Janet Fraiser sat in her office adjacent to the SGC infirmary, catching up on paperwork in the lull that had descended over her domain within the base. There were no bumps or bruises to tend to so she and her team were taking the time to catch up on tasks so often neglected during emergencies. In the infirmary, house-keeping duties so often fell to the wayside because they didn't bleed and die if left unattended. The beds were empty, sheets crisp and clean in waiting for their next occupants, the lights and monitors all dark and quiet. Two nurses were talking softly in the infirmary; Janet could hear them through her open office door. They were tending to some blood and tissue cultures gathered from the last planet's local population SG-8 ran into who had been incredibly resilient to viruses.
It had been three hours since Daniel Jackson had taken Jack O'Neill to temp quarters to rest and recover from losing his symbiote. Janet felt the need to check on him plague her like a rash but with great restraint she left him alone. He needed sleep, time for his body to reestablish a natural balance without the presence of a Tok'ra, and her checking on him wouldn't speed either of those processes. After the first two hours she was finally able to concentrate on the papers laid before her, putting Colonel O'Neill into a back corner of her mind.
Janet sensed rather than saw someone enter the infirmary, someone who stopped just within the threshold. Janet looked up from her files, and her eyes darted to the entrance and ulitmately fell upon none other than Jack O'Neill. Her medical instincts jumped into hyperdrive immediately.
Jack looked lost. He was looking around the large room slowly, expression painfully vacant, eyes dull and listless. The two nurses stopped talking only a moment to see if he needed them but resumed their conversation in softer tones when he called for neither of them.
Frowning, Janet set down her pen and moved toward the stationary colonel.
"Colonel?" she said when she was only a foot away.
Jack didn't react to her (though she knew he was aware of her presence), fatigued glaze in his eyes heavily in place but not entirely masking his situational awareness. He knew, he just didn't care.
Janet sighed sadly and stepped closer, "Sir... let me give you something; it'll make you feel better."
Jack's utterly flat voice retorted, "I'm fine, Doctor."
Janet frowned at him in disbelief as she noted the withdrawn, lusterless quality to his expression, his thin lips and grim lines. He'd been so adamant he wouldn't do this, that what happened with Sam wouldn't happen with him... it would be one of a number of times that, medically, Jack O'Neill had no idea what he was talking about.
"It's all right, sir," Janet cajoled as she reached for him.
He stiffened fractionally, only for a second, then sagged, uncaring, as her fingers made contact with his skin. She stepped closer, "Please, Colonel, let me.."
"No... I'm fine, just... can't sleep." He looked down at her, as expectant as he felt fit to muster, and Janet winced inwardly. She didn't know what he expected of her.
Janet did know from experience it was a very bad idea to try to force drugs on Colonel O'Neill when he didn't want them. Dangerous enough when he was incapacitated and in little position to resist but down-right suicidal when he was physically uninjured and capable of retaliation... especially when he wasn't entirely himself. Janet was not about to underestimate the colonel, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he might resort to being an aggressive, violent depressive if he wasn't simply left alone. Tending to the health of sometimes uncooperative trained killers was a hazard all military medical personnel had to face, Janet Fraiser included.
Which left Janet back at square one of not knowing what she could do to help him.
"If you'd like you can sleep here," she offered, knowing he would turn her down, leave the room (because Jack was never in the infirmary if he didn't have to be), but not sure what else she could say.
Jack stunned her by blankly nodding, and, without a sound and without a glimmer of life casting on his expression, moving to one of the many waiting gurneys. Janet followed him, feeling useless, as she watched the colonel crawl on to the bed, fatigues, boots, and all, and curl on to his side, eyes locking into a visionless stare, body held insanely still with arms crossed over his chest, legs bent and slightly tucked toward his chest.
Janet stole a sheet from a neighboring bed and laid it over the colonel. Once the sheet was spread over Jack's huddled form, Janet turned to the hushed murmur of conversation flying between the nurses.
"Would you two mind taking this somewhere else? Colonel O'Neill needs to..."
"Let them stay," he said softly, drawing Janet's gaze. The colonel was unblinking but took a moment to turn his eyes up toward her, reinforcing his faintly-uttered statement.
Janet conceded softly, "Okay." She nodded for the nurses to continue what they were doing then turned back to touch Jack's shoulder, "Call if you need anything, Colonel."
Janet went back to her office and resumed her paperwork, periodically looking through the window into the infirmary at Jack. For a long time he didn't move, barely appeared to breathe, curled like stone or death under the white sheet while the nurses discussed their experiment findings only a few feet away. It was an hour before Jack's eyes slid closed and his body's unwell rigor relaxed a little, at long delay surrendering to sleep with the nurses chatting softly in the room.
Jack O'Neill was a walking emptiness for two days. He could be found slowly traversing the halls of the SGC, no destination in mind, because he was restricted to the grounds no place to go. He would return to the infirmary to sleep and to lay as though in a waking coma, staring a the ceiling or walls. He never cried the way Sam had when Jolinar died. Despite all of Janet's gentle urging, Jack never consented to drugs to ease his symptoms the way Sam had. If he came into the infirmary to find it empty, utterly void of human life, he'd go somewhere else. Jack became a familiar, somber haunt in the commissary and rec room, lingering on the edges, present but never included in the activities around him. When he wasn't sitting in a corner by himself someone from SG-1 was with him. Frequently it was Daniel Jackson talking to Jack, keeping up a low-pitched commentary even when Jack didn't seem to hear anything the young man said. Daniel didn't let the lack of response deter or dishearten him, always eager to find Jack and stay with him, talk to him the way he would have kept Jack company if he'd been laid out on a hospital bed. When Daniel wasn't around it was Samantha Carter, not as vocal but just as strong a presence. She would sit across from him, working on things she could have easily done in her lab but brought to the crowded common areas so she could be with her commanding officer and friend. If she couldn't sit across from him, directly in his line of sight, she would sit next to him and permit some small amount of constant physical contact. He'd end up staring at her, lackluster gaze drawn to the nearest distraction, and she'd let him watch her like a doped up psych ward patient for hours if it was what he seemed to want to do. And when it was neither Daniel nor Sam Teal'c was around, placing drinks and food in front of Jack and the sheer commanding presence of the Jaffa leading Jack to accept whatever the large man offered him.
On the third day the first signs of improvement, the first hints that the crushing depression that the stubborn colonel would never admit to experiencing was lifting and Jack O'Neill was fighting his way back to his old life. He would remark on the things Daniel prattled on about, give Sam a self-conscious smile when he realized she'd caught him staring, give Teal'c a sour remark for salads and yogurt put in front of him. His presence in the gathering rooms of the SGC became less decorative and more interactive. If he overheard a joke he'd smirk, sometimes chuckle, engage people around him with a nod or unenthusiastic 'hello'.
People on the base began to relax around him, bringing him back into their fold. Jack was going to be all right.