What Fools These Mortals Be Chapter 3: What Fools These Mortals Be Part 3: Oberon, a stargate: sg-1 fanfic

Title: What Fools These Mortals Be Part 3: Oberon

Author: Su Freund

Email: sufreund (delete spaces)

Website: www ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Status: Complete

Category: Angst, Drama (and Jack whumping)

Pairings: None

Spoilers: Minor for Cold Lazarus, The Light

Season: First half of 7

Sequel/Series Info: None

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Contains scenes that might be disturbing to some readers. Allusions to torture and what might be interpreted as activity of a sexual nature. Minor use of bad language.

Summary: With SG-1 unable to rescue him, the only way to escape his captors is for Jack to resist the forces that control his body, mind - and fate!

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

File Size: 56 KB

Archive: My site, Jackfic yes, SJD yes, Gateworld, FanFiction Net

Author's Note:

1. Thanks to William Shakespeare for the title, and the use of some of his words throughout. This is not a sequel to 'Hell is Murky' but could be considered as the 2nd of a 'Shakespeare Series' of stand alone fics.

2. Thanks to Thalassa for agreeing that I could use her beautifully enhanced cap of Jack to illustrate this fic, and to Fulinn28 for making a great book cover from it. You can drool at Jack on my website.

3. And, once again, many thanks to Bonnie for her beta of this fic. Her comments on my original draft version led to many radical changes which improved it for the better.

What Fools These Mortals Be Part 3: Oberon

Teal'c was relieved when they stepped onto the ramp at the SGC still in one piece. He believed the rumbling of thunder heard in the skies as they walked was the impatient murmur of the beings who had spoken to him. Go, they were saying, or we will visit terrible things upon you.

General Hammond was also relieved to see the two teams back, all seven of his people returned to him safely. The debrief was interesting, if confusing.

"Furlings." He stated.

"Yes," Daniel said, letting his enthusiasm get the better if him, a broad smile on his face.

"Daniel, can we try to remember that the Colonel is still missing and we have no better idea how to bring him home now than when we started." Carter admonished and Daniel felt suitably chastised.

"Sorry."

"And you say they spoke with you Teal'c." Hammond stated again.

"Indeed GeneralHammond. I remain fearful for his welfare, despite their reassurances that he would return to us. They did not specify in what condition he would be returned. In fact, they appeared not to know the answer."

"So it depends on whether he passes the test?" Teal'c nodded his agreement with the General's succinct assessment of the situation.

"Are you suggesting that we just wait?" Hammond asked the Jaffa.

"I am suggesting that we have little option GeneralHammond, but this conclusion brings me no joy."

Looking at the faces around him he detected a lack of joy from all of them. Carter looked pissed, and determined to act while Daniel looked sad and perplexed. He had to find them a task otherwise what remained of his premier team would go nuts.

"Doctor Jackson, while we all consider this further why don't you make a start on translating the writings you found? Major Carter and Teal'c can assist in whatever way they can."

Carter looked even more pissed, and he knew she would have been happier if they'd found an alien device she could be working on. However, they hadn't so they were out of other options.

"Dismissed, and keep me apprised."

When they left he returned to his office, unable to concentrate on his work, worried about O'Neill's fate.

He had been thrown into this arid and desolate place without any way to prepare for it. You could survive almost anything if you were prepared; had the right equipment and clothing. What did he need? Water and shelter were probably the priority. What did he have? Nothing but a knife and a few matches. He'd have to improvise if he wanted to stay alive.

There would be water somewhere; it was knowing where and how to look. He could see nothing in the immediate vicinity that provided any clues. Until he found water, the only thing he could do was to conserve what moisture he had. That meant minimal sweating, which wasn't necessarily easy in extreme heat. He needed to keep sheltered during the hottest part of the day, moving only in the morning and evening, before the sun got too high in the sky, and after it's heat had peaked. This realisation caused him to stop moving and sit behind the temporary and almost non existent shelter of a dune.

Shelter was definitely a problem for there was nowhere and nothing, so he did his best with what he had, using his jacket to cover his head and shade his face. Now was not a good time to be moving around and he decided to wait.

