That that Lives.
Part 4 of the Asgard Sequence
Sequel to 'Of Dreams and Nightmares'
By Gumnut
Sep 2003
It had taken two days, but he was dead.
Two long days of intermittent consciousness and pain.
And the worst of it was that he wasn't alone.
**********
Jack O'Neill sat and stared out at the Garden.
It was dark and only the reflected lights of the metropolis lit the foliage. The Asgard didn't believe in garden lighting, and, for all he knew, didn't need it.
It didn't really matter, he wasn't looking at the plants.
He had tried sleeping to no avail. Each time he closed his eyes the dream would take over his mind. The dark, Daniel, and the screams.
His terrified yells had woken the others twice tonight already, and he was sick of their worried stares. When they got home, he could see himself being chained to MacKenzie for a month if he didn't get a handle on this. And soon.
It was Daniel that hurt the most. Seeing the confused look on the younger man's face each time Jack flinched at his proximity. This time it had been Sam who had been there when he woke screaming. Daniel now knew to stay away.
He coughed into the silent room.
Get a grip, Jack, this is not the time to start cracking up.
In truth, MacKenzie was the least of his worries, because, for the moment, they weren't going home anyway.
They were under quarantine.
Fekel had died that evening. Nothing the Asgard could do had been able to save him. Thor had been inconsolable.
How do you say goodbye to a soul you have known for a thousand years?
SG-1 was now quartered back at the Centre. They had been run through every test the Asgard could think of and it seemed they were unaffected.
They were quarantined anyway.
O'Neill understood and agreed. The Asgard were not only protecting themselves, but Earth as well. The Colonel knew what could happen if a disease was brought back through the stargate. He didn't need to imagine it, he could see it.
The Asgard were dropping like flies.
Fekel had been the first, but within hours of their return to Othalla, three other Asgard had collapsed. An hour later, five more. It got steadily worse from there.
The people themselves were in a state of shock. Technology had eradicated most health problems for the Asgard. Nothing like this had happened in centuries.
But they had rallied well. If O'Neill squinted in the dark, he could see the subtle sparkle of the quarantine force field in the distance. It encapsulated a large portion of the city - nothing came in and nothing got out. Except perhaps sunlight.
They were hunting for the cause. They were hunting for the source.
O'Neill and Thor had been prime targets as a possible source, particularly due to the mysterious circumstances of several days ago. However both Thor and himself checked out clean. Neither of them were showing any symptoms. No-one knew if humans would be susceptible, but then the Asgard scientists had yet to fully identify the problem.
The victims would suddenly collapse, no earlier indications of illness, no warning. The next two days of their lives would be spent fading in and out of lucidity, in a great deal of pain as the very tissues of their body broke down.
Then they died.
O'Neill didn't know the specifics, his eyes had glazed over as Fraiser and Carter slipped into scientist-speak, but he had seen the results.
Janet had brought pictures.
He didn't want to think of those Asgard, their small bodies covered in lesions, wracked with pain. He didn't want to listen to the keening in the hallways.
He needed to do something.
He needed to help.
But there was nothing he could do.
The first hint of dawn was forming in the west, its soft glow outlining the city's skyline. The spires were still magnificent even hidden in shadow, but they were no longer of innocent beauty.
They now resembled teeth.
Of the jaws of death.
**********
Janet Fraiser could feel the hairs on her head turning gray. Lack of sleep, worry, and an epidemic could do that to you. It was probably written down in a textbook somewhere.
She stumbled out of their sleeping room, suspecting she still had bed hair, but not caring. She had hardly slept. Ropa, her Asgard assistant, had finally demanded she go to bed the previous night after he had walked into her makeshift lab and found her sleeping face down in a petri dish. He had given her a rundown on her body's requirements that rivaled her at her worst. Though perhaps not when her victim was the Colonel - he required the big guns.
Speak of the devil.
He was sitting in a high-backed chair, turned toward the window, the morning sun glinting in the silver of his hair. He looked asleep. His head bent to one shoulder as his body slouched, hands in his lap, the soft rise of his chest as he took in breath his only movement. He should have looked peaceful, but instead he looked tired and worn.
She was worried about him. The Asgard specialists felt he was not recovering as fast as he should. The healing fluid seemed to be helping, but he still had a persistent cough and tended to tire easily. And he was avoiding her again.
