"What do you mean, 'gone'", he practically shouted. "He can't be gone!"

"I'm sorry Sir, but he's no longer there. We checked carefully and everything's been taken out – the place has been stripped bare."

"Oh God!" He paced around his office, picking things up off his desk and then setting them down.

The other man – dressed formally in a suit – stood silently, trying to appear calm. Inside he was shaking.

"What the hell do we do now?" the older man asked, sitting down in his chair. "You assured me these guys were professionals!"

"They were – they are Sir. We've used them for this kind of thing in the past and have never had any problems. I can't understand this either."

"Do you think the Air Force found him?"

"No Sir, I don't. According to my sources he's still listed as missing. The good news is they've stopped the SGC from searching any more. It's in the hands of Air Force Security for now – and the word is they think he's dead."

"Do you think he's dead? Maybe that's why they took off."

"Could be Sir. That's a likely scenario. Abel can get a bit carried away – really enjoys his job. It may be that they went too far and they got scared."

"Shit! I told you specifically to make sure he wasn't killed until we got what we needed."

"I know, however it's been weeks. According to Abel he was pretty much completely out of it anyway. I don't think we would have gotten anything useful at this point."

"Oh, you don't know him the way I do. I'm pretty sure he was still in there – probably just hiding. Crap!" he stood up again and restarted his pacing. "We've got to make sure. If he isn't dead then there's the likelihood that he'll come back. I can't afford – no we can't afford to have that happen."

"But he doesn't know it was you – us – Sir."

"Oh yes he does. O'Neill is a smart one, even if he pretends otherwise. No, we've got to find him – and the sooner the better. Track down Abel and his partner and find out what the hell happened. If O'Neill is dead I want to see his body – if he's not, I want him recaptured. I need that information. It's in his brain somewhere, even if he doesn't know it himself." He turned and looked at the man in the suit. "Find him or both of our lives are on the line."

Nurse Alvarez got to work after a nice long weekend. She and her husband and two boys had spent the weekend in the mountains and it had been just what they needed. They're lives were busy – her husband worked for the Postal Service, and her two sons were getting to the age when they usually preferred to spend time with friends rather than with parents. So, spending time together as a family was getting rarer – which is why they had jumped at the chance to get away for a few days.

Her first stop, after checking in, was to go see Charlie. He'd been here a few weeks now and she'd gotten to really enjoy the man. Oh, he still didn't speak – other than his name he hadn't said anything. But, she was pretty sure he was getting better. Physically, he definitely was, although he still had a ways to go. The pneumonia had really taken hold and they'd had a hard time dealing with it and the other infections.

He'd obviously been uncomfortable but he hadn't complained once – at least not when she was there. According to the other nurses he'd been no trouble – simply sleeping or staring off into space. Tina had finally arranged for him to have a TV, and had paid for it herself, so he'd have something other than the walls to look at. Just like with everything else, he'd stared at it blankly.

She had, however, been pleased to catch him once with a small smile on his face. When she'd moved up to see what was on the screen she saw it was the Simpsons – a show both her husband and sons enjoyed (which she thought was rather silly). Still, it had been great to see him with something other than a blank look, or one of terror on his face. Fortunately, that was one she was seeing less and less as time went on. He finally seemed to accept that no one was going to hurt him here.

There was just something about Charlie – she couldn't explain it. She cared for lots of her patients, but this man in particular made her want to help, as much as she could. There was something about him that engendered trust – and made her sure that deep down there was a very caring, good person. She figured that, as he got even better, this would begin to emerge.

She walked into his room with a small plant she'd brought from home. He didn't have any visitors and nothing to show anyone cared. She thought he might enjoy a touch of green in his room.

What the -? She looked around but there was no Charlie. His bed was stripped completely and it was obvious he was gone. Where would they have taken him? She turned to the other man in the room – a 96 year old with Alzheimer's.

"Do you know where they took Charlie?" she asked, not expecting him to answer. She was right – he just grinned and started to talk about something totally unrelated. He probably didn't even remember his roommate.

She rushed to the nurse's station, where her friend Farah was working. "Where's Charlie?" At Farah's blank look she explained. "You know, the man in room 365?"

"Oh him. You mean the homeless guy? He was discharged on Saturday."

"Discharged! Why the hell was he discharged? He wasn't ready to leave. He still had pneumonia and he couldn't even speak."

"I don't know. Dr. Woodward said there wasn't anything more we could do and it was costing the taxpayers too much money to keep someone like him."

Tina was enraged. She wanted to hit someone – no, she wanted to hit Dr. Woodward – the supreme ass. She was not going to let this go.

"Do you know if they just let him go or did they take him somewhere?" At the least maybe they'd delivered him to a mental hospital. He certainly wasn't capable of being by himself.

"Uh, I think they planned to drop him off at one of the missions in Skid Row."

"That bastard!" she said. Farah looked at her in shock – she wasn't used to hearing this kind of language from her friend. "Do you still have his chart?" she asked.

"I think so", she turned and looked through her files. "It was going to be sent to Records today but they haven't been by to pick anything up. What do you need it for", she suddenly asked, suspicious.