As the sun moved lower in the sky he started off, hot and thirsty. Ironic if he should die now that he had freed himself from Titania's embrace. The thought made him laugh hysterically. He would not, could not let it defeat him and he moved onwards stubbornly. His stomach grumbled because it lacked sustenance, but food was the least of his problems.

When it got dark, and it did get extremely dark, he hunkered down to rest, and sleep if possible. It got mighty cold in the desert at night and he slept poorly with nothing to do but shiver, think about his plight and try to remember... anything.

At first light he set off again. It was hopeless; he didn't know if he was going in the right direction, or even where he was headed. Over the last few days he'd eaten little and probably hadn't drunk enough water either, now he thought about it. He was weakened because of that, and by the onslaughts from the mists, both the horrific and the glorious.

He figured the odds were against him and hoped to find a way to turn that around. His tongue was starting to swell up with thirst and he was worried about getting heat cramps, which could really 'cramp' his style. He laughed to himself at his little joke. But heat cramps would be no joke; they'd be painful and debilitating causing severe pain in his stomach and legs, possibly his arms too.

Even worse than cramps would be the heat exhaustion, a consequence of excessive heat and dehydration. It didn't take long to get heat related illnesses in these conditions. If he got something as serious as heat stroke he was probably as good as dead; delirium or seizures could kill him because they would make him helpless, and if he lost consciousness, game over. This was not his first time in a desert, he knew that, as well as all the consequences of his situation, and wished he could remember more.

When the human body loses too much liquid and is over heated, these symptoms become inevitable. This is why water is priceless; way beyond any treasure one can covet or imagine. Despite his precautions, he was losing too much liquid and was woefully ill equipped for this environment.

The sun was getting too high in the sky by now, the heat vigorous in it's attack. He tried to hide from it's glare, but his protection was inadequate.

The mists hadn't come back and he had never felt more alone. For a brief moment he thought that even their company was better than nothing; he could so easily give in to them. He didn't want to die alone. Then he figured that ultimately all men die alone and wondered where he had heard that before. Despite his solitude, begging the wisps to return was not a real option, however tempting. That way lay the loss of himself and, although he only held on to a fragment of who he was, that was more important than anything else, and he would give his life for it.

He didn't know it but these thoughts were his salvation. The will to resist, and to be Colonel Jack O'Neill, a free man, despite that he wasn't entirely sure who Jack O'Neill was, saved him.

The sun was starting to get scorching, his lips were dry and cracking and the sand was hot enough to burn. He stayed as still as he could, conserving every drop of moisture, and ounce of energy and resolve. He needed water fast or he would surely perish and his bones become bleached relics buried in the sand. He could feel the onset of cramps in his stomach already, and bent double with pain; the rest would inexorably follow unless he could cool down. His physical strength was beginning to fail him.

'Worthy! Worthy!'

The voices whirled in his head, soothingly. Did this mean he had competed his task and his ordeal was over? Unexpectedly, a child stood at the top a dune, beckoning him. Was this a mirage? Despite his doubts, he managed to scramble onto his feet to meet with the child.

"Don't you know me dad?" The young boy asked as he approached.

"Charlie?"

With sudden clarity he remembered his son, and the fate that had been his; death by Jack's own gun. That nearly felled Jack but Charlie reached and touched his face suffusing him with comfort.

"It's alright dad, you'll be alright."

"Charlie? What you doing here son?"

He took the vision in his arms and clung to him. This had to be another trick, another distraction. This boy who looked like Charlie could not be real. Charlie was long dead.

"I've come to take you home dad."

Jack drew back from his embrace to search his son's eyes and was met by a handsome smile. You must look like your mother, he thought, imagining the blonde woman who he'd seen himself copulating with at some point in this existence.

"Home?"

Charlie took his hand and led him over the dunes. His thirst and the heat meant nothing to him, just the feel of his son's small hand holding his own larger one.

As they topped the next dune he saw what he had been seeking; a gigantic circle with symbols around its circumference. The Stargate. He knew what it was now and had a better idea about his place in the universe. He was Colonel Jack O'Neill of the United States Airforce and he would prevail.

Sheer force of will, and his son's guiding hand, allowed him to stagger the last few yards to the DHD. He smiled down at Charlie. His son had saved him; it was more than he deserved.