Colonel O'Neill diagnosis 101.
Rule number one: Never believe him when he says he is fine. He could possibly be missing a limb.
Rule number two: Approach with caution. Has been known to bite...and gnaw...on occasion.
Rule number three: Restraints may be necessary. Malpractice insurance does not cover missing patients.
She smiled. Despite being one of the most difficult patients she had ever met, he was a friend. A good friend who spent far too much time in her infirmary.
From the injuries Tanor had described, Janet knew that if it wasn't for the Asgard, they would have lost him. And now he sat there, a little too green to look healthy, but alive. The Asgard had fixed him physically, now it was up to his friends to help him through the aftermath.
If he let them.
"So, Doc, you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you going to say something?"
She jumped. He hadn't moved, hadn't opened his eyes, but he was awake.
Damn his black ops training, anyway.
"Colonel, I didn't realise you were awake. How are you feeling?"
"I'm feeling fine, Doc." He opened his eyes, their darkness staring at her. "Where are the kids?"
She felt awkward under his gaze, like a child who had been caught stealing candy. She gestured briefly. "Sam's probably in the lab. Daniel and Teal'c went to get breakfast." Damnit, Fraiser pull yourself together. "Did you want something to eat?"
He looked away, his gaze wandering out the window. "No, I'm not hungry."
She steeled herself. "Colonel, you really should eat something, you are still recovering."
"I'm fine, the Asgard fixed me." He didn't look at her.
"Colonel, despite your repeated claim to health, I know for a fact that you are not eating, not sleeping, have had at least three coughing fits in the past two days, look exhausted, and have recurring nightmares. Is that your definition of health?" She challenged him with her eyes.
This time his eyes met hers and the pain in their depths spiked her heart. "Doctor, we are currently surrounded by people who are dying. I think the question of whether I have eaten breakfast or not is the least of our worries." He paused. "There are more important things."
Rule number four: Patient will put everyone else before himself. Use sedation if necessary.
"Colonel, you are not doing them or yourself any favours by denying your condition."
He sat up straight. "Janet, I'm fine. Now go back to having your breakfast, or fiddling in your lab, or whatever it was that you were doing, and leave me alone." He stalked out of the room.
She sighed, reminded of rule number five:
Wear protective clothing. It is likely you will be needed when the shit hits the fan.
**********
Ah, god, he'd done it again. Way to go, O'Neill, chew out the Doc why don't you.
She was only worried about him. He put a hand to his head. She was right. He was feeling lousy. But who wouldn't if they had to stand by helplessly and watch these people falling like leaves in an autumn wind?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.
It had not taken long to impress on their hosts the need for privacy. The human cultural habit of knocking before entering was new to the Asgard, but after Thor managed to walk in on Carter in her underwear, Jack had pulled him aside for a little explanation.
They didn't have doorbells, so they knocked.
Jack opened the door and was surprised to find Frere standing in the corridor.
"Colonel O'Neill, we have made arrangements for you to contact your General Hammond in person. He has become very adamant that he speak with you."
O'Neill had been wondering how long it would take before the General cracked. The Asgard had been keeping Hammond informed on SG-1's activities, but since the epidemic had arisen, communications had become prioritized toward the emergency. He knew that sooner or later the General would want to speak to one of his people.
Time to interrupt breakfast.
**********
George Hammond was having one of those days. Nothing went quite right, nothing got finished, and he felt he was getting nowhere.
In the absence of his second-in-command, the paperwork was piling up. Granted, even when his second-in-command was hale, healthy, and present it still piled up, but at least it wasn't on his desk.
He had a crick in his neck, a cramp in his hand, and he had lost contact with his backside about an hour ago. Ah, the hell with it. It could all wait ten minutes while he got a coffee and walked some circulation back into his feet.
That was how he found himself in the control room speaking with Sergeant Davis when Jack came up behind him and scared what little hair he had left off his head.
"Howdy, General."
Coffee and computers don't mix. There were even a few sparks as the dialing computer's keyboard died.
"Damn it, Jack." Hammond flicked the hot coffee off his fingers, fumbling with his cup as Davis handed him a paper towel. He turned around expecting to see the holographic projection of the Colonel, but nearly spilt the coffee again when he caught sight of him.
