Cough. Cough. He tried to swallow them, but he couldn't. Sighing in defeat, he reluctantly took the thermometer and placed it in his mouth.
101.5 degrees! Argh!
- - -
- - -
Ch 31: FEVER
- - -
She watched over him for the next couple of days as the cold (or flu or alien bug or whatever it was) got progressively worse. His fever peaked at 102, but then backed down to 101 and then 100, where it seemed to level off a bit. In addition to aspirin and acetaminophen (Tylenol), she was giving him a course of antibiotics that had been in the medical supplies, but she had little hope that the medication was going to have any effect. Antibiotics did not address colds, flus and/or alien bugs.
They went ahead with the new sleeping arrangements... he was warmer than normal, but her lower temperature seemed to soothe him a bit. Unfortunately, she got little sleep as he coughed and tossed and turned.
The rain occasionally backed off to a light drizzle and at other times froze into sleet or hail. Sam waited for the periods when the intensity slacked off to go out and hunt or forage.
They'd tried playing cards to pass the time, but he couldn't concentrate, so they'd mostly just talked. Sharing tales of their flight days with each other. Intermixed with stories from their childhoods.
She'd shared some stories of some of the few family outings that they'd had before her mother died. He shared some stories of summers on his uncle's ranch in Minnesota. His stories were wracked with coughs, however, and he much preferred simply listening to her talk.
This afternoon, Sam had done most of the talking... sharing tales of a few times spent camping with Janet and Cassie... about a time that she'd taken a nasty spill on her friend's motorcycle and then had to spend three weeks hiding the bruises and abrasions from her father... about a time that she'd tried to convince her Dad that a stray dog should become the family pet... about a time when she tried to rewire the house lights...
"OK, it's your turn Jack," she informed him, "I haven't talked this much about myself since I was ten! Time to hear a little more about young Jack O'Neill," she prompted.
"But I'm -cough-cough- sick," he mugged up some fake coughs and tried to look pitiful.
"You haven't coughed in hours and I've been doing the entertaining for most of the past two days... so it's your turn now. Just something... anything... so I don't have to talk about me anymore," she insisted.
"I was enjoying it," he grinned.
"Great!" she muttered theatrically. "But it still doesn't get you off the hook."
"What do you want to hear? More hockey?" he asked hopefully.
"Errr...no... How about... How about why you switched from the active pilot's rotation to special ops?" she asked curiously. "Special ops don't seem so... 'faster, higher, faster'," and she grinned as she repeated his words from a few days ago.
He chuckled, "No they're not...," and he glanced over at her. "Allright, but after I tell you how I left the flightline for special ops... you have to tell me how you left the flightline... for a research position in Indiana!" And he waited expectantly.
But she just smiled ruefully, "Can't do that Jack, and you know it. Classified. Sorry," she apologized and then just waited silently to see where he was going next.
"Right...," he sighed in defeat.
"So, was your switch from flight to special ops Classified?" she asked.
"No..., Oh.. allright," he relented and she settled back with a satisfied grin. "Sam, I will figure it out eventually, you know," he warned her with a smile.
"Perhaps," she allowed and a faint wistful look passed over her face, but it was rapidly replaced with curiosity, "OK, so how did you get into Special Ops?"
Shaking his head at her, he started, "Well, I was approaching the ripe old age of 30-,"
"-Oooh! Old!" she inserted playfully.
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
"No, I mean yes, please continue," she smiled with that contrived look of innocence.
"Well, I was approaching the ripe old age of 30... and I was assigned a flight instructor's billet. Tried again and again to get it changed back to Test Flights or Basic Flight Operations, but you know the military: 'We Decide Where You Are Needed Most'... I felt like I was drowning in the mundane. Going nowhere. And it was especially difficult after the rush of being a test pilot."
She didn't interrupt, but just nodded her head sympathetically.
"A couple of my friends who'd graduated from the Academy with me, well, they kept talking about going for Special Forces certifications. When I'd originally joined the Air Force, I hadn't even thought about anything like that. All I'd wanted to do was fly."
"Faster, higher, faster," she smiled affectionately as she said it.
"Yeah...," he returned the smile a bit shyly. "After being stuck as an instructor for ten months however, I was chomping at the chance to get out and do something. Anything exciting... So I joined my old classmates and we submitted applications for every special training course we could find. Classes in demolition, parachuting, escape and evade, Pararescue, Combat Control, Combat Weather and Support,... we applied for cross-disciplinary programs with the Airborne Special Forces, Rangers, the Green Berets, the Navy Seals – although I think they probably just laughed at the applications from 'us air force pilots'."