Dialling Earth's co-ordinates, he was pleased to see the chevrons light obediently. He smiled; he was going home. The kawoosh of the wormhole startled him. He had forgotten that part, the shimmering pool of water and its magic, but his memory was fast returning.

'Worthy! Worthy!'

The voices in his head said.

"Are you coming Charlie?" He asked, crouching down to his son.

"Only you can go dad." He reached his hand to stroke his father's face and grinned encouragingly. "You must go now dad."

"I don't want to leave you Charlie."

"You must. You will die if you stay here."

"But what about you?"

"I am already dead, remember?" he looked almost cheerful about it.

"I..." O'Neill started. How could he forget? He would never forget. "Come here son. One last hug for your old man?"

They hugged for a while until Charlie urged him on again.

"You must forgive yourself dad."

His son's stare bored into him. Jack knew he alluded to his own death.

"I'll never forgive myself Charlie. Never."

"But you must. You must live again."

"I live well enough Charlie. I do okay."

"But you are unhappy."

"Not all the time. A lot of the time I'm... well, I'm... fine." He smiled briefly at the vision of his son and stood again.

"I'm glad dad. But you could be happier."

"So could most folks Charlie. That's part of being human."

His son nodded understanding and Jack grasped his shoulder.

"Goodbye Charlie. Maybe I'll see you again some day."

"Goodbye dad. Be careful."

"Always am."

Jack turned from his son reluctantly, although he knew he wasn't real. He hated leaving him but had to go home now. It was time. As he stepped through the puddle he thought, "Iris code!" and expected to meet oblivion at the other end. Instead he found himself walking out into a gigantic room. At the other end of it sat a man and woman. He couldn't be sure from this distance but it looked like they were sitting on thrones with crowns perched on their heads. Forsooth, he thought, the King and Queen. This was too weird.

'Worthy! Worthy!'

He had passed the test, he'd figured that much out for himself. The million dollar question was, what was being tested? Just as puzzling, why him?

'Approach! Approach!'

He walked towards them cautiously, realising that he was no longer thirsty, or over heated. He felt fine.

'Worthy! Worthy!'

He remembered everything now. He and the team had been on a routine mission. He was walking along minding his own business, checking out Carter's butt if truth be told, and had awoken paralysed, surrounded by the mist, with no memory of anything. These two creeps were responsible; they were so gonna get theirs.

As he drew closer he thought, this is her and gasped at her beauty, a lump in his throat. He yearned for her so badly, the mist in the wind, but was at pains not to show any of that.

I know! Her voice in his head. He nearly buckled. She smiled and his heart raced. Oh God!

'Kneel, kneel.'

He tried to stand resolute, refusing to bow before them. A searing pain forced him to his knees. Kneel, okay, I get it. Defiantly, he looked them in the eye.

"Hey, if it isn't Oberon and Titania." He quipped sarcastically.

'Impertinence, impertinence.'

Oberon's voice would whisper it first, then Titania would echo him. But neither opened their mouths. They were merely wisps, figments. These were not real people who sat before him.

"So, what now? You wanna see my performance of Pyramus and Thisbee?" He said cheekily, referring to the play within the play called A Midsummer Night's Dream. Which role was it that Bottom had played? Pyramus, the secret lover. How strangely apt that seemed.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!" Said Oberon to Titania, aloud. That was definitely weird. It was from Midsummer Night's Dream; Puck deriding the foolishness of lovers. Jack knew his Shakespeare well.

"You may call me Oberon if you wish."

'And me Titania, my love.' She said in his mind.

Damn! He guessed that must mean they could read at least some of his thoughts. How much did they know?

'Everything! Everything!

Jack groaned at the notion.

"We know you are worthy." Oberon said aloud again.

"Worthy." She echoed. "It is all that matters my darling."

"Worthy of what?"

'Life, life.' They whispered inside his head. Life? That was a good thing then.

"Why me?" He asked.

'Why not? Why not?'

"Because you were there. And you were the leader. And you are special" The King vocalised.

"Special?"

'Both average and above average, my darling. You represent your race well.' She replied in his head.

"And did I win a prize?" Jack quipped, bitterly.

'Life, life.'

