask is for, but it's just not helping the way it should. His lungs are shutting off, and not letting the air get to them." Before Janet had the chance to ask Jack if that was how he felt, he lost consciousness. "This isn't one of the common strains of pneumonia," Fraiser stated. "His symptoms are too acute and too soon. Normally the early symptoms of any pneumonia are fairly standard: fever, cough, sore throat, headaches, weakness. The most common kinds of pneumonia don't display serious symptoms like this at all, most of the time. The fever is common, and the cough, but not this. Chills are a sign of a more serious kind and this serious lack of air, is definitely a bad sign."
"Janet, speak English," Kayla said. "Tell me what you're talking about. What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that, to me, this looks to be one of the more serious strains of pneumonia. Not just your standard kind."
"Serious. Explain serious."
"Serious, to a doctor, means fatal."
Kayla was silent for a moment. "Do you mean fatal as in, it could kill him?"
"Yes. I'm afraid that's exactly what I mean."
***
My lungs were burning again. I couldn't remember if they'd actually stopped. The girl had been taken away. She was so young. Her face was badly bruised and covered in gashes. She didn't deserve any of it.
The guards had been beating her. They were laughing. They thought it was all so damned funny! I couldn't stand it. Then they'd started on me. I made them stop. I made them leave her alone, then they started on me again. Something snapped. I don't know what it was. I heard the crack, and I felt it. In my leg. I couldn't stand up anymore. I fell to the ground and they started laying into me. My leg was throbbing and my head was pounding. Every inch of my body ached, throbbed, stung, bled or did something painful.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth. Some blood, but no words. I tried to get up or to scramble away, but I had nowhere to go. There was nowhere I could go. I wanted to call out for help, but besides the fact that my voice wouldn't work, I had no one to call. There was no one here that could help me. If only I hadn't made Carter leave.
She managed to get away. The girl. She ran. She would pay for that, later, but she got away for now and I was grateful. I drifted away - I don't know where to - as the guards kicked me. I was somewhere cold; I didn't drift away to somewhere nice - somewhere I wanted to be. It was cold, and I could hear the guards laughter. I could hear them sneering and hissing things at me. Their voices were like echoes, going around and around in my brain as the pain slowly blurred my consciousness until I lost it all together.
***
"Janet, are you.Colonel," Sam said as she entered the Infirmary, stopping her sentence as she saw her CO's gaunt, sweaty and colourless face, half hidden by the oxygen mask.
"He's unconscious," Kayla informed the Major from her chair at Jack's bedside. "How long has he been like that?" Sam asked, more concerned by his appearance, than his unconsciousness.
"Almost an hour," Kayla replied, nodding to the empty chair beside her. "Sit down."
"What did Janet say was wrong with him?"
"I said I think he's got one of the more uncommon kinds of pneumonia," Janet said as she exited her office, a folder of papers under her arm. "His symptoms don't point to the more common strains. I thought it was Mycoplasma Pneumonia; only his symptoms are far too acute for that. His cough is dry, and inconsistent."
"Ok, Janet," Sam said, raising her hands, "let me speak English for a moment. Are you saying this is a good thing, or a bad thing?"
"No, I'm definitely not saying it's good," Fraiser clarified, getting a chair. "I'm just trying to eliminate the different possibilities, and so far, I've ruled out all the common kinds of pneumonia."
"So you think he's got a serious kind?" Sam asked just to make sure.
"It looks that way, yes," Janet said, taking out a few papers. "He has a serious lung infection. Fluid on the lungs is dangerous, and the fact that he was having such a hard time breathing before indicates just how serious this is. I'll need to check a few things first, but if we don't get this fast, it will only get worse and I won't lie; he could die."
Sam licked her lips, frowning and looked over at her CO. Come on, Colonel, she thought desperately; trying to channel her thoughts through to him somehow, don't give up now. You've made it through worse than this; you can't give up now. Please.
"I wouldn't mind if someone stayed with him all the time," Janet continued. "I think it will be better to keep him awake as long as possible. I know he needs rest, but I'll feel more secure knowing he's with us than if he drifts off to sleep or falls unconscious again. It's just a precaution."