"My god, Jack, are you okay?"
His second-in-command suddenly looked defensive. "I'm fine, sir." But then his eyes widened with realisation. "Oh, you mean the green?" He grinned. "Don't worry, General. Just the latest Asgard fashion craze. All the rage."
Hammond frowned. Jack capitulated.
"No worries, sir. The Asgard fixed me up. They just thought this green stuff would help."
"Well, I'm glad to see you again, Jack. Yet again we thought we had lost you."
"Thor and his friends saved the day again, sir." Jack swallowed, and all the joviality left his face.
"Jack, what's wrong?"
"We have a situation here." His eyes looked hollow.
"Is everyone okay?" Hammond felt like he was pulling teeth.
"Doc and SG-1 are fine, sir. It's the Asgard themselves who are in trouble. We have an epidemic on our hands." He studied his feet. "They're dying, sir."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" The words were out of his mouth without thought.
"I'm afraid not." Jack cleared his throat. "Doc's set up a makeshift lab and has scrounged what equipment she can. I think she is hoping our approach might be useful. Carter's helping her." He coughed. "We are all under quarantine, so we won't be coming home soon."
Jack was distracted by someone Hammond could not see. "I was getting to it, Daniel, keep your pants on." He turned back to face the General. "Daniel would like someone to feed his fish." O'Neill rolled his eyes.
Hammond almost smiled. "Tell him, I will, Jack." He sobered as the Colonel ran his hands through his hair and across his face. He looked tired, and it was understandable, but there seemed to be something more. "Jack, are you sure you're okay?"
O'Neill looked up at the General. "Huh?"
Now something was seriously wrong. Alarm bells started ringing.
"Jack?"
The Colonel looked at him and his eyes glazed over. "General?"
As if its strings had been cut, the hologram of Colonel Jack O'Neill collapsed to the floor and disappeared.
**********
FIN
Note on title: from the following piece of poetry.
'That that lives shall never die.
Though death is apparent, however,
They will dwell in thought and memory
In other's hearts forever.'
Gumnut Logic, 1986
**********
Part 4 of the Asgard Sequence
Sequel to 'Of Dreams and Nightmares'
By Gumnut
Sep 2003
It had taken two days, but he was dead.
Two long days of intermittent consciousness and pain.
And the worst of it was that he wasn't alone.
**********
Jack O'Neill sat and stared out at the Garden.
It was dark and only the reflected lights of the metropolis lit the foliage. The Asgard didn't believe in garden lighting, and, for all he knew, didn't need it.
It didn't really matter, he wasn't looking at the plants.
He had tried sleeping to no avail. Each time he closed his eyes the dream would take over his mind. The dark, Daniel, and the screams.
His terrified yells had woken the others twice tonight already, and he was sick of their worried stares. When they got home, he could see himself being chained to MacKenzie for a month if he didn't get a handle on this. And soon.
It was Daniel that hurt the most. Seeing the confused look on the younger man's face each time Jack flinched at his proximity. This time it had been Sam who had been there when he woke screaming. Daniel now knew to stay away.
He coughed into the silent room.
Get a grip, Jack, this is not the time to start cracking up.
In truth, MacKenzie was the least of his worries, because, for the moment, they weren't going home anyway.
They were under quarantine.
Fekel had died that evening. Nothing the Asgard could do had been able to save him. Thor had been inconsolable.
How do you say goodbye to a soul you have known for a thousand years?
SG-1 was now quartered back at the Centre. They had been run through every test the Asgard could think of and it seemed they were unaffected.
They were quarantined anyway.
O'Neill understood and agreed. The Asgard were not only protecting themselves, but Earth as well. The Colonel knew what could happen if a disease was brought back through the stargate. He didn't need to imagine it, he could see it.
The Asgard were dropping like flies.
Fekel had been the first, but within hours of their return to Othalla, three other Asgard had collapsed. An hour later, five more. It got steadily worse from there.
The people themselves were in a state of shock. Technology had eradicated most health problems for the Asgard. Nothing like this had happened in centuries.
But they had rallied well. If O'Neill squinted in the dark, he could see the subtle sparkle of the quarantine force field in the distance. It encapsulated a large portion of the city - nothing came in and nothing got out. Except perhaps sunlight.