"Your species may continue."

"You mean the test was for my whole race?" Jack enquired, stunned.

'Yes, yes.'

Who were these people that they thought themselves gods? More false gods, just not Goa'uld ones. He gulped, pleased he hadn't know that from the outset. No pressure. Hah! He wondered how he had passed.

'Resisted, resisted.'

'Survived, survived.'

"My deadly embrace."

This time it was Titania who spoke aloud and she rose and walked towards him. Maybe, glided was a better word to describe her movements. When she reached him she stroked his cheek and he sighed. Her touch was electrifying, sending shivers through him.

"Please, don't." He begged.

"But you have already passed the test. Now we can do as we wish, my love."

Jack looked towards Oberon, who seemed indifferent to his partner's whim. Titania lifted her face to his, touching her lips to his. Oh sweet kiss! It thrilled him and he embraced it, taking her head in his hand and pulling her closer, running his hands through her hair. She was not ethereal now; this was no wisp. He desperately needed her intoxication and could feel the pleasure raging through him once more.

"No!" He pushed her away abruptly. He couldn't let this happen, no matter how much his body craved it. He had likened it to a drug and, once they had parted, felt an acute withdrawal from her and nearly moved to take her in his arms again. He was wracked with pain, bent double with the cramps in his stomach.

'Impossible, impossible.'

"One without the other." Oberon explained, meaning that he could not have the pleasure without the pain. Ying and Yang. Equal and opposite.

Jack was on the floor writhing now and she whispered that she could stop this agony with her ecstasy, but he refused. Goddammit I will defeat this! He was determined and obstinate, as ever. That is what had saved him, saved his planet if what they said was true.

He wanted to ask them more about that, who they were, and what the hell they thought they were doing, but wasn't in a position to open his mouth beyond a cry of dismay. Then it stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he lay on his back, hands covering his face, slowly recovering from his attack. When he sat up to face them once more, Titania had returned to her King's side.

"Are you going to tell me more about your race? And the test?" He asked, not hopeful that they would be forthcoming. He was right.

"It matters not." Replied Oberon.

"It matters to me!" But Oberon merely shrugged, obviously not interested in Jack's opinion.

"Do I get to go home?"

'Yes, yes.'

"You will not remember, my love." Titania said sadly.

More words from that play came to his head at that. Puck, at the end of the final Act, if he recalled correctly.

'If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended. That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear, and this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream.'

'One more kiss before we part my sweet?' She offered in his head, once more approaching him and standing so close that she was invading his personal space. Oh God, he would love that, wanted it more than almost anything. The very idea inspired a physical craving the like of which he had never known. Resist Jack, he told himself, you must go home.

"No, please, no." He begged, thinking of all the years he had avoided non prescription drugs. If he gave way, would he be trapped here with her forever? That held some appeal. No more responsibility. No more loneliness. No more fighting the demons of his reality, and his nightmares; only her.

"Will I...?" He started to ask, but got no chance to finish his question.

Oberon and Titania faded into mist, swirling and echoing around him once again.

'Goodbye, goodbye.'

She touched him briefly, once more filling him with desire. He gasped, then abruptly she stopped and he reached out to her but there was nothing there. He was on the planet where all this had started, standing before an open wormhole. All his gear was in place as it had been on the mission. He was overwhelmed with regret and sorrow at what he had sacrificed. Sweet Titania! Then almost without cognisance, he walked through the wormhole and home.

"It's the SG-1 iris code sir." Simmons informed Hammond.

"Open the iris." Could this be O'Neill, returned to them by some miracle?

The SFs were already in the gate room, pointing their weapons warily towards the incoming wormhole, ready to defend their base, country and planet if necessary. Hammond alerted the rest of SG-1 who came running to the gate room pronto, while he made his way quickly down the stairs to meet whatever came through; friend or foe.

O'Neill appeared dazed and confused at the head of the ramp and the wormhole closed behind him. Physically, he looked fine but his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed at the foot of the ramp onto the floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

With his arrival, all memory of the conversation with those ethereal beings who might be Furlings was erased from Teal'c's memory, and any conversations alluding to it from the minds of his team mates and General Hammond. They were not aware of it so knew nothing of what they missed.