"Eventually a couple of us were accepted. Airborne Special Forces. I threw myself into it. Parachuting, marksmanship, demolitions, whatever they threw at us. I ate it up. I wasn't the fastest, or the strongest, but I was one of the best all-around. All those years as a jet pilot had given me a split-second situational awareness that allowed me a bit more time to think about my decisions. When most of the others were still trying to assimilate data, I could be thinking though the options," he paused here for a moment as his memories floated before him.
"Did you miss the flying?" she asked curiously.
"Yes... and no," he admitted. "They kept us so busy... and there was so much to learn... and don't forget, I was a few years older than the average age of the others going through the courses," he pointed out.
"Never seems to slow you down," she returned with a grin.
"Are you saying that I'm old?"
"No you did," she sent back.
"No, I said I was older than the average age of the others going through the course," he stated carefully while watching her face.
"So what happened next," she decided to ignore his attempts to bait her into self-incrimination.
"Next..., we graduated. Top honors," and he pointed at himself.
"Wouldn't expect anything else," she returned, still grinning.
"Yeah, well, enough of that," he muttered. "After graduation, they broke us into teams and we went where they sent us. Iran and Iraq, mostly," and here his voice trailed off at some of the not-so-pleasant memories.
She didn't say anything, she just let him have a few moments to himself with his memories.
Noticing her somber expression, he spoke up again, "Not all of the missions were horrible, you know. Sometimes no one got killed... on either side... sometimes, we just went in for intel. Sometimes we went in to pull out a downed pilot... or a defector... sometimes we just went in to blow something up... and sometimes there wasn't any collateral damage. It wasn't common, but it did happen."
"Those were the missions that seemed closest to the training exercises. When no one died. Then it could come the closest to an exercise in how good we were... almost a game of striving for excellence."
"But over the years, the gritty reality of it all... the missions, the deaths – on both sides... the lives taken... the friends and comrades lost... the time trapped behind enemy lines... it all added up and started to change me... I didn't even see it at first. But Sarah did. She asked me to transfer out. But I couldn't. We were at war. I was good at what I did, and I was needed. But she was right... it was changing me. I became closed off... harder. I took refuge in the Special Ops persona. It was the only way to deal with what we did. With the job we had to perform."
He glanced over at Sam to see nothing but acceptance of who he was.
No condemnation.
"That Iraqi prison almost did me in. They almost had me. And when I got out, I wanted nothing more than to return and make them pay. Make them pay for what they'd done to me and every other prisoner in that hell-hole," he paused for a breath and then continued, "Sarah was there for me when I got back. She was there for me throughout the rehab and the nightmares. She begged me not to go back. But I had to. I closed myself off and fueled my recovery with the objective of being in better shape than I had been when I was 25."
"I made it... all the way back to active duty. All the way back to Black Ops. Sarah threatened to leave, but then we found out she was pregnant... so she stayed... and I think she was still hoping that I'd give it up and come back to what I'd been years before."
Silence descended in the tent after his soliloquy.
And then Sam spoke up, "I didn't mean to dredge up all of this for you, Jack," she apologized.
"No, I'm the one who should apologize. All you did was ask how I went from pilot to Special Ops... I didn't have to give you all the rest of that," he replied quietly.
"No apology necessary... and you can talk about whatever you want. To be honest, I'm flattered that you were willing to tell me about... all of that," and she met his eyes and then looked down. "Although I know there's not exactly a lot of choices of people for you to talk to here," and she winced a bit.
"Sam, even on Earth, with thousands of people around, the only person I've ever opened up to like that was Daniel... and even then... I didn't say very much," he explained. "Like I said a week or so ago... My life before the SGC had become... like the life of another person. Me, but a different me. A different life. And, by not talking about it with anyone, I was able to keep the two lives separate and distinct."
"But it all adds up to make who you are now," she pointed out softly.
"Yeah, it does," he admitted. "I'll always have some of that reckless test pilot in me...and I'll always have some of that cold Black Ops officer in me... Sarah and Charlie are part of who I am...and it all made me that guy who could somehow take on the idea of planet hopping though an intra-galactic wormhole," and he finished with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"Occasionally inter-galactic," she reminded him.
"What?"
"Inter-galactic... as opposed to intra-galactic..."
"Did I get it wrong?"
"No... it's almost always intra-galactic... except when you added that 8th chevron to go and visit the Asgard for the first time... or when the Atlantis crew headed off to the Pegasus galaxy...," and then her voice trailed off as she looked up to see him watching her with amusement. "You don't care, right?"
"Mmmm...," and he shrugged while his smile spread a little wider and then he yawned.
"OK, enough for now, you need to get some sleep," and she helped him resituate the bedding materials so that he could lie down more comfortably.
Yawning again and with his eyes half-shut, "I'm surprised you haven't been gloating a little."
"What about?" she returned with a puzzled look.