They were hunting for the cause. They were hunting for the source.
O'Neill and Thor had been prime targets as a possible source, particularly due to the mysterious circumstances of several days ago. However both Thor and himself checked out clean. Neither of them were showing any symptoms. No-one knew if humans would be susceptible, but then the Asgard scientists had yet to fully identify the problem.
The victims would suddenly collapse, no earlier indications of illness, no warning. The next two days of their lives would be spent fading in and out of lucidity, in a great deal of pain as the very tissues of their body broke down.
Then they died.
O'Neill didn't know the specifics, his eyes had glazed over as Fraiser and Carter slipped into scientist-speak, but he had seen the results.
Janet had brought pictures.
He didn't want to think of those Asgard, their small bodies covered in lesions, wracked with pain. He didn't want to listen to the keening in the hallways.
He needed to do something.
He needed to help.
But there was nothing he could do.
The first hint of dawn was forming in the west, its soft glow outlining the city's skyline. The spires were still magnificent even hidden in shadow, but they were no longer of innocent beauty.
They now resembled teeth.
Of the jaws of death.
**********
Janet Fraiser could feel the hairs on her head turning gray. Lack of sleep, worry, and an epidemic could do that to you. It was probably written down in a textbook somewhere.
She stumbled out of their sleeping room, suspecting she still had bed hair, but not caring. She had hardly slept. Ropa, her Asgard assistant, had finally demanded she go to bed the previous night after he had walked into her makeshift lab and found her sleeping face down in a petri dish. He had given her a rundown on her body's requirements that rivaled her at her worst. Though perhaps not when her victim was the Colonel - he required the big guns.
Speak of the devil.
He was sitting in a high-backed chair, turned toward the window, the morning sun glinting in the silver of his hair. He looked asleep. His head bent to one shoulder as his body slouched, hands in his lap, the soft rise of his chest as he took in breath his only movement. He should have looked peaceful, but instead he looked tired and worn.
She was worried about him. The Asgard specialists felt he was not recovering as fast as he should. The healing fluid seemed to be helping, but he still had a persistent cough and tended to tire easily. And he was avoiding her again.
Colonel O'Neill diagnosis 101.
Rule number one: Never believe him when he says he is fine. He could possibly be missing a limb.
Rule number two: Approach with caution. Has been known to bite...and gnaw...on occasion.
Rule number three: Restraints may be necessary. Malpractice insurance does not cover missing patients.
She smiled. Despite being one of the most difficult patients she had ever met, he was a friend. A good friend who spent far too much time in her infirmary.
From the injuries Tanor had described, Janet knew that if it wasn't for the Asgard, they would have lost him. And now he sat there, a little too green to look healthy, but alive. The Asgard had fixed him physically, now it was up to his friends to help him through the aftermath.
If he let them.
"So, Doc, you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you going to say something?"
She jumped. He hadn't moved, hadn't opened his eyes, but he was awake.
Damn his black ops training, anyway.
"Colonel, I didn't realise you were awake. How are you feeling?"
"I'm feeling fine, Doc." He opened his eyes, their darkness staring at her. "Where are the kids?"
She felt awkward under his gaze, like a child who had been caught stealing candy. She gestured briefly. "Sam's probably in the lab. Daniel and Teal'c went to get breakfast." Damnit, Fraiser pull yourself together. "Did you want something to eat?"
He looked away, his gaze wandering out the window. "No, I'm not hungry."
She steeled herself. "Colonel, you really should eat something, you are still recovering."
"I'm fine, the Asgard fixed me." He didn't look at her.
"Colonel, despite your repeated claim to health, I know for a fact that you are not eating, not sleeping, have had at least three coughing fits in the past two days, look exhausted, and have recurring nightmares. Is that your definition of health?" She challenged him with her eyes.
This time his eyes met hers and the pain in their depths spiked her heart. "Doctor, we are currently surrounded by people who are dying. I think the question of whether I have eaten breakfast or not is the least of our worries." He paused. "There are more important things."
Rule number four: Patient will put everyone else before himself. Use sedation if necessary.
"Colonel, you are not doing them or yourself any favours by denying your condition."