Hammond called for the medical team just as the rest of SG-1 appeared. Confusion reigned as O'Neill was taken off to the infirmary and Janet tried to find a physical reason for his collapse.

"He appears to be fine physically sir. I can't find anything wrong with him." She reported to Hammond later.

The General and SG-1 watched O'Neill as she spoke. He was fitful, as if tossing and turning in a restless night's sleep, his dreams invading his body.

"Will he be alright, Doctor?" He asked but she merely shrugged, not knowing the answer to that question.

They were all relieved to see him back, all worried about what might have happened in the time he had been missing. They had never found any trace of him that could lead them to his whereabouts and had believed they might have lost him forever; despite Teal'c conversation with his captors. All of their hearts had been heavy with the loss and had lightened at his return, only to have their hopes dashed with this turn of events.

Janet noted the expressions on their faces; concern, dread, devotion. She knew that his team were so fundamentally loyal to their leader that they would take any set-back badly. Over the last few days their hearts had been broken at his loss, and their apparent powerlessness to do anything to rectify it, find him and bring him home. Now this added to their burden. She had no easy answers. In her heart she felt he would recover from whatever malaise now affected him. However, she did not want to be the purveyor of false hope as she had no evidence to back up this theory

"I wish I had an answer sir." She replied.

"Keep me informed Doctor." Hammond said, turning on his heel to go back and work. He couldn't let O'Neill distract him from his higher purpose. He had a Stargate programme to run and many staff under his command. That O'Neill was special to him should not be made obvious to the rest of his command. However, they all knew that. O'Neill was special to many of them.

"Janet?" Carter looked her friend in the eyes. "Can we stay?"

They were used to spending hours at his side in this place, when Janet and their duties permitted. They would sometimes take turns to watch their leader when they could, trying not to leave his bedside vacant until they knew he would be alright. Sometimes nothing short of a direct order from Hammond, or Doctor's orders, could prise them away.

When Jack suddenly awoke, a day later, Teal'c was at his side and called for the doctor immediately.

"Teal'c old buddy." Jack smiled at his friend. "What am I doing here?" He asked, looking around at the infirmary surroundings. Before Teal'c had any opportunity to respond Janet entered.

"Colonel. it's good to have you back with us."

"I went away?" He asked, dreamily. She smiled and put on her best bedside manner.

"I need to examine you sir." O'Neill nodded his response, knowing that all would become clear in time. He had no memory of an injury that would have brought him to this place.

"I will inform MajorCarter and DanielJackson that O'Neill is conscious, DoctorFrasier." Teal'c bowed, discretely leaving her to perform whatever tests she felt necessary and tell his friends of O'Neill's present condition.

The first thing Janet noticed was O'Neill's dilated pupils and she wondered why. He looked like he had taken some form of drug but she had needed to give him nothing while he was here. His eyes were watery and his nose runny, as if he had a cold. Suddenly he started to shake violently and a look of total panic came to those rheumy eyes.

"W... what's happening Doc?" He stammered. She wished she knew. When she had entered the room he had seemed alright and no symptoms had haunted him while he had been unconscious.

"God, I feel sick!" he exclaimed loudly and vomited violently all over the bed clothes and clothing he wore. "I need the toilet."

"Bedpan, quickly!" She ordered one of the nurses who had come to her cries for help. They caught his bout of diarrhoea just in time. "Lets get him moved to another bed and cleaned up so I can examine him. Not to worry Colonel, we'll soon get this sorted out."

The tremors subsided, conveniently allowing the nurses to undertake their tasks while Janet considered the symptoms. Almost as soon as he was clean and moved, he bent double with cramps.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed. "Doc?" His watery eyes pleaded for a cure. It was unlike O'Neill, who was generally either stoical or just a pain in the ass when he was confined to the infirmary.

His skin was covered with goose bumps and he was trembling again, hands shaking. Covered in sweat, he was clammy and cold to the touch.

"Be ready for more vomiting or diarrhoea." She warned the nursing staff, "and I don't want him left alone."