"I'm going to take it to Theresa. She needs to see this."

She knocked firmly on her supervisor's door and entered when a voice called to 'come in'. She knew, from Theresa's face, that she knew why Tina was here.

"Tina, before you get started, there was nothing I could do. Dr. Woodward had charge of this case and it was his decision."

"Even when it was unethical and unprofessional?" she asked fiercly.

"That's your opinion – one not shared by the doctor", she was reprimanded.

"No, that's one that's born out by his tests." She threw the folder down on the desk. "His test results clearly show he wasn't well enough to be discharged. The only reason Woodward did it is because he doesn't like homeless people and thinks they're no more than a drain on taxpayers. I'm pretty sure he would have preferred to have just euthanized the man."

"Tina! That was uncalled for!"

"Was it? Was it really? Can you honestly say that Woodward took any kind of decent care of the man? He barely visited him and as far as I can see didn't even look at his test results. I want this investigated and I want Woodward disciplined."

"You know I can't do that. It's going to be a nurse's word against the patient's doctor. They'll just say you were too attached and weren't being professional."

"And what about the tests?"

"Woodward will just say they're open to interpretation. He'll get other professionals to agree with him and all this will do will be to hurt your career. I'm warning you to just let it go. The man is probably back where he belongs anyway."

"You too Theresa?", she said softly. "I always thought you did this because you cared – because human life was important to you – but now I see that you're as bad as the rest. Because a man came in with rags on and no home or family, you completely discount him."

When her supervisor didn't answer, Tina walked over and picked up the file and then turned towards the door. Just before leaving she turned back. "For the first time since I've been here, I'm ashamed of this hospital, of the medical staff, and especially of you. I thought you were a better person."

She walked slowly back to her floor, figuring she'd just screwed her job at the hospital. Her husband was going to be upset – they'd just gotten to a point where things were looking up for the family – and now she could lose her job.

She straightened her spine and took a deep breath – she knew Rob – he was a man of honor and he'd support her in this! First, she had to see if she could find Charlie. He would die on the streets – of that she was sure.

They made him get dressed and then told him to sit in a chair. They then wheeled him out of the hospital. He didn't know what was happening, and kept looking for Tina. He'd learned her name through the other nurses and liked it better than 'Nurse Alvarez'. Of course, he never called her that – didn't call her anything – but that's the way he thought of her in his mind.

She had been his connection to reality – to a world that wasn't full of pain and terror. Whenever he saw her he could feel himself begin to heal, just a teeny bit. He knew he had a long way to go – his mind was still confused – but he was getting glimpses that maybe this wasn't who he was. He remembered, in brief flashes, that he had another life, a better life. He just had to find it.

That's why he was so terrified when they drove him away from the hospital. He wondered if the men were back – were they taking him back to that room? He could hear himself whimper but then stopped himself – no – Air Force officers don't whimper.

That stopped him. Where did that thought come from? Who was he? Air Force? He didn't remember anything about that – the words had simply popped into his head. With a frustrated groan he held his head in his hands and watched as the streets went by.

"Here you go", the man driving had stopped and opened his door. "Out you go old man. The people at the mission can help you." When 'Charlie' didn't move the man sighed and stepped into the van. "Come on, you gotta get out. I have other work to do." He pulled the still thin man up and forced him out of the car. He felt a brief moment of sympathy as the guy got a look of terror on his face but then shrugged – life was hard.

He stood on the street, terrified, not knowing what to do. He looked around to see dozens of people on the street. Many of them were lying on the ground, on top of cardboard boxes or wrapped in rags. Some wandered up and down the streets – many carrying bags and a few pulling shopping carts full of unknown mounds of stuff.

He looked wildly around, trying to figure out where to go, what to do. He coughed, a deep, painful cough that sent shivers of pain running through him. He was weak and sick and scared and didn't know where to turn.

"Can I help you Sir?" a kind voice asked. The Sir sounded so familiar that he immediately turned and stood straighter.

"Yes Airman?", he replied. The slight young man in front of him raised his eyebrows, but then smiled.

"Hi, I'm Joe. You look a little lost. Can I help you?"

He didn't know what to say. That small moment of familiarity had passed and he was again confused and unsure. When he didn't answer, but continued to stare, the young man sighed.

"Hey, would you like something to eat? The mission serves sandwiches if you're hungry."

Finally, after a few minutes, he nodded. Yes, he was hungry – but more than that he didn't want to lose this young man, who seemed to offer some kindness. He followed – Joe – into the building. It was dark and old and musty – and he could smell a combination of unwashed bodies and the remains of food.

Joe told him to sit at one of the long wood tables and quickly disappeared. He started to panic, after a few minutes, but then he saw the young man return, holding a tray with a sandwich, apple and drink.

He waited until the food was placed before him and looked at it suspiciously. What if it was drugged? What if they were still wanting to get information from him? He knew they had drugged him before – sometimes forcing a needle into his arm – other times lacing his food with stuff that made him hallucinate and cry out.

"I know it's not the best", a distant voice said, "but it's better than nothing. I promise you it won't hurt you."

For some reason he believed Joe. He was pretty sure he was one of the good guys – although you had to be careful of that too. They could pretend to be good and the next moment begin to torture you.

