Jack's Fangtastic Adventure – Part Eighteen

Jack lowered himself gingerly, carefully cradling his left arm. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sat, eyes shut. His head was spinning, and even now he still felt like throwing up. He had no energy left, not even enough to lie back on the pillow, so he stayed upright, trying not to think.

The opening of the door was expected, but still unwelcome. Knowing who his visitor was likely to be, he didn't look up.

"Colonel? Daniel tells me you had a bout of nausea."

There was no point in denying it, so he didn't try. He nodded, forcing out a simple affirmative.

"Yeah."

"Look up at me please, sir."

Jack lifted his head to find the Doc's eyes staring into his, and turned his eyes away, focusing instead on a point over her shoulder.

"You don't seem to be running a temperature." A small hand was clasped briefly across his forehead before Fraiser continued her examination with more scientific means, checking the thermometer and nodding. "No. Temperature's fine. Lie down, please." She waited patiently as he eased his legs up onto the bed, and stretched out.

Jack forced himself to relax, the tension in his body a physical pain. On the edge of his awareness he heard Janet's voice as she reattached the monitors deemed no longer needed.

"Everything seems normal, except your heart rate is a little rapid. How are you feeling now?"

How was he feeling? Sickened. Disgusted. Horrified. Guilty.

"Okay." He realised she was waiting for something more, so he added, "I feel okay."

"We need to work out what caused the nausea, sir. You may have developed an infection, but hopefully it has some more mundane reason." He looked up, watching as she pushed her hair back behind her ears. Her expression was concerned and she looked around, her gaze finally settling on the remains of his lunch dishes.

"How were you feeling after lunch? Perhaps it was something you ate?"

Oh Christ!

Jack leaped to his feet, shoving the Doctor to one side, and lurched forward, dragging the leads off his body in the process.

He almost made it, just managing to open the bathroom door before throwing up over the tiled floor. He stayed hunched over, holding himself up by clinging one handed to the doorknob.

"Here, Colonel." The male voice startled him for a second, until he realised it was one of the nurses, obviously alerted by Janet. Stepping away from the door, he was grateful for the strong arm helping him back to bed, as his legs grew progressively shakier. He took the washcloth held out to him, wiping his face, before accepting a glass of water from the Doc, sipping it and swallowing to wash away some of the foul taste. Ignoring the activity around him as the monitors were reattached and the mess cleaned up, he shut his eyes.

A needle pricked him.

"I'm taking another blood sample, sir." He nodded his understanding, too tired to speak, as she patted his arm. "Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this. I've given you something to stop the nausea."

Inching his eyes open he was surprised to see the IV had been connected up again. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes." There was no arguing with the Doc when she used that tone of voice so he lay back, thinking.

The tests were pointless, but he wasn't going to tell her that. He knew exactly why he was sick and it was something he was going to have to work through by himself. There was no miracle cure, no magic drugs to take this away.

Just him.

A thought flashed through his mind that he should maybe talk to someone about this, but he dismissed it instantly.

No way.

Not now, not ever.

He'd get over this, get past it. All it took was willpower, and he had that in stubborn abundance.

He'd done some damn distasteful things…

Grabbing a nearby bowl, he dry retched until he tasted blood.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Sam Carter could hear the angry voices before she even left the elevator, both easily recognisable. As she got closer to the infirmary the words became clear.

"Get out!" Sam had rarely heard Colonel O'Neill sound so angry. She increased her pace, almost colliding with a nurse. The young woman, looking distressed, headed for the stairs.

"This is my infirmary and I will not be ordered from it." Sam rounded the corner and into the main ward just as Janet spoke, her tone matching that of the Colonel's.

Whatever the problem was, it sounded more serious than the normal butting of heads Janet and the Colonel usually indulged in. The door to the private room stood open, so she entered, noting several infirmary staff avidly listening while standing out of view of the antagonists. They looked up startled, as she swept past, scattering back to their duties.

Janet Fraiser stood, arms folded and face red, glaring daggers at Colonel O'Neill, standing toe to toe and towering over her. His left arm was held in a sling, finally free of all but basic bandages, and he was dressed in loose fitting sweats.

"Ah…what's going on?"

The Colonel didn't take his eyes from those of Janet's as he answered Sam's question. "Nothing, Carter. That's the point." He had lowered his voice, but that only made his cold, icy tone take on an air of menace.

"Colonel O'Neill's physiotherapy sessions have been cancelled."

"Oh." Sam couldn't drag her eyes away from the throbbing vein standing out from her CO's forehead. He was angry. Very, very angry. "Why?"

"Because she's a power hungry sadist."

"Because he isn't well enough to be doing anything strenuous."

The two voices spoke at the same time, the words running together.

Janet flushed. "I'm not going to stay here and be insulted. I suggest you lie down and make yourself comfortable, sir, because you aren't going anywhere soon!" With that, she turned and stormed out.

Sam threw the Colonel an apologetic look, and followed after the doctor, hearing a spat out "Crap!" from his direction as she did so.

"Janet, wait up!" Despite her superior height she had to jog to catch her friend, managing to do so just as the Doctor reached her office. "What was that all about?"

Janet dragged her chair away from her desk, letting the feet scrape on the floor, and Sam cringed at the sound as she shut the door behind herself.

"Damn the man!" The Doctor spat out the words as if they were a curse, then lowered her head to cradle it in her hands, her voice becoming muffled as she did so. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't get so angry with him. It isn't like I don't understand how he's feeling."

"Can you talk to me about it?" Sam asked cautiously, mindful of Janet's respect for her patient's privacy.

Janet responded by lifting her head. "I don't see why not, you know most of it anyway. The Colonel was due to start physio on his arm today, but the nausea he's been experiencing has seriously weakened him. We still haven't found the cause, nothing showed in the latest test results, and I'm worried."

"Is it that bad?" Sam knew the Colonel was a bit sick, but had no idea it was anything to be so concerned about.

Janet nodded. "He's barely keeping anything but the most basic foods down. He was well under weight when he was rescued, and he's losing more every day. I don't want to, but if it keeps up I'll have to confine him to bed and tube feed him."

"Hell!"

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Janet nodded again at Sam's exclamation. There were some details she hadn't told the other woman, details that made the situation even worse. Just how much mobility the Colonel would regain in his arm was still in question, and any delay would only exacerbate the problem.

She sympathised with his need to get back to duty, but it wasn't going to happen if things carried on the way they were. Light duties maybe – a desk job where the most he had to do was push a pencil around a form, but certainly not active status.

Colonel O'Neill wouldn't stand for that. He was an all or nothing kind of man – his response to the news proving that. He had gotten angry, insisting on beginning the physiotherapy even though he could hardly stand up without feeling faint. The resulting argument had been vicious and hurtful.

And Janet regretted every second of it.

xoxoxoxoxoxo

Exhausted by the fight with Janet Fraiser, Jack slept, twisting restlessly on the narrow bed, the dreams that had plagued him for days revisiting him, pushing him further into despair.

He was back in the cave, the smell of the animals heavy in his nostrils.

Hungry, so hungry.

Darkness streaked with light, sound bursting in waves, sharp stabs of pleasure.

He fed, licking the blood, tongue searching out the marrow, chewing the still warm flesh, while they took their turn with him, sucking him dry.

Hungry, still so hungry.

His need consumed him, and he tore the shreds of olive green material from the chunk of meat with his teeth.

Tongues lapped at him, as he ate and flew, rejoicing.

xoxoxoxoxoxo