"I'll stay," Sam said firmly, looking at Kayla.
"Ok," Kayla smiled. "Let me know when he wakes up. I'd like to keep talking to him, if possible."
Sam nodded distractedly. "If you need me, I'll be around," Janet said as she left.
Once again, Sam nodded distractedly, but hadn't really heard what either doctor had said. After a while, seeing no one else was around, Sam leaned forward and rested her hand on her CO's. "I don't know if you can hear me, Sir," she said softly, "but doctor's always say patients can hear people, even when they're unconscious, so that's good enough for me. I just want you to know, that you can't die. Even if you want to. I don't understand what you're feeling, or how it's affecting you, or why it's making you do what you're doing, but I do understand that it's not just affecting you. If you go on like this, doing this to yourself, it won't just hurt you. It'll hurt me too. I don't know if that makes any difference to how you feel, but I know that I care about you.
Colonel, you once said you cared about me a lot more than you were supposed to. The only thing I didn't say to you that day was the only thing I was thinking the whole time. I care about you a lot more than I'm supposed to, too." When Sam looked up from her hand, resting on her Colonel's, she saw his eyes open, looking at her. She was suddenly glued to her chair, and confused as to what she should do. Had he heard everything she'd said? Had she wanted him to? Was she glad he'd heard? Why was she worrying?
"Colonel," Sam almost sighed, "how do you feel?"
Jack took the oxygen mask off his face and tried to obliterate the nausea in his head. "Been better," he croaked, his throat dry and sore. "Been worse, too." Sam frowned inside. She wished he would stop doing that. Stop comparing the fact that he'd almost been tortured to death with things that happened in the present. Stop making things seem insignificant by remembering the fact that he'd been worse off, before. "I'll get Dr. Fraiser," Sam said, to stop herself saying everything she'd just thought.
"No," Jack said, trying to grab Sam's hand as it slid away from his. She felt the contact, and stopped.
"There's nothing she can do," O'Neill said weakly.
Carter sat down. "With all due respect, Sir, that's not true," she told him. "Yes it is, Carter. If I'm going to die, there's nothing anyone can do."
Sam was taken aback by this sudden statement. If he was going to die? Who said anything about him dying? Janet said if it wasn't treated early, there was that possibility, but it was still early. It certainly wasn't a near threat, or maybe that was just Sam's defence mechanism against the scary possibility. "Colonel, you're not going to die."
"How do you know?"
"Well, Sir, I don't know, but Janet's working on a few things. She'll be done soon, and then she'll have a better idea of what type of pneumonia you have, and it will be easier to treat."
"You don't know that, Carter. If I die, I die," Jack said, his voice getting weaker. "I deserve it," he added at a whisper.
Sam was suddenly aware that it sounded as though her CO wanted to die. He was sentencing himself to death without even having a full understanding of what was wrong with him, and he sounded very sure of himself. If I die, I die. I deserve it. "Colonel!" Sam said sharply. "That's not true."
"You don't understand, Carter," Jack murmured. "You can't understand. You didn't see what I saw. You didn't.you didn't hear her screaming. You didn't watch her suffer." Sam tried to stop herself frowning, but her brow creased in sympathy without her realising. How could he go on like this?
"Who?"
"She died because I didn't do anything to help her. She screamed and cried and begged for help while they tortured her and I didn't do anything."
"Who, Colonel? Who are you talking about?"
"Myra."
Sam was initially surprised. She remembered that name. That was the young girl she'd met working in the fields. She died. Sam hadn't known her well, and yet she felt great sadness knowing that poor young girl had died. But even if her CO had watched her die, and had tried to help, he couldn't have done anything to help her. No matter what he did, Sam knew nothing would have made any difference. "It wasn't your fault, Colonel," Sam said meaningfully. If this was the biggest trouble for him, he needed to know it wasn't his fault. Sam didn't know the details, but she knew just from her brief experience of that planet, that it could not have been her CO's fault Myra died.