He picked up the sandwich and took a small bite, all the while watching the other man. There was no look of relief, or triumph – the man simply looked calm and happy. He continued to eat until the sandwich was half finished. He couldn't manage the rest.

He took a sip of the juice and the cold liquid made him start to cough. It was a violent episode, and the other man looked a little worried. After a few seconds he was able to get it under control, although his chest hurt like the devil. It reminded him of the time he'd had those broken ribs in Antarctica – the ones that had punctured his lung. To this day he was glad Sam -. He looked up, startled. These strange thoughts were beginning to come more frequently, but they confused and frightened him. He no longer knew what was real and what was a dream.

"I think we'd better take you to the clinic and have you checked out", Joe said. He was worried the man might have TB – which could not only be deadly, but was highly contagious, especially on the streets where so many were in poor health.

"No", the other man said softly. "Just a cold."

Joe was not to know that this was the most the man had said in weeks. As his mind began to heal his ability to communicate was getting better.

"Okay, if you're sure."

"Yeah."

"What's your name?' Joe asked. He could sense he was getting through to the older man. For a while there he'd wondered if he was all there. He figured he was either an addict or an alcoholic – or both – or that he suffered from schizophrenia. Whatever was wrong, however, he clearly needed help.

"Cha -" He started to answer but suddenly the name felt wrong. He knew it was important to him somehow, but was pretty sure it wasn't his name. He searched his spotty mind – with more holes in it than actual memories. A few names popped in and out but none seemed to settle. He thought back to his previous flash of memory. "Sam", he answered.

"Sam, hi. It's great to meet you." Joe stuck his hand out. After a couple of seconds 'Sam' put his hand out and shook the other man's. "Do you have a place to stay?" he asked.

"No", he answered softly. Just then a picture of a brown house, surrounded by trees appeared in his head. It was warm and safe – and he thought was home. The sudden yearning caught him by surprise.

"Well, there are a few shelters around here. Unfortunately you have to start lining up by about 4:00 o'clock if you want a bed. There are always more people than places to stay."

Great, just what he needed – to stand in a line for hours to get a bed in a place that probably reeked and was full of bed bugs!

"If you go to the mission, they'll make you swear that you're sober, so don't have something to drink before you go or you won't get a bed. And if you're new here – watch out for the gangs. They like to beat people just for the hell of it and if you have anything of value – they'll steal it in a heartbeat."

"Sounds as bad as Netu", he said quietly, the words coming slowly and hesitatingly.

"Netu? I don't think I've heard of that place."

"It's a planet – no – a moon. Sokor controls it. He's bad – really bad."

"I – see", Joe realized that he was speaking to man who was mentally ill. A lot of the schizophrenics on the street thought they were from other planets or were the manifestation of Jesus, or Mohammed, or Buddah or someone. He shook his head slowly, feeling sorry for the man seated across from him. He obviously needed to be on some kind of medication and getting help not available on the streets.

'Sam' frowned – something about that wasn't right. "No – Sokor's dead. We blew him up. Had to save Jacob and we did it."

"That's good – I'm real happy for you. Glad you saved Jacob."

"Yeah – he's –" he frowned again. Jacob was somebody's father – somebody important. That's why he'd insisted he help bring him back. He couldn't disappoint her. Who that was he didn't know – but he knew she was important.

"Do you have any family Sam?" the other man asked.

Family? Did he have family? A sudden pain shot through him – Charlie. Oh God. He clutched his stomach and bent over in pain. He remembered the shot, the blood, the despair. He couldn't breathe.

"It's okay, it's okay", a soft voice, a gentle hand on his back. "It's okay Sam, you're here, you're safe."

"No, no, no", he repeated, rocking back and forth. "He's dead, he's dead."

"Who Sam?" Joe asked carefully. He'd obviously touched on something serious

"My son, my son. He's dead."

Joe closed his eyes, feeling an intense sadness. He'd heard horrible stories, working on the streets – tragic, sad, unjust – all stories of people who had been hurt so desperately they didn't know where to turn – so they turned to the streets. The stories of loss – often horrific – were sometimes more than he could bear to listen to. The loss of family, of children, of spouses – the loss of jobs or possessions – it was all common – but never meaningless.

A lot of the people here – most of them in fact – had come from normal, reasonably stable lives. And then, tragedy had struck. For those without a lot of support – or those in poverty – or those with mental illness – there was little or no resilience, no ability to pick themselves up and go on. Instead, they often turned to something to numb the pain – to help them deal with how horrible their lives had become. For some, it was alcohol, for others drugs and soon all they had was a precarious, and often short, life on the streets.

He knew that for almost all of these people, all they needed was a home – someplace safe and warm – that was theirs. Then, they needed compassion and support – and the freedom to choose their own paths and move forward in dignity. He'd seen many people picked up from lives off the streets who were now doing well. It was not impossible – in fact, it was easier than most thought. They just needed the opportunity and the support of a society who cared, that didn't think of these people as hopeless or worthless.

He looked again at the man across from him and prayed that he'd get the help he needed. Sadly, he didn't think it was going to happen.