"Because I kept pushing you to eat so that you wouldn't get sick... and then I'm the one who got sick," he sent back thickly as sleep started to take hold.
"Oh that...," and she allowed a small smile, "I'm just waiting until you are feeling better. It doesn't seem quite fair to kick a guy when he's down," she explained.
"Ah... I knew there was a catch," and he drifted off to sleep with a small smile of his own.
- - - - - -
Later that night, she watched him toss and turn as his mind played feverish nightmares and he mumbled and muttered things she couldn't quite make out, Earlier that evening, she'd thought he was getting better, but now he appeared worse than ever. Now, she watched helplessly as the fever wracked his body and nightmares assailed his mind.
"Rgfth... get out..., Down, Get Down!..." followed by "No!," and then his mutterings became less clear again.
"Jack it's ok, you're allright," she tried speaking softly in the hopes that it would provide some soothing quality, but he didn't appear to hear her at all as he kept moaning and twisting.
Moving in closer to him, she rested a hand on his arm in an attempt to lend comfort. Reaching over, she picked up a bandana and gently wiped the sweat from his face. He quieted just a little, but was still twitching and mumbling incoherently. Laying her head on his shoulder, she rested her hand lightly on his chest, feeling for his heartbeat.
She concentrated on the rapid thump, thump, thump, thump vibrating against her hand.
She was so afraid that she was going to lose him.
She knew that she wouldn't make it here alone if he died.
Losing him would tear her apart.
Softly, but firmly, she spoke into the quiet night, "Jack O'Neill if you up and die on me here, I'm going to be so pissed at you. I'll find you on whatever plane of existence you go to... Ascended... or whatever... and then I'll proceed to kick your ass from one end of the galaxy to the other... with maybe a little inter-galactic ass-kicking thrown in for good measure! It's one thing to wake up stranded here, just the two of us... it would be quite another for you to abandon me here... No One Gets Left Behind, Airman. No One. Just you try and leave me - I'll follow you just to kick your ass!"
She closed her eyes against the tears welling forth.
He was too special to lose.
He meant too much to her.
Her thoughts focused on the feel of his heartbeat under her hand.
She wished she had the Goa'uld healing device.
Whether it would be able to cure him of an infection or virus, she didn't know, but she could image the device in her hand and the warm glow reaching down and relieving his pain.
Fizzing.
Buzzing.
She opened her eyes and looked at her hand on his chest.
Her hand was tingling... buzzing... with a prickly warm sensation...
...and a soft green glow between her hand and his chest.
It felt as if energy was flowing from her to him.
Soothing him, healing him.
His feverish movements stilled, his breath evened out and he sighed with relief.
The tingling in her hand faded, along with the soft green glow.
Not moving, she felt his heartbeat through her palm.
It was stronger and a little slower, closer to normal.
She lay her head back on his shoulder, keeping her hand on his chest.
She couldn't explain what had just happened and she wondered if she was dreaming or delusional. Her scientific mind groped for answers, but she was too tired. Whatever had happened, at least he was resting more easily now. The nightmares appeared to have faded a bit.
Without her conscious approval, her thoughts drifted to what his nightmares probably consisted of... his memories of those Black Ops days and the horrors that he'd had to bury in his heart. The look of pain in his feverish eyes brought back memories of his eyes that night at the Alpha Site. A feverish, almost manic, glittering. Eyes that looked out from a soul that had seen and done more than any one soul should ever have to.
Exhausted, she finally drifted off to sleep.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - -
She was pinned by a heavy weight.
- - - - - - -
She struggled to move her arms and legs, but something held them down.
- - - - - - -
Eyes.
Glittering.
Smoldering.
- - - - - - -
Dark, heavy, oppressive.
Hard to breathe.
Trapped.
Fear built towards panic.
- - - - - - -
- - - - - - -
And then she awoke.
Her mind tried to cast off the nightmare and grasped for reality.
- - - - - - -
Darkness above her.
A weight on her, pinning her down.
Suddenly claustrophobic, she tried to move, but found that she couldn't.
Hot darkness pushed down on her.
- - -
TBC
- - -
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Author's Note: I referenced the Gateworld Omnipedia for information on Jack O'Neill's backstory and timeline. Specifically, this is the meat of what info was available: "He was parachuting between the borders of Iran and Iraq in the 1980s and hit the ground hard. There was no rescue. Instead, he spent nine days making it out on his own, back into allied territory. Jack spent several years in a black-ops unit of the U.S. military, and was imprisoned in Iraq for four months after a mission under the command of Frank Cromwell went bad. With this in mind, it can be deduced that O'Neill married before 1988. He confirmed he and wife Sarah were together at the time of his imprisonment, since she was his primary motivation for escaping. Sometime after escaping the prison, Charlie O'Neill was conceived."