See Chapter One for full disclaimer and author's notes.

Chapter Eleven

Jack wasn't sure how long he had stood at Sam's bedside but it seemed as though he had been standing there, listening to the soft beeping of the monitors, for hours. Eventually he gave in to his throbbing knees and pulled up a nearby chair, lowering the side rail of the bed so that he could still reach out and hold Sam's hand. How many times had he sat here like this? Watching over an injured friend or team mate? How many more times would he have to watch over Sam like this?

Jolinar, the computer borne entity, the time she had been missing along with the crew of the Prometheus, her near death after the self-destruction of the alpha site and her encounter with one of Anubis' drone. Any one of those encounters could have killed her, should have killed her. And yet, she had survived. And now, here they were again, and Jack could only pray that her strength of will would see her through again; that she would survive against the odds one more time.

Turning his thoughts away from such dark memories, Jack forced himself to remember happier times, for both of them. Immediately springing to mind was a time, before her reassignment to Area 51, when he realized that even though she may have been engaged to another man, he hadn't lost the core of their friendship that had so characterized their relationship for the past seven years.

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It had only been a few weeks since he had taken over command of the SGC and things hadn't been entirely smooth for the new General. Jack had been dealing with one seeming crisis after another, starting with the visit from Ba'al and now culminating in a day of non-stop meetings with nearly every scientist on base. The meetings had been stacking up for the last week or so and he had hoped to put them off long enough that he wouldn't have to deal with them, but to no avail. So now, much to his chagrin, the meetings had all landed on one day.

But the day was nearly over, and all that remained was for him to clear his desk and he could finally go home, put his feet up and settle in with some mindless television and a couple of cold beers. At this point, after spending the last two hours listening to Dr. Lee prattle on about some gizmo SG-2 brought back from P2X…whatever, Jack thought that a beer and some TV sounded just about like heaven.

As he entered his office, he rounded his desk without really acknowledging the pile of memos and reports piled on top of it to drop down heavily into his chair. It wasn't until he moved to pull himself up closer to his workspace that he noticed a small plate sitting squarely in the middle of it. Glancing quickly around his office in search of whomever may have left it, he turned his attention then back to the plate itself, noting not only the plate with a large piece of double chocolate cake but also a small note peeking out from underneath.

Confused, but more importantly curious, Jack slid the plate aside slightly to pull out the note and opened it. The handwriting was all too familiar and he felt a smile involuntarily spring to life on his face, banishing his fatigue without effort.

General,

Thought you could use this after your briefing with Dr. Lee. Try not to work too late. Generals get to go home eventually too. See you tomorrow at our morning briefing.

C-

Jack's smile widened as he read and then re-read the note. The fact that Carter had taken the time not only to notice his inordinately busy scientist schedule that day but also to grab one of his favorites from the commissary and leave it for him warmed him through and he felt a surge of affection that he thought he had finally put behind him. He spent a moment simply enjoying the feeling before he pulled the saran wrap off the cake and dug in with the fork left off to the side.

In what seemed like no time at all, both the cake and the last of the most urgent business left on his desk had been finished and he was heading for the surface and home. As he made his way through the nearly empty streets of Colorado Springs, he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to thank Sam. Deciding he was acting like a foolish teenager with a crush, Jack shook his head before turning off on the road that led toward home.

Jack kicked off his shoes at the door as he entered his quiet house. Flopping down on the couch he toyed with the remote briefly before dropping it back onto the coffee table and reaching over to pick up the phone. He paused, considering the wisdom of what he was about to do, but decided to throw caution to the wind and began to dial. It was just a phone call, after all. Right? And it would only be polite of him to call and say thank you. Certainly safer than just showing up unannounced on her doorstep. Besides, she was still engaged to Pete. It wasn't as though anything would come from a simple phone call.

At the time, he hadn't considered the possibility that Sam would break off her engagement to Shanahan or that they could ever find a way around the regulations that had kept them apart for so long. He had simply wanted to rekindle a friendship that had seemed to grow distant over the preceding months. Later, that fateful decision hardly seemed as difficult as it had that night. And he could scarcely bring himself to regret it now, knowing the happiness taking that road had ultimately brought him. And he believed, had brought Sam too.

"Colonel?" Sam whispered, her voice barely carrying over the sounds of the machines surrounding her.

Jack sat up straighter in his chair, Sam's voice pulling him from the past and back to the present. Her eyes were open slightly and Jack could see the fever still burning brightly within their blue depths.

"Colonel? Sam whispered again, her voice cracking with emotion.