The rest of SG-1 had arrived earlier and she kept them waiting outside while O'Neill was wracked with pain, sweats and more vomiting. This time they managed to save both him and the bedding from getting covered once more. The look of panic in O'Neill's eyes was more worrying to Frasier than anything. The Colonel was not the panicky type. The symptoms reminded her of something, but it was not possible.

"If I didn't know better I would say he was suffering from narcotic withdrawal. I found no sign of any drug in his system that might cause these symptoms." She explained later to the General and the rest of O'Neill's team.

"Maybe an unidentified drug, Doctor?" Hammond posited.

"No sign of any foreign substances in his system Sir."

Hammond sighed loudly. O'Neill spent more time in the infirmary than any of his other officers. The place was like a second home.

"So, what now?" Carter asked.

"To be honest, I don't know. If it was withdrawal from a drug at least I might be able to get a handle on it. But this...?" She shrugged, trying not to look too worried, "all I can do is treat any symptoms and hope he gets over it on his own. If only he could remember what had happened while he was missing it might help. He was pretty stunned to discover he had been MiA for two weeks. He remembers nothing; walking along with you on the mission, then nada until waking up here."

"We'd really like to see him Janet." Daniel said. They had not been allowed into the infirmary since all this had started.

"He doesn't want you there." Seeing the look in their eyes she expanded. "Look, he is vulnerable, hurting and miserable, not to mention cranky and subject to sudden panic attacks. He won't eat properly, claims he has no appetite, and if I force him he just throws it all up again. You must understand why someone like him does not want his team to see him in that state."

"But we're his friends Janet. He needs us." Carter intervened.

"I'll try telling him that, Sam, but you know how obstinate he can be."

Carter growled in frustration, reflecting the whole team's feelings about the stubborn nature of their leader.

"Well, he can't refuse to see me Doctor." The General said, assuredly. Seeing the look on Frasier's face he added, "I insist. I can be stubborn too, and I have the stars on my uniform to prove it."

As he was pulling rank Janet had no option, despite O'Neill's insistence that she allow no visitors. The General and Frasier entered the infirmary, leaving O'Neill's friends to fret.

"Janet!" Jack exclaimed grumpily when he saw she had come with a visitor.

"I pulled rank, Jack, so don't take it out on her. How are you feeling?"

"Peachy." Jack mumbled sarcastically.

"Doctor Frasier tells me that you have no memory of what happened to you while you were missing."

"I didn't even know I was missing until she told me sir." Jack resigned himself to the fact that he could not avoid Hammond.

He had been grasping at... something since his return, but could not get a grip in it. It was nebulous, like waking from a dream and only being able to remember snatches that flickered in the waking light. They were too vague for him to build any picture in his mind.

One thing he knew with certainty was that he yearned for something. There was a hole in his life but he didn't know what it was or how he could fill it. The thing he missed was what made him suffer now. It was like a physical longing; if he could only get a dose of the right medicine he would feel himself again. He had such a sense of loss and emptiness that it could almost overpower him. Sometimes it did, and this is when he was at his worst; the trembling and shaking, sweating and cold chills, vomiting and diarrhoea, and cramps in his muscles and stomach.

He knew without Janet's confirmation what these symptoms portended. He was addicted to something and only exposure to that thing would help him. That or he just had to get over it. Beat it. Beating it was always the best option for Jack, so he fought hard. Nevertheless, he knew in his heart that he very badly wanted the thing that had caused this. It irritated him that he couldn't remember what it was. The dream snatches told him something of pleasure and pain and he longed for both.

Janet had theorised that what he had was not life threatening; unlike that time they had all been exposed to the weird light on P4X-347, the Goa'uld pleasure palace. Then they had needed to stay on the planet to get over their withdrawal gradually; immediate withdrawal would have killed them just as it had too many others. He wished he had the option of gradual withdrawal; cold turkey was no fun whatever.

Hammond asked him a few more questions which he answered irritably but without shedding any light on his current predicament. Before he left, Hammond admonished him.

"You shouldn't turn your back on your team Jack. They are worried about you and want to see you and how you are for themselves."

"I can't let them see me like this, General." He said as a violent shaking overcame him for a while. Hammond waited until it subsided.

"I think they've seen worse son." Worse? Jack couldn't recall feeling worse, although Hammond was probably right. "They aren't just your team, Jack, you know that. These people consider themselves your friends. They want to help you." Jack sighed and considered this.

