The SGC never slept.

Part of that was time differential--between worlds, night didn't always correspond to night. More than once the graveyard shift had seen teams come through the Stargate hot, with Jaffa on their tails and staff blasts screaming through the vortex behind them. 03:00 was most notorious, having seen Tok'ra activity, embattled recon teams, and on one infamous occasion a static burst that had scrambled the mainline computers and lead a groggy General Hammond to think they had another Entity on base.

The clock read 03:25 when Hammond stepped into the control room, looking as if he'd been up all night and trying not to. "Anything to report?" he demanded.

The gate tech shook her head. "SG-11 is still offworld, SG-5 gearing up for a SAR. Other than that all's quiet."

She didn't mention that nothing had changed since he'd walked in an hour and a half ago, and likely wouldn't change if he walked in an hour and a half later. She'd worked on base nearly two years now--she was attuned to its rhythm. Even though she hadn't been away from her station since midnight, she could imagine the stacks of paper on Hammond's desk migrating from "unfinished" to "finished" piles under a meticulous eye as the General tried not to haunt the infirmary wing.

"Keep me apprised," Hammond said, and walked out.

-

The base walked on eggshells.

It wasn't usually this bad--when SG-1 was missing, everyone believed they'd come home. They had to. SG-1, the flagship team, had a habit of getting into and out of more trouble than anyone else could claim. They'd died more than once. They still came back.

Circumstances were... different, now.

When no more menial tasks existed to distract him, Hammond found himself at the Infirmary door, staring inward. A single bed dominated the scene, all activity flowing in eddies around it. The heart monitor cried a steady beat--a metronome, regulating the movement of nurses and doctor. The undeniable center of gravity was the figure upon the bed, barely breathing.

All the silence on the base seemed to emanate from this one man.

Hammond nodded to Fraiser when he caught her eye. She slipped away from the bedside and came to him.

"How's he doing?" the General asked.

"Not well," Fraiser said. "His dopamine levels are still dropping, and nothing we can do seems to stabilize them."

Hammond felt his hands fisting.

Fraiser looked up at him, what little energy she had left translating into sympathy. "I'll call you as soon as there's any change."

"Thank you," Hammond said.

Fraiser glanced back at her nurses. "General, how about Sam and Daniel?"

Hammond shook his head. "You know as well as I do," he said. "I could order them to rest, but I doubt it would do any good."

"Do you think they'll find anything?" she asked, voice small.

He looked at the Colonel's still form on the cot. "I don't know," he said, an unspoken I hope so and I doubt it warring in the undertones. "If anyone can..."

If.

"I have to get back," Frasier said.

"Go."

She nodded and slipped away.

Hammond stood a while longer, until the vigil felt too much like a death watch. He couldn't help feeling that would come later.

-

Earning a doctorate in astrophysics entailed a lot of long nights with like-minded graduate students and an intimate familiarity with coffee and headache medicine, and Carter was well used to identifying the symptoms of an all-nighter in others.

Daniel looked as if he had stayed up for the last week when he hauled himself into her lab, a stack of papers half an inch thick in one hand and a steaming thermos mug in the other.

Carter cast a critical eye over him. "You know," she said, "Fraiser told me to have you removed from the base if I thought you were overextending yourself."

Daniel blinked at her. "Told me the same thing about you."

Sam sighed. "When was the last time you slept, Daniel?"

He shrugged. "Snuck into my quarters a bit ago. Got a few hours."

"A few hours?"

"...ten minutes." He gestured with his mug. "You're not looking that hot, yourself."

Sam snorted. "Wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway."

"Got anything?"

The way her teeth clenched told him, long before she shook her head. "I'm no cognitive scientist," she said. "I have a basic understanding of the physics involved in the ribbon, but as for the actual effects on a person's mind..."

"Well, I have a bit of information on that--none of it particularly useful." He slapped down the papers. "A lot of the information around the chamber is the account of someone who went through it. Like we thought, it's a Goa'uld punishment device--the system lord ruling the world made some grand speech regarding the failure of the people to worship their god, broadcast the speech over some kind of Goa'uld PA system, and activated the device. It says, 'at once the city was overcome with a great wash of guilt and anguish... the minds of all were turned to the words Lord Ba'ael had spoken... and at the end of one full day those who had repented awoke to worship their lord and the sullen unbelievers had perished.' The emotional effect is designed with an achilles heel--it'll weaken if the original premise is reversed."

Carter looked up, turning a few shades paler. "One day? One Atascan day?"

Daniel nodded.