Closing his eyes momentarily in relief, Jack stole a quick glance around the infirmary looking for someone who could go and notify the Doc she was awake. Jack couldn't see anyone nearby and was unwilling to leave to go in search of a nurse or Doc Brightman. Sam twisted her head agitatedly and Jack reached out to take her hand in both of his own, speaking in low, soothing tones. "I'm here, Sam. You're going to be okay. I'm right here."

"Sorry s-sir…never meant…you all…shouldn't be here…j-just wanted to save…Dad," Sam choked out brokenly and at first Jack couldn't fathom what she was talking about. Dad? What the...?

Sam's hand tightened convulsively on his, startling him with her strength and intensity. "Dad…please, sir. Don't let them take Dad…won't survive it…Blood…Sokar…too much." And suddenly Jack realized why Sam was so upset. The mission to hell, literally and figuratively. Apophis had taken them in turn and tortured them with the Blood of Sokar, meant to soften their mental resolve by creating some very vivid hallucinations. Jack's heart sank with the realization that the fever now raging in her body had forced Sam to relive that particularly terrifying time.

Jack tightened his own grip on Sam's hand as he leaned closer to smooth the sweat dampened hair from her forehead. "I won't Sam. I won't let them take him. I promise."

"If I don't….don't make it back…please…look after…my Dad, sir…please," Sam pleaded, tears that she would never have let fall had she been in her right mind coursing silently down her cheeks.

"I will, Sam. I will. Have I ever lied to you?" Jack replied, his own emotions crowding around him like unwanted guests. Had she truly felt as though she wouldn't make it out of Netu alive?

Sam's face creased into a slight smile and she shook her head. "N-never, sir."

"Okay then," Jack said as he moved his touch from her forehead to take her clammy hand in both of his. "Rest now. Everything's going to be fine."

The assurances seemed to filter down through the fevered haze and Sam relaxed perceptibly, her eyes slowly drifting closed as she nodded. "Yessir."

Jack watched as the tension slowly ebbed from her face and limbs as sleep claimed her. He sighed deeply, sitting back into his chair but not releasing his hold on Sam's now limp hand. He just wasn't sure if he was cut out for this. His emotions were things he rarely dwelled on, but lately his new relationship with Sam had drawn some of those feelings out and into the open. And now here he was, wondering if he could handle someone needing him this much. Not that he didn't want to be there for Sam; nothing could be further from the truth.

Self appraisal wasn't something O'Neill did often, but for once he was willing to be honest enough with himself to acknowledge his need to do it. The roaring fear that had threatened to overwhelm him in the first few hours after Daniel and Teal'c had returned without Sam was finally beginning to diminish, allowing him to examine what had happened with a more detached eye. The terror he had experienced when it had finally become clear what had happened and that Sam was either already dead or likely in Ba'al's hands had quite frankly shocked the hell out of him. He had known that the shift in his relationship with Sam would bring unforeseen consequences, but he hadn't imagined the feelings he had kept repressed for years would grow to be so strong so very fast. It honestly scared him, and more than just a little bit.

Come on O'Neill, old boy. It's not that Sam needs you, it's that you need her. And not just a little bit. You can no more live without her anymore than you could go without breathing, and you know it. Jack chided himself, alarmed at the truth of it. In the past it had been others who needed him, Sara certainly included. But he had never seemed to need anyone as much as they needed him. Now, for the first time in his life, he was on the other side of the fence and he truly didn't know how to deal with it. He had come too far this time, laid his heart open further than at any other point in his life. He knew that there would be no turning back from this without destroying himself in the process. He only wondered if Sam knew that too.

Their fledgling relationship was so new to the both of them, that any declarations of undying love seemed terribly premature. Yet, here he was, contemplating just that; his undying and depthless love for Samantha Carter. Holy Crap.

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The nurse on duty had arrived shortly after Sam had slipped back into sleep and had immediately kicked Jack out of the room as she summoned Doctor Brightman. The Doc arrived and both had gone over the readouts from Sam's monitors, checking and re-checking her condition. In the end, Doctor Brightman had expressed some cautious optimism and then had ordered Jack to get some food and at least four hours sleep before returning. The General had put up a valiant fight, claiming that he needed neither, but when the Doctor threatened him with sedatives and a feeding tube, he finally acquiesced, leaving the infirmary to go in search of the rest of SG-1.

Jack wandered past Teal'c's quarters and then down to Daniel's lab, and when both locations had turned up nothing, he had reluctantly given in to his rumbling stomach and headed for the commissary. Pushing through the doors, the relative emptiness of the room confused him. Pulling up his shirt sleeve to squint at his watch, Jack surprised to discover it was nearly 0100. Glancing around the room, he spotted Daniel and Teal'c, sitting at a table against the far wall, heads bent in conversation.