"Do you think they feel rejected sir?" He asked.

"Well, they are... aren't they?" Was Hammond's riposte, and he left Jack to think about it, trying to reassure SG-1 about Jack's condition on his way out.

'It seems your embrace might be as poison to these humans, my love.' Oberon commented to Titania as they watched over O'Neill and the SGC.

'He will recover, my darling.' She replied. 'But I will always be with him, curled up in his soul, quiet but undefeated.'

'You are certain of his recovery. We intended no long term harm.'

'This is an unfortunate consequence, I confess. But I am certain he will prevail. He is strong. Not many humans could have withstood my power in that way.'

'No my sweet, he is indeed formidable. A worthy champion for the human race. We chose well.'

'He will never know the truth of it. None of them will.'

'You are confident he will remember nothing?' He asked, obviously perturbed by the notion that he might have a sudden recollection of events.

'Not entirely. We must check from time to time I think.'

'It is important that they never learn of it.'

'I will make sure of that my love. What of the recording they made of the writings.'

'I think you will find that their record has been erased, along with their memory of it.'

'How clever of you my pet.' She smiled at him, if an ethereal being can be said to smile. Nevertheless he sensed the smile and returned it. "You carried out your mission well, little one." She said as another being entered their domain.

'I miss him, and my mom.' Charlie replied. 'I'm glad I could help him. I wish I could have told him more.'

'He would not remember it.' replied Oberon.

'If he knew I had to die for a reason...'

'He would be happier? Without your death he would be a very different man. Without it he would not be where he is now. It is your death that made him special, Charlie, and it enables him to play his important role in the universe. And so does him blaming himself for that death. His lack of self forgiveness is a powerful weapon against your world's enemies.'

'I know. It's just sad, that's all.'

'Are you happy here, Charlie?' Asked Titania.

'Of course, but I still miss them.'

'You humans are strange creatures. Now run along and play with the others Charlie. We wish to be alone.'

He left them alone and the mists which had been separated came together and twirled majestically, spiralling around each other in playful lovemaking. They both felt exhilaration and ecstasy combined, just as Jack had at Titania's sweet touch.

With the two of them it was so much more than the combustible mixture of Titania and O'Neill. Titania and Oberon were meant for each other, had been together for hundreds of years and would remain together for hundreds more, perfectly matched. When they reached their crescendo they could have moved mountains. Nevertheless, Titania missed her other love O'Neill. One did not merely enter that transcendent relationship with another being and expect to exit unscathed, or forget. O'Neill might be the lucky one as they had forced him to forget, but she would be with him forever now, and he with her.

Between spasms of pain and waves of nausea Jack thought about what Hammond had said. Was he alienating his team by pushing them away? Possibly. Hammond was right, they were his friends. He didn't have too many of those and should keep the ones he had close, rather than at arms length. The problem for him was that he could be an arms length kind of guy. He hated that they would see him weak and vulnerable and he was loathed to ask for help.

Could they help fill that hole; complete his missing part? He pondered that.

Maybe some company would help. He did feel alone and friendless and knew he didn't need to be. His team would be there for him through thick and thin, as both friends and team members In his heart he knew that; it would take a lot to deter them from their loyalty to him. If he didn't know that after all these years, what did he know? Loyalty, friendship, mutual respect. These feelings were the most important things in his life. What else was there?

By rejecting them he might be testing them to their limits or beyond. He could not risk that; could not chance that he might overturn their steadfastness by his actions. So in the end, he agreed to let them in, much to the relief of his team.

The three friends stood around his bed looking slightly awkward. O'Neill was pale and it appeared he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a while. He was losing weight. They tried not to show their concern in their faces. When he had first returned from the planet he had looked perfectly fit and healthy, despite his immediate collapse. This was just too weird and obviously something alien. But Janet had still found nothing to explain the symptoms and she had run every test in the book, more than once. They all smiled at him, even Teal'c.

"Hey kids!" He said, trying to sound cheery.

"O'Neill."

"Jack."

"Good to see you sir."

They each said. Carter squeezed his hand, which was swiftly followed by Daniel grasping his arm. Teal'c merely bowed his head in his usual manner and Jack nodded back his acknowledgement.