Carter shook her head. "The Colonel would never worship a Goa'uld--"

"I don't think he has to, in this case," Daniel said. "The Goa'uld use mind-alteration technology, but they can't go so far as to program specifics. I mean, the most complex system we've ever seen them use is the zatarc programming--"

She was too busy wrestling with the cascade ribbon to blanch at the mention of zatarcs. "Which is why Ba'al had to give the speech beforehand--the ribbon must work on the thoughts someone is having as the device hits them."

"That's my theory," Daniel said.

Silence crashed down between them.

"...I don't see how this helps us," Sam said.

"...neither do I," Daniel agreed.

Sam groaned, dropping her head into one hand to massage her temples. "One Atascan day."

"He may have destroyed it soon enough to weaken the pulse," Daniel said.

Sam looked up, straight into his eyes. "He was right next to its reactor core."

Daniel went sheet white--not that he had much color to begin with. "How much time do we have left?" he asked.

(Not long. Not enough.) "Two or three hours, maybe."

Daniel looked down.

"...I'll get back to work on the translation," he said. "Maybe there's something there..."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I'm going to run a few more simulations."

Daniel walked out, but paused just on the other side of the door. He turned back, unwilling to say what he had stopped to say. "Sam..."

She looked up. "Daniel."

There was nothing to admit. They both knew the odds--and that, no matter what they found, time was too short to act on it.

He tried to give her a small smile, but it emerged more funerary than encouraging. Then he left, heading to finish a translation which gave him no hope.

-

Jack felt himself falling but he wouldn't fall. He wouldn't hit the ground.

Once more he pulled himself up, dragged himself down the hallways into catacomb after catacomb. Daniel still lay on his back, still dying--and how long could a man die without ever becoming dead? Teal'c deteriorated as he watched, sweat beading across his face, rolling down around the Apophis brand and dripping from his chin. Carter sat deathly silent, deathly still.

And in his mind, the embattled wall of his military discipline cracked and crumbled.

He went back to the tunnel over and over, staring up the the long slope. Maybe--maybe--if he could make a harness of bootlaces and jackets, he could get Carter up the broken stairs to the sunlight. Daniel couldn't be dragged that long with his injury even if he could get him out of his cavern, and he couldn't possibly move Teal'c that distance even if he got to him. And even if he could get them all topside, what good would it do?

The same questions came over and over to his mind. They never brought answers.

He stumbled into the main run and found the low bench, dropping onto it with enough force to jarr every bone above his hips. He put both hands flat on his knees and tried to concentrate, just for the moment, on breathing.

It was no use. There was no way out.

He could make it to the city. If he could make it to the city he could save himself. Maybe he could find help there. (And maybe I could sprout wings and fly them out of here. It's not an option. Nothing is an option. There are no options.)

Hallucinations hounded him. Sometimes he thought he could hear Hammond or Fraiser, so very far away. Sometimes he thought he heard echoes or footsteps or the clicks and hisses of the SGC. Once he thought he had heard Teal'c's voice, calmly informing him that Daniel and Carter were working in search of answers--as if they had the responsibility and the ability. As if he was the one who needed saving. He'd nearly laughed out loud.

He was tired.

The details became dark obsessions--the net, the GDO, the crumbled cavern wall. He walked in the caverns until he felt the gloom settle into his skin, until his own footfalls on the packed dirt mocked him. It's over. It's over. It's over.

For a horrible twisted moment he found himself hating everything--not just the cave and the Stargate and the mystery but Carter and Daniel and Teal'c and himself--them for breathing, for hanging on by the skin of their teeth because if they hadn't he'd be free of this. Free to give up, to surrender. To rest. He hated himself for thinking it.

He found himself laughing in the main run.

By then he didn't have any reason for it--couldn't find one if he tried. Nothing was funny. It wasn't hysterics. Something had been wired wrong, a neuron had misfired, he'd had one too many blows to the head and the crying cues got mapped to laughter--whatever. He laughed and the echoes laughed around him until he was too exhausted to laugh on.

He walked to the stone bench. It's over. It's over.

He sat. He closed his eyes, and wouldn't let himself admit it.

It's over.

As if the admission could make it true, he couldn't think the words.

From far off, echoing down the tunnels, he swore he could hear Dr. Fraiser's voice. "He's crashing!"

He couldn't help it. He pitched forward, palms against his eyes, and dissolved into laughter for the final time.

(You got that right, doc. Got that right.)

-

The phone rang.

Sam let it ring. She knew it was an illogical response--whether or not she answered it had no bearing on its message. She couldn't stave off anything by ignoring it. But the longer she did the longer she could clutch that last scrap of hope, convince herself that a chance still existed.

Even if she didn't believe it, she couldn't bear to see it proven wrong.