"How can you know that, Carter? I was there! I didn't help her!" Jack exclaimed, his obvious anger toward himself evident in his colourless face.
"Colonel, I was there too. Maybe not as long as you, and I know I didn't suffer like you did, but I know how their system works. It's pretty obvious. If they wanted someone dead, nothing anyone could do would stop them. No matter what happened, Sir, it was not your fault Myra died."
"She was so young. She suffered so much for someone so young."
"I understand, Colonel. I know how you feel. I feel sad knowing she died too, but I know it wasn't your fault. No matter what you could have done, they would have killed her. It wouldn't have mattered if you'd tried to kill them all; they still would have made sure they killed her. I know, somewhere inside, that you know that too, Colonel."
Jack couldn't say anything to that. He wasn't sure if he knew or not, but the worst thing was, if he did know, he still didn't want to believe it was true. The anger he had towards himself, for so many things, wanted him to stay that way. It wanted him to stay angry at himself, and didn't want him to know the truth. Didn't want him to see that he really wasn't at fault. So many different things proved it wasn't his fault - he couldn't have done anything. This anger was bubbling inside him so dangerously, that he wouldn't allow himself to push it away, even though he knew he could.
Sam watched her CO's distant gaze, almost able to see his thoughts through his blank eyes. Why was he continuing to punish himself this way? She knew he knew it wasn't his fault. Somewhere inside his stubborn mind, he had to know that. Surely, he had to be able to see that. But then, why was he still making himself suffer? Why was he doing this to himself? Sam had to admit that she just didn't understand. She couldn't fathom how he could continue to blame himself for something that clearly wasn't, and could never be, his fault.
"Colonel, I don't know how you feel this about yourself," Sam confessed, her voice quiet and unthreatening. "I've tried and tried, but I still don't understand it. It's frustrating, because you know I always figure things out," she laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. "But I can't figure this out. No matter how hard I try. The thing is, Sir, I don't want to figure it out, really. I just want to help you."
Jack pushed his thoughts aside and took the blank look from his eyes by looking at his second in command. Something about her expression made him want to talk to her. She was so concerned, so interested in everything going on for him. She was always there, her caring face and concerned eyes. For some reason, Jack was only beginning to realise all of this, now. Suddenly he could see her for more than just her logic and science. Somehow, now, in his eyes, she was more than just the person she used to be, although she hadn't changed at all.
Jack wanted to say so many things to her then. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for sending her back. How he wished she'd been there with him, although not having to suffer the way he had. How helpless he'd felt as he watched Myra dying, day after day, in front of him. How he'd thought of her then. How he'd missed her. How pathetic he felt now and how sick. Sick in more ways than one.
But for all the things Jack wanted to say, he said nothing. None of the words made it out of his mouth. All died before getting to chance to be heard.
Sam knew he wanted to say things. She saw, deep in his eyes, that he needed to say a lot to her. Maybe he didn't even need to say things to her, but Sam knew he wanted to. She could feel it, just by being near him. So many things were in his mind in those silent moments and she knew he wanted to say a lot to her. Although neither Colonel, nor Major, managed to say anything to each other, they both knew what the other wanted. Sam knew Jack wanted to tell her things - things he'd never told anyone else before - but he couldn't. Somehow, he couldn't. But he knew Sam knew he wanted to. He saw, just by her face, that she knew. A silent agreement met, Sam smiled. How they'd always been able to communicate that way - without needing to speak - had always amazed her. She didn't understand it anymore than Jack did, but they both appreciated the mutual understanding of one another.
"I'll see you later, Colonel," Sam said softly, almost a whisper, as she brushed her hand over his and left.
Jack didn't say anything to her, but felt strangely contented after having listened to his second in command, for once. Janet peeked her head out of her office and saw his expressionless face. He didn't look sad, angry or pained anymore. Even though he didn't look overjoyed either, she could see there was a satisfaction in his eyes. There was an air about him, now, that was different from before.
Janet smiled, pleased to see him this way. "Whatever you said, Sam, it worked," she whispered to herself.