"It's good to see you too Carter, all of you." He replied to their greetings.

"And that is why you have failed to allow us entrance to the infirmary O'Neill?" Asked Teal'c with an arched eyebrow. Trust Teal'c to come right out with it!

"I'm sorry." O'Neill looked suitably ashamed. "I'm glad you're here now." And to his surprise, he genuinely was.

This was how it came to be that one of his team was with him always, asleep or awake. They took turns and Hammond and Doctor Frasier indulged them.

They saw him at his worst. When he was sick, his eyes watering, his nose running. While he threw up the contents of his stomach, or lack of them, violently retching nothing. When he shook all over, clammy and sweating. When he was in paroxysms of agony, curled into himself on the bed to defeat the violent cramps that made his stomach feel turned inside out. When he was irritable and rude, or depressed and dismally glum. One of them would squeeze his hand or arm, smile at him reassuringly and stay unwavering by his side, despite those awful moments.

They saw him at his best. When he would crack a joke that had the nurses in hysterics. When he would smile happily and light up the whole room. When he would beat them at chess or cards and cheer loudly enough to wake the base. When he would finally sleep and his face was at rest and peaceful. When he would play with his yo-yo or be similarly child-like, fiddling with anything and everything within reach of his restless hands. When he would meet their eyes and tell them he was grateful without saying a word. One of them would laugh and smile with him, look him in the eye and exchange a secret smile that spoke more than mere friendship.

He knew that they were there for him, no matter what, because they wanted him to know it. His heart was warmed by them and filled with joy and they sustained him. Waking to the smile of one of them each day lifted his spirits and helped him to heal.

O'Neill's symptoms were improving; he was winning the fight. Jack knew that he won not just on his own merits but because his friends were there supporting him. He had quickly stopped feeling embarrassed because they saw him at his most vulnerable. Indeed, they gave him the power to fight all the harder, and a reason for doing so. He'd got used to their presence and had grown to like never being alone or lonely. Although he remembered nothing of his captivity, except formless whispers, his heart told him he had been isolated, forlorn, and friendless. So he basked in the comradeship and devotion so clearly demonstrated by his friends.

The day came when O'Neill was sufficiently recovered that the Doc thought he could go home.

"We'll celebrate with a take out and beers." Said Daniel. "At your place." Jack grinned, liking that idea very much.

Carter drove, with Laurel and Hardy in the back. Jack had recently started to call them that because it seemed so appropriate. Since Daniel's resurrection, the two men had grown closer than ever. Daniel reminded Jack of the accident prone Laurel, while T played the role of the mainly stoical, sometimes impatient, Hardy. A man who stuck by his friend despite his indiscretions, and raised his eyes to the heavens in dismay. Carter found the whole notion hilarious and she and O'Neill would exchange a knowing look when the two men did something that reminded them of the comic duo, and try not to laugh.

The four friends spent an amiable time together. Jack ate heartily, which the other three were pleased to see, and displayed none of his earlier symptoms. It seemed he was over it, or certainly the worst of it.

When Jack declared he wanted to go to bed, Daniel insisted that he would stay the night 'just in case' he needed anything. It ended up with all three of them staying as none of them wanted to leave. Although he would not always think so, for that night, Jack found comfort in the fact that he would wake and they'd be there. Daniel promised to make pancakes on the morning and Jack wondered aloud whether they might be better to eat breakfast out. Daniel's looked of chagrin ensured that Jack went off to bed with a smile on his lips.

He was happy and at peace but knew there was something missing in his life and always would be. The elusive something that he had never identified and never would. He mourned it's loss, and yearned for it's return, even though he didn't know what it was. Relaxing into the mattress, he thought, it's good to be home and, as he started to doze off, he imagined he heard a whisper echo softly through his head.

'Goodnight, my love, sweet dreams.'

She would always be there with him, but he would probably never know.

The End

Stargate SG-1 Fan Awards 2004
Best New (Ship) Author: Su Freund
Best Angst (Sam/Jack): Understandings and Misunderstandings by Su Freund
Best Hurt/Comfort (Sam/Jack): Not Letting Him Down by Su Freund