Deciding he needed coffee first and foremost before facing Daniel again, Jack snagged a mugful then made his way over to sit with his former team mates. The conversation at the table dropped off as he approached, Daniel and Teal'c looking up at him expectantly, each appearing as weary as he felt.

"Teal'c, Daniel," Jack greeted, pulling out a chair and dropping tiredly into it.

"O'Neill, how is Colonel Carter?"

"Woke up for a couple of minutes just a bit ago, actually."

Daniel's face brightened perceptibly. "That's great Jack. How did she seem?"

"I'm not really sure. She didn't really know where she was. Called me 'Colonel' and thought we were all on Netu. Kept asking me to look after her Dad since she didn't think she was going to be able to herself."

"What did the Doctor have to say?"

"Doc seemed happy Sam had been awake, even for a few moments, but at the same time the fact that she's not in her right mind has her worried. She's not alone, either. All the times I've seen Carter hurt or sick, I've never seen her like that. Not knowing where she was or what was happening. Even with that concussion from the Prometheus last year she knew she was in the SGC."

Daniel nodded sympathetically. "Are you headed back up there now?"

"Ah, no, actually. Doc threatened me with all sorts of medical torture if I didn't get something to eat and at least a four hours of sleep."

"And that cup of coffee qualifies as food?"

"Have you ever had a cup of this coffee after it's been sitting here for a few hours? If I have to chew it, I call it food."

Daniel shook his head, then pushed his chair back from the table. "Let me go find something for you that won't eat a hole in your stomach."

"Thanks."

"Sure," the archaeologist replied, setting off in the direction of the kitchen.

Jack spent the next half an hour in the commissary, downing the ham and cheese sandwich and chocolate cake Daniel had managed to scrounge before heading off to his quarters for his requisite sleep. He figured if he disappeared from the infirmary for at least another couple of hours, he could stay in the Doc's good graces.

Pushing open the door to his on base bedroom, Jack sat on the edge of his bed, pulling off his boots and swinging his legs up on the bed. Reaching over, he set his alarm to wake him in three hours and then dropped off into a fitful sleep. His dreams were plagued with images of Sam, struggling against the gravity well on Ba'al's ship, a torture device he had come to know so well. Then the dreams shifted and he could see Ba'al, advancing on Sam with a bottle of acid in one hand, a wicked looking dagger in the other.

Her eyes locked on his as she pleaded with him to free her, to save her from the torture that was coming. But Jack was unable to move, kept totally immobile by some unseen force that held him rooted to the spot. Unable to move to help, but also unable to look away, Jack was forced to watch as Ba'al slowly raised the dagger, pointing it at the center of Sam's chest. The System Lord then turned, his gaze boring into Jack's own as he released the dagger, plunging it deep within Sam's breast.

Jack tumbled violently out of the dream, Sam's screams still ringing in his ears, the bed sheets tangled around his legs, holding him in place. A cold trickle of sweat ran between Jack's shoulder blades as he sat up, struggling to get his heart rate and breathing under control. He always hated waking up from dreams like that. Dreams that seemed so real they could almost be remnants of memory.

The last thing he wanted to do was attempt to go back to sleep, and so untangled his legs from the sheets and bent to pull on his boots. He had actually been asleep for nearly the three hours he had set aside for himself and at the very least he could kill the final hour of his exile by going up to his office and clearing out his inbox and email before returning to the medical wing.

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As Jack entered the infirmary, the feeling of unease he had been fighting since waking from his dream grew to form an undeniable rock sitting in the pit of his stomach. He would never describe the SGC's medical facilities as an energetic or boisterous place, but this morning the atmosphere was more subdued than usual. The hushed tones of the nurses as they tended to their duties fell to silence as he passed, further feeding his anxiety.

Never one to avoid confrontation or difficult situations, Jack headed straight for the ICU, unsurprised to find Daniel already at the nurse's station, deep in conversation with Dr. Brightman.

Looking through the glass walls of Sam's room, the ominous bulk of a ventilator placed nearby drew his attention. Jack would never again see that particular machine without wincing involuntarily in reaction, calling to mind the last time he had seen Sam connected to it, her life measured in minutes rather than years. He had struggled, then, with the decision whether or not to honor her last wishes as was dictated in her living will and disconnect her from life support or continue to hope against all hope, leaving her connected to the machines that at the time were keeping her body alive indefinitely. He could only pray that he wouldn't be called on to make that decision again.