Guilt. She didn't need a cascade ribbon to feel it--it assaulted her from the text on her screen, from the hall to Daniel's lab, from the ringing phone. The fact that none of them could have known what would happen had no bearing. But the sick irony hurt more--because if ever anyone was to die of guilt, of course it would be Colonel Jack O'Neill.

The surprise was he hadn't already. All the guilt he carried with him--Charlie, Kawalsky, even Daniel in a way. And now this--a guilt he would carry to his grave, assuming it didn't carry him.

Life through the Stargate wasn't fair. She'd never thought that--she'd had it proven over and over until she could never seriously think it. But this went so far beyond unfairness as to make a mockery of it--this custom-tailored hell he'd been sent to, locked in with his darkest imaginings, too far away for them to reach.

"Sam."

She jumped.

Daniel stood in the doorway, and his face told the news better than words ever could. She swallowed. "We should get up there."

"Yeah."

Her fingers paused at the edge of the laptop for a moment before she closed it--as if the moment's hesitation could give her the stroke of genius she needed. Then she shut the cover, decisively--like the nail in the coffin.

"...let's go."

-

Janet knew the cause was lost--they all did. It hadn't stopped her from ordering a crash cart to stand by, or for staying by his bedside since they'd brought him in. (It's funny,) Sam thought. (She's ordered all of us to rest, and never thought of resting herself.)

Her nurses moved around the bed in their intricate patterns, no effort spared--they'd fight this battle to the end, even when nothing they could do would win it.

Sam had avoided this level, this room. She'd poured every moment, every ounce of concentration, into studying the Ribbon--casting about for some way to undo what had been done. She hadn't looked at him--not since it had happened, since they had dragged him back through the Gate and turned him over to Janet's care.

Regardless of the Ribbon's effects, he didn't look tortured. He looked calm. At peace. Comatose, her mind filled in. The fathomless peace of the lost.

"He's crashing!" Janet said, and she didn't feel anything. It had sunk too far in to affect her now. She felt cold and grief as if he were already dead.

(I wish I knew,) was the only thing she could think. (I wish at least I knew what he was going through.)

The legendary Samantha Carter had reached the end of her rope--no more miraculous plans, no more brilliant theorems. It felt horrible. It felt like dying.

She felt guilt.

Something she'd never seen the Goa'uld possess. (So of course they'd make this. A weapon that only works against good people. Goddamnit!) She bit down hard, feeling pressure shoot from her teeth through her skull. (All that guilt he can never let go--)

(...and we've been telling him to hold on.)

It struck her.

(It's us.)

Without knowing what she was doing, Sam forced though the press of nurses. (This breaks every protocol and standard of good sense but right at this moment I don't care. I am not going to stand here and watch him--)

She shouldered her way past one of the nurses, leaning over the bed and gripping her CO's shoulders. "Colonel," she said, hoping her voice could reach him. "Let go."

"Major!" Hammond barked, shocked. Janet put a hand on her arm to draw her away--one which she shrugged off.

"Let go of us."

"...that's it," Daniel said. "The Goa'uld device magnifies negative emotions--we went down before he did."

Hammond looked to Fraiser. "I don't understand," she said.

Daniel wasn't listening to him any more. He had forced his way to the bedside too, voice rising against the thready heart monitor. "Jack," he said. "Listen to Sam. It isn't about us."

"You have to let go," Sam said. (You have to let go or we'll lose you.)

-

"Colonel, let go."

He inhaled--the process ached, as if his lungs were bruises. "Carter?"

Definitely Carter's voice. "Let go of us."

His head hurt. Everything hurt. "No can do, Major," he said, letting the weariness drag him down. (Auditory hallucinations, father confessor.)

Silence answered him.

"...that's not an option," he said. "You know that. No one gets left behind."

Now it was Daniel's voice. "Jack, listen to Sam. It isn't about us."

He staggered to his feet, looking back down the passage to the cave. "Of course it's about you! I'm res--"

"You're not responsible, sir. Not this time."

What?

"I'm always responsible," he said.

(I'm always responsible. Because you and Daniel are geniuses and Teal'c's a veritable war machine and all I can do is keep us focused and haul your asses out of fires. That's why I'm here. That's what I'm good for.)

"You must listen to Major Carter and Daniel Jackson," Teal'c's voice came. "Do not concern yourself over the matter of our rescue."

"I can't--I won't leave you behind," he said. "We all get out or none of us do."

"Colonel." Carter's voice again--perilously close to a breaking point. "Please."

Please.

Something in the word reminded him of cold places and giving up. Surrender. An absolute need to see that someone made it out. I'm dying. Follow my order.

