The Fire Still Burns – Part 2
A jarhead was in charge of his base and here he was, lying down in the middle of the day. It wasn't right.
Jack sniffed, feeling the telltale tickling in his nose that always heralded a cold. Damn ice chest. No wonder he was feeling a little off-color – everyone knew you shouldn't refreeze things once they'd been thawed.
Pulling the grey government issue blanket up higher, he tucked it under his chin and anchored it with his tightly fisted hands.
The prickly fabric was making the back of his neck itch. He closed his fists even tighter, stopping himself from scratching at the bandage covered wound.
At least he hadn't felt the snake when it came out – going in was more than enough. He shivered as he remembered the tearing teeth gouging their path into his body, the feeling of despair as it slashed its way down through skin and muscle, uncaring of the damage it caused, knowing it could repair the injuries. It had barely had time to begin the healing process before it turned tail and ran – literally – leaving the way it came in. The blood had dripped, marring that pristine white jacket he wore to return home, slipping down his collar and between his shoulder blades, running out…
"The Goa'uld within will die."
Yes, he was sure it had, but only after it tried to escape and found itself exchanging one freezer for another. Fraiser said there was no sign of it now and after all the tests she'd done Jack was inclined to believe her.
He yawned, wishing his brain wasn't constantly rehashing the events of the last few weeks – what he could remember of them anyway.
One thing he hadn't expected was General Hammond being with Teal'c in that Jaffa ship. How the hell had he managed that one? So many rumors were flying about the base that even he had heard them, tucked up as he had been in the infirmary. The nurses' and orderlies' whispered conversations had been enough. Hammond was in trouble.
Jack had wanted to talk to him, but getting a private moment had been impossible, then it was too late – the general was going to DC.
Turning to lie on his other side, he muttered a quiet curse. He should be going to Washington with Hammond to support him – to give his team's side of the story – show those stuffed shirts the human face of Hammond's command. Or he should be looking after the base while the general was absent, keeping it running efficiently until he got back. Makepeace couldn't be trusted to do that. The marine colonel was okay in a combat situation, in fact Jack couldn't think of anyone, other than his own team, that he would trust more to watch his back, but he wasn't the sharpest pencil in the pencil case when it came to administration.
The SCG was probably already falling apart at the seams and Hammond had only been gone a couple of hours.
He was still worrying when he drifted off to sleep, the stress of the past few days finally catching up with him.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Jack only had time to take a quick look at his alarm clock and register that he'd managed a good five hours sleep, when the tickle that had woken him grew. Taking a deep breath, he held it for a couple of beats before sneezing loudly.
Crap! He sat up, grabbing for the box of tissues by the bed. As another sneeze erupted from him, he gasped, pain from his head and neck both surging to join together, creating one giant mass of hurt. The tissues forgotten, he fell back, not caring about the line of moisture running from his nose.
Throbbing – his whole body was throbbing. This didn't feel like any head cold he'd ever had. God knew what germs percolated in that ice cube tray of Hathor's.
Sniff.
For crying out loud! Swallowing his own snot was not something he enjoyed doing.
He pushed himself up on one elbow and made a desperate lunge for a tissue, snagging the top one before sinking back down, his hand already holding it to his nose. In the middle of wiping the debris of the last sneeze from his face, another one rocked his body.
This time he took the whole box of tissues and laid them on his chest, pulling a new one out as each one he used became soggy.
Being sick wasn't fun at all.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
After another hour of fitful dozing broken by sneezing bouts, Jack had had enough. Janet would be able to give him something, even if it just helped the headache. Then he could vegetate in his quarters until the cold ran its course. No point in contaminating the rest of the base.
Anyway, it was way past the time he was supposed to go back to the infirmary for his test results. He was surprised the Doc hadn't sent someone to fetch him.
He sat up, the tissue box clutched in one hand like a security blanket, his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Damn thing was so itchy it wasn't funny. Thankful he hadn't undressed, he looked down at his sock clad feet, a wave of dizziness making his eyes blur.
It wasn't like he was going outside and he was off duty. Anyone he met would just have to put up with his now somewhat smelly socks, because it sure as hell didn't look like he could bend down far enough to get boots on.
The short walk to the door of his quarters had never seemed so far, but by the time he reached for the handle and pushed the door open he felt a little steadier.
That was until another sneeze had him doubling over, his hands on his knees. Thank goodness he'd brought the tissues. He blew his nose and balled the wet tissue into a small mass, throwing it into his trash can before shutting the door. The sneeze had set his headache off again and he shut his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and headed determinedly toward the elevator.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Riding up four levels was like taking an F-15 out for a joy ride - at least that was how Jack felt when the car finally stopped and the doors split open on Level 21. Except it had been a joy ride without any joy – just that feeling of disorientation that he'd gotten over after his second training flight.
And his ears had popped.
With one hand lightly skimming the corridor wall, he headed for the infirmary, his balance getting worse with every step. And now his stomach was rebelling. It was probably full of all that nose crap he'd swallowed.
He'd never been so eager to see Janet.
The infirmary door was open wide and he leaned against the door jamb, his free hand holding on to it as his legs grew even wobblier.
"Doc." He swallowed, trying for more than the dry croak he'd managed and blinking his eyes.
The scene inside the room was one of controlled chaos, with people everywhere. Nurses and doctors bent over bloody green uniforms, hands flashing as they wiped, bound and treated. Peering around, Jack recognised members of SG-12 and SG-4, plus a few extras. Sergeant Baker and Captain Kearney lay side by side on beds, while others of their teammates were on gurneys.
It looked like the aftermath of a massacre.
It was as the reaction to what he saw was really hitting home that Jack spotted Janet Fraiser. Major Mansfield, commander of SG-4, was bleeding freely from a large wound in his side and the infirmary staff surrounding him were working desperately to stem the flow. The diminutive doctor was dwarfed by her nurses but her presence was certainly being felt as she snapped rapid orders.
Red dripped on to the floor and for a moment Jack's vision wavered. He swayed, gripping the door jamb harder to stop himself from falling.
"Colonel O'Neill?" Jack's eyes came back into focus as the doctor's voice cut through the quiet background murmurs of her staff and patients. "I'm sorry, sir, I haven't got time to go over your test results now. As you can see, we've got a bit of a crisis here." She continued working as she spoke, snapping one pair of bloody gloves off and replacing them with another, her gaze darting from one part of the infirmary to another.
"What happened?"
She grimaced, her face showing her disgust. "Just the usual unexpected run-in with a Jaffa patrol."
"Any casualties?" He wondered briefly at not having heard the alarms, knowing he must have been more out of it than he thought.
She shook her head grimly. "Thankfully no. Were you needing anything, sir?"
"No, nothing that won't keep."
She was already turning back to Mansfield. "Good. I'll come down to your quarters as soon as I'm able, Colonel."
Fingertips clenched around the thin edge of the door, head spinning and thumping to the tune of some demented techno dance track, Jack grunted an acknowledgment. There were people seriously injured here and one bad ass cold didn't figure too highly in comparison. He'd go back to his quarters and find that bottle of aspirin he had stashed somewhere.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
TBC