Jack slowed his steps as he neared the unit, drawing the attention of the Doctor and archaeologist.

"Jack."

"General O'Neill."

"Daniel. Doc. How's she doin'?" Jack replied, attempting to interject as much hopefulness into his voice as possible.

The expressions on their faces were alone enough to answer his question. Not good.

"General…" Dr. Brightman began, but hesitated, searching for the right words. Honesty was always preferable in her line of work, but that honesty had to be tempered with an awareness not to strip away what flame of hope might still burn. "Colonel Carter's condition has not improved, despite her brief period of wakefulness a few hours ago. Her fever is still hovering between 102 and 104 degrees. I was just telling Dr. Jackson we are preparing to bring in some cooling blankets to help get her temperature down. Perhaps if we can get her fever to break, even for a short time, the antibiotics might be able to take care of whatever is at the root of this infection."

Jack's expression was both concerned and incredulous simultaneously. "Ya know Doc, usually I leave the medicine to you good folks in here, but doesn't this seem a bit…I dunno…primitive to you? All this high tech stuff in here and the best you have is to put Carter on ice?"

The Doctor's brow furrowed as she seriously considered the General's question.

"Sir, we have nearly exhausted what our technology and medications can do for Colonel Carter. If we allow this fever to continue for much longer we could be risking serious brain damage, or worse."

"Worse?" Daniel breathed, blanching in reaction.

"I'm concerned about the impact this infection is having on her lungs. It appears from her last chest x-ray that her lungs are beginning to fill with fluid, which is why I've ordered the ventilator placed in her room. If it's needed, it'll happen fast. Every moment will count."

Jack's heart froze within his chest. Up until that very moment, the thought had never crossed his mind that Sam wouldn't completely recover now that they were back safely within the SGC, despite the warnings the Doctor had given them about the severity of Sam's condition. Carefully schooling his expression, he allowed his gaze to fall upon the still form lying in the ICU. No way in hell am I going to let that happen. No way. The Doc wants to put her in a deep freezer, fine, if it'll save her life.

Dragging his eyes back up, Jack drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay Doc. We'll do it your way. When will you get started?"

"Right now, sir. We really can't delay any longer."

Jack nodded slightly and then moved past Daniel to enter Sam's room. He pulled up a nearby chair and dropped unceremoniously into it, dragging a tired hand across his face and scrubbing it up through his short hair. He was aware of, but did not acknowledge Daniel as the younger man moved to stand next to him.

"Jack, why don't you go get some breakfast, huh? I'll stay here with Sam."

Jack shook his head slowly. "I appreciate it Daniel, but I couldn't eat anyway. I'll just stay here for a while."

Daniel nodded, not expecting any other response. He hesitated momentarily then allowed his hand to drop to rest lightly on Jack's shoulder. "If you need anything…"

The comforting touch startled Jack, especially after the harsh words the two men had exchanged just the day before. He allowed a small smile to touch his lips, "I know. Thanks."

Daniel nodded then headed off toward the doors of the infirmary intending to pay a visit to Teal'c before retiring to his quarters for some well deserved rest. He would need the Jaffa's help and support if they were all to endure the coming days.

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It only took a few minutes for the ICU team to prepare the specially designed cooling blankets and place them over Sam's feverish body. Jack watched silently as the medical staff went about their assigned tasks. As they finished and moved off into other parts of the infirmary Jack found himself finally alone, the silence broken only by the soft beeps of the monitors nearby.

Jack reached under the chill blanket to grasp Sam's hand in his own. The heat radiating from her body was in sharp contrast to the cool of the blanket and Jack was abruptly aware of the fragility of the life he held in his hand. The short, joyous time they had been allowed together suddenly seemed horribly inadequate compared with what he could imagine as his life without Sam.

Reaching up with his free hand, Jack gently ran the backs of his knuckles across Sam's cheek. She turned her head slightly at the contact, her brow furrowing in response.

"Shh. It's okay, Sam. You're going to be okay," Jack soothed, the sound of his voice carrying over the machines nearby. The exhaustion of the last several days, coupled with the fear that gripped his heart, weighed him down and Jack felt uncustomarily emotional.

"C'mon Dorothy, you promised you'd always come back to me. Don't you dare give up, you hear me? Don't die on me now. Not now. Please."

Bowing his head, Jack roughly forced down the feelings that threatened to overwhelm his suddenly fragile emotional barriers. He squirmed slightly in his chair, looking for a more comfortable position, settling in for the long wait ahead.

TBC…