He sat up straight. "Janet, I'm fine. Now go back to having your breakfast, or fiddling in your lab, or whatever it was that you were doing, and leave me alone." He stalked out of the room.
She sighed, reminded of rule number five:
Wear protective clothing. It is likely you will be needed when the shit hits the fan.
**********
Ah, god, he'd done it again. Way to go, O'Neill, chew out the Doc why don't you.
She was only worried about him. He put a hand to his head. She was right. He was feeling lousy. But who wouldn't if they had to stand by helplessly and watch these people falling like leaves in an autumn wind?
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.
It had not taken long to impress on their hosts the need for privacy. The human cultural habit of knocking before entering was new to the Asgard, but after Thor managed to walk in on Carter in her underwear, Jack had pulled him aside for a little explanation.
They didn't have doorbells, so they knocked.
Jack opened the door and was surprised to find Frere standing in the corridor.
"Colonel O'Neill, we have made arrangements for you to contact your General Hammond in person. He has become very adamant that he speak with you."
O'Neill had been wondering how long it would take before the General cracked. The Asgard had been keeping Hammond informed on SG-1's activities, but since the epidemic had arisen, communications had become prioritized toward the emergency. He knew that sooner or later the General would want to speak to one of his people.
Time to interrupt breakfast.
**********
George Hammond was having one of those days. Nothing went quite right, nothing got finished, and he felt he was getting nowhere.
In the absence of his second-in-command, the paperwork was piling up. Granted, even when his second-in-command was hale, healthy, and present it still piled up, but at least it wasn't on his desk.
He had a crick in his neck, a cramp in his hand, and he had lost contact with his backside about an hour ago. Ah, the hell with it. It could all wait ten minutes while he got a coffee and walked some circulation back into his feet.
That was how he found himself in the control room speaking with Sergeant Davis when Jack came up behind him and scared what little hair he had left off his head.
"Howdy, General."
Coffee and computers don't mix. There were even a few sparks as the dialing computer's keyboard died.
"Damn it, Jack." Hammond flicked the hot coffee off his fingers, fumbling with his cup as Davis handed him a paper towel. He turned around expecting to see the holographic projection of the Colonel, but nearly spilt the coffee again when he caught sight of him.
"My god, Jack, are you okay?"
His second-in-command suddenly looked defensive. "I'm fine, sir." But then his eyes widened with realisation. "Oh, you mean the green?" He grinned. "Don't worry, General. Just the latest Asgard fashion craze. All the rage."
Hammond frowned. Jack capitulated.
"No worries, sir. The Asgard fixed me up. They just thought this green stuff would help."
"Well, I'm glad to see you again, Jack. Yet again we thought we had lost you."
"Thor and his friends saved the day again, sir." Jack swallowed, and all the joviality left his face.
"Jack, what's wrong?"
"We have a situation here." His eyes looked hollow.
"Is everyone okay?" Hammond felt like he was pulling teeth.
"Doc and SG-1 are fine, sir. It's the Asgard themselves who are in trouble. We have an epidemic on our hands." He studied his feet. "They're dying, sir."
"Is there anything we can do to help?" The words were out of his mouth without thought.
"I'm afraid not." Jack cleared his throat. "Doc's set up a makeshift lab and has scrounged what equipment she can. I think she is hoping our approach might be useful. Carter's helping her." He coughed. "We are all under quarantine, so we won't be coming home soon."
Jack was distracted by someone Hammond could not see. "I was getting to it, Daniel, keep your pants on." He turned back to face the General. "Daniel would like someone to feed his fish." O'Neill rolled his eyes.
Hammond almost smiled. "Tell him, I will, Jack." He sobered as the Colonel ran his hands through his hair and across his face. He looked tired, and it was understandable, but there seemed to be something more. "Jack, are you sure you're okay?"
O'Neill looked up at the General. "Huh?"
Now something was seriously wrong. Alarm bells started ringing.
"Jack?"
The Colonel looked at him and his eyes glazed over. "General?"
As if its strings had been cut, the hologram of Colonel Jack O'Neill collapsed to the floor and disappeared.
**********
FIN
Note on title: from the following piece of poetry.
'That that lives shall never die.
Though death is apparent, however,
They will dwell in thought and memory
In other's hearts forever.'
Gumnut Logic, 1986
**********