The Confirmation

"I'm hoping it's not permanent, doctor?" Hammond asked as they observed the wolf wondering around the room.

"No, I don't think so sir," she said as she watched the wolf's head lift and an ear swivel in their direction. She hesitated before continuing. "Much of Colonel O'Neill's bio-chemical and genetic makeup is still the same, and eventually, the energy and stimuli that was used to produce such a change would degrade, forcing it to revert back to the original form. I think." She looked at him apologetically.

Hammond merely nodded and they both glanced back at the wolf. She nearly took a step back. The wolf was directly in front of the mirror, staring as though it could see into the room—see her… Its sharp-looking canine-like teeth were bared as it snarled at them. But what caught her attention were its eyes: they were the Colonel's. And yet they weren't. Behind the dark brown eyes that were so familiar, there nothing she could see that was recognizable. Only the basic instincts of a trapped animal.

A shiver ran down her spine, and silently she promised Colonel O'Neill that she would stop this. She would find a cure.

The wolf lost interest as no more noise issued from behind the fake wolf and he ceased his pacing. For the next while, he carefully scouted the room, following the scents, checking the solidarity of the trap. He found where the prey entered and left, but though he tried for a long while, he could not figure out how because there was no opening that he could see.

Deciding not to bash himself against the walls, for his body continued to be tender and sore even as he walked loosely around and time passed, he focused on memorizing the area. Especially the scents. He would remember those scents, and when he left this trap he would release his anger in revenge against those that did this to him. He would hunt them. They would be his first prey.

He would wait, though. Until this soreness was gone, until he had his full strength. He could stay himself until he knew he would gain the upper hand easily. He was not young, inexperienced or stupid; he knew what he was doing. He knew how to hunt, how to stalk, how to be patient for the sweet taste of death and revenge. When the fury that built up inside him could reign free. He licked his lips.

Lifting his head, he blinked and behind his eyes he saw the lightening sky, the stars fading. Tiredness overtook him suddenly in a wave of disorientation. To steady himself, the wolf lowered halfway to the ground, his belly not quite resting on it. The pain intensified and slowly he staggered to a corner of the room that was partially hidden. Collapsing when he reached there, he curled up tightly, his body tensing, as the hurt within him continued to rise until he was locked inside his mind. Not unconscious, somehow not able to, but hiding, sheltering his mind from the feeling, from being fully aware of what was happening.

Dr. Fraiser walked into the small observation room and looked through the window-mirror in time to see the large creature stumble into the corner and fall. She felt like she should run in there and make sure he wasn't seriously injured, but she forced herself to stay still, to watch as the animal curled tightly—much as O'Neill had. As it tightened and tensed in what was probably immense pain. Yet no sound came from the wolf.

She bit her lip, delaying her actions. Waiting. And when she saw the reversion begin, physical appearance changing, she picked up the phone from its cradle on the table, hitting the button for the infirmary.

"Medical team to Isolation Room 2." She hung up and then as fast as she could, she ran around to the only door into the room. At some point during the night the nurse she had left to guard the door had been replaced with a marine. He stopped her and gave her a questioning look.

"This is a medical emergency," she snapped, shoving her ID in his face and pushing past him to open the door, he didn't question her again. She didn't blame him, he had been told not to let anyone in and to question even her and the General.

The door slid open and she ran to the far corner where she knew he was, kneeling down beside him. He was only partly changed back, his fur was still receding, his bones still resizing. Getting up again, she swiftly retrieved a needle. Not able to get to the usual spot for taking blood, she went for the back of his hand—which was curled into a fist. She took a small amount and he didn't move at all. Luckily.

Not sure what to do for him, she waited for the medical team to arrive. They should be here in a few seconds. She needed them for when he finished changing. A MRI scan needed to be done as soon as possible.

The medical team arrived just as Colonel O'Neill's form resembled normal, and she asked for a sedative. Just then, he seemed to become conscious. He groaned and she laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes slowly, then snapped them closed again and let out a small sigh. "What happened?" he managed mumble quietly, his voice hoarse.

"Relax Colonel. We'll take care of everything." She gave him the sedative. "Go back to sleep."

He seemed to settle a bit, so as quickly as they could they got him back onto the bed he had been occupying yesterday.

"I need a MRI scan now," she ordered, before heading to her lab with the blood sample. She had to have as much information on what was happening to the Colonel as she could, before the rest of SG-1 got in for the day and Hammond called them all in for a meeting.