Please.

He'd never guessed how hard it was.

"...please."

"I don't want to lose you, any of you," he said without breath. (I can't go up that tunnel alone. I can't leave you here to die in this dark place.)

He was so tired. So tired.

"If it were me dying," he whispered to the silence, "would any of you leave?"

The answer stabbed into him, cold and absolute like the stopping of a heart.

(No.)

(...but I'd want you to.)

...he let go.

He tried not to think of what he was doing, but of course that was impossible. He couldn't help but see the pool of blood by Daniel's side, the paleness of Carter's skin, the sweat on Teal'c's face as he contracted illnesses his symbiote couldn't fight. Couldn't help but see the darkness of the catacombs as he started the long ascent toward light.

Light hurt. His eyes hurt. Everything hurt. The surface was hot and hard beneath his hands, searing in the sunlight. Maybe he'd never make it to the city. Maybe he'd just die here--

Vertigo hit and hit hard. He didn't know what he was seeing--didn't know if he was standing or lying, couldn't make out where the sky stopped and the ceiling began--

(--ceiling?)

The sun swung away.

Fraiser repositioned the light, unmasked relief in her eyes. "He's conscious," she said.

(What?)

He blinked, trying to press the world into some semblance of order. His throat was dryer than he remembered it. "Doc?" he croaked.

"You had us all worried," Fraiser said--though her voice belied her. Worried was not the right word.

"How'd--find me?" he managed.

"Jack, you've been hallucinating," another voice put in.

If he'd been able to move, he'd have jumped. Instead he squinted, rolled his head over, and stared hard at the face by the bed. "...Daniel?"

Daniel was grinning fit to burst. "Yeah."

"You're alive!"

And--not only him, from the looks of it. Now that he could make out faces he could see Carter standing over him, Teal'c back with Hammond and a bevy of nurses with a crash cart. But they were alive. His team was alive. And--laughing.

But it was an odd sort of laughter, suggesting hurt as much as humor. "What?" he managed.

"We're fine, sir," Carter said as if it was an explanation.

Hammond cleared his throat and stepped to the rescue. "Yourself excepted, Jack, SG-1 recovered within an hour of their encounter with the cascade ribbon. You've been out for nearly two days."

Cascade ribbon. Hammond had to be kidding. That crazy hallucination?

Daniel must have read the incredulity on his face. "You really need to spend more time worrying about yourself. We weren't in any danger."

For an instant he felt tricked--but it disappeared in the wash of relief that followed, threatening to dunk him, drown him, roll him out to sea. He felt that too much more of this and he'd lose his composure altogether; he had a knot in his throat, and his heart wasn't where it was supposed to be. "...not from my perspective."

A shared wince passed between them--he was suddenly, intensely grateful that they knew him as well as they did. He didn't need to say anything more--to force the torment into words, say them out loud. They knew everything they needed to. They understood.

He swallowed, blinking back tears only half-caused by the operating light. "Water?"

Fraiser was already standing by with a glass--and one of those damned sponge-on-a-stick things. He groaned, begging with his eyes.

"Straw?"

"Sorry, Colonel. Just a precaution."

He eyed the sponge. He'd been through a lot of injuries--and he meant a lot--and somehow the worst of it was always the downtime, the clothing, and drinking out of those things. He tried one last-ditch attempt to spare himself. "Dignity?"

Fraiser smiled at him. "Doesn't mean a thing inside this room."

"Course not." He raised one hand, hoping it was steady enough that Fraiser wouldn't insist on feeding it to him herself. "Here."

Daniel coughed politely. "We should probably let you get some rest, then," he said.

Jack laughed--or croaked, at least. (Good boy, Danny. Got the discreet exits down to a science, have we?) But--he really didn't want them to go. Not yet. Not when he'd spent the last two days watching them fade away. "What's the hurry?"

Carter hesitated. "You want us to stick around, sir?"

With a minimum of fuss, he stuck the sponge into the corner of his mouth and extracted every last drop of water. "Somewhere else to be?" he asked around the stick.

Sam glanced at Janet. Janet glanced at Hammond. Hammond tilted his head.

"No more than ten minutes," Fraiser said. "And then, Colonel, you need to get some rest."

"Been lying in bed for two days."

"Yes," Fraiser said. "But not resting."

Ouch. Point for the good Doctor.

"I was dreaming," he said.

Daniel looked away.

"Something about a cave. ...C batteries."

"You have never left the SGC," Teal'c said, six words to chase away the demons. To fight the battles for him.

"I heard you," he heard himself say.

He felt his eyes closing, and this time he didn't resist. With the Infirmary sounds rolling over him, he slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.