Brigadier General Jack O’Neill pulled his truck into his parking space outside Cheyenne Mountain in the wee hours of the morning, well before sane people even entertained thoughts of getting out of their warm beds or turning on their coffee makers. But here he was, again. He had a report due to Hammond by 1300 hours, and after the computer glitch the day before, he was behind.
Still more asleep than awake, he took his coffee from the plastic holder on his dash and stepped out of the truck. The guard at the first checkpoint greeted him with a smile and a ‘good morning’, which Jack did his best to return, but the caffeine just hadn’t kicked in and to speak was more than he was capable of quite yet.
He sipped from the hot brew in the first elevator, letting the steam and aroma seep through the tiny holes in the top of the cup to reach his nose. It chiseled away at the fog. Not a lot, but some.
Check point number two, the guard looked as tired as he felt. They nodded sympathetically at each other before Jack boarded the second elevator that would take him past the NORAD levels to the SGC. As the car descended to sub level 27, he leaned into the wall and let his head rest back, the leather of his jacket squeaking with his movement.
*Please let this be a quiet day. No apocalyptic revelations. No freaky malfunctions. No mess hall screw ups. Just . . . *
The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened to reveal Walter standing in the wait, his round face wrinkled in tight concern.
*So much for that . . .*
“Walter, it is 0415. What could have *possibly* gone wrong already?”
“Colonel Carter came in hot twelve minutes ago with SG’s 3 and 5 under heavy Kull Warrior fire.”
“Wounded?”
“Four. They’re in the infirmary now.”
Jack stepped back into the elevator and Walter followed, the doors closing behind him as Jack jabbed 21 with his thumb. The coffee that had been his morning nectar moments before now burned and churned in his gut. The elevator moved excruciatingly slow now.
“Dead?” he finally asked.
“One, sir.”
“Who?” *Please . . .*
“Lieutenant McElvoy of SG-5, Sir. Major Riggs of SG-5 and Lieutenant Tannen of SG-3 are both seriously injured. Major Patenski and Colonel Carter sustained less severe injuries.”
Jack carefully schooled his expression to reveal nothing, but he slipped his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and fisted his fingers until his knuckles ached. The elevator finally bumped to a halt and the doors opened. Jack managed to keep himself in check and not leap the jamb as he handing his coffee off to Walter.
The infirmary was a frenzy of activity as Dr. Brightman and several of her staff worked feverishly on the bloody and still forms of Riggs and Tannen. The masks on the staff’s faces muffled their voices, and their commands barely carried over the din of beeping machinery and clashing equipment.
Jack stood for several minutes, holding his breath as he watched the doctor work. He hated this . . . waiting and wondering if everyone would come out in one piece. And if not in one piece, at least alive. He wanted to demand their status, but knew asking questions right now would just put him in the way.
“Carter . . .”
“This way, Sir,” Walter said, walking towards a quieter corner of the infirmary away from the working doctor.
Patenski was either asleep or unconscious on one of the beds as a nurse injected his IV with a syringe. Another nurse stepped around the foot of his bed and yanked away the white curtain that separated his bed from the next. Jack’s heart clenched in his chest as he caught sight of Sam easing the hem of a clean shirt over the waist of her BDU’s.
Her hair was mussed, and soot smudged her cheek. A large white bandaged wrapped her forearm, peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her shirt. Another bandage, already streaked pink from the wound beneath, ran along her brow line partially hidden by her hair.
“Get me a status report as soon as you can,” Jack said in a low voice, and Walter nodded, disappearing in the opposite direction.
Sam looked up and their gazes connected. Jack drew a slow breath in through his nose, squaring his shoulders, and walked to her.
“Carter . . . ” he said with a lilt as he reached her. “What did I say about getting shot at while off world?”
She shifted on the bed edge, her movements stiff and hesitant. “Someone forgot to send your memo to the enemy, Sir.”
Jack attempted a smile and pushed his hands deeper into his jeans pockets. He hitched his chin in her direction. “You okay?”
Sam nodded and inched her feet towards the ground. Jack quickly yanked his hands from his pockets and helped her down. He put his arm around her waist and supported her hand with the other as she stood. She winced, and quickly buried the cringe behind an expressionless façade.
*Good soldier, right?*
“I see the obvious. What do I not see?”
Sam straightened with a slow release of air, but she didn’t let go of his hand and he didn’t move his arm. “Nothing bad.”
“Carter. . .”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I bruised my right leg from knee to hip falling on the Gate stairs, and almost cracked a rib or two. That’s all. Nothing compared to everyone else.”
He watched her for a moment, and saw behind her eyes the same warring emotions he had dealt with for years. The guilt of being in command when things go in the crapper, especially when someone dies. Nine times out of ten, there was nothing you could do about it but that doesn’t make the weight on your shoulders any lighter.
Jack ran his hand up her back and down again before stepping away and resuming his fist-in-pocket pose again. A stance more easily maneuvered in BDU’s, but since he hadn’t exactly gotten a chance to change yet . . .
“What happened?”
Sam shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning down. “I’m not sure, Sir. I’m trying to get it all clear in my head, but the pounding isn’t helping.”
“Okay. Go get cleaned up. Get some chow and some rest. Well talk later.”
~*~
Sam watched Jack pause at the door of the infirmary and talk with Walter and Doctor Brightman. She looked to the now quiet forms of her men. They all made it – except for McElvoy.
*Thank God*
She tried to remember what happened. They were investigating the planet, seeking a possible encampment of rebel Jaffa. Sam remembered cresting a hill and seeing the tents in the valley below. A tingling pain slithered up her spine and spread over the back of her skull like acid in her veins, and Sam closed her eyes against it. Then the smell of burning flesh and the sound of screaming men filled her memories. They were running back to the Gate. Kull warriors pursued them through the trees. Sam dragged Tannen beside her . . .
*His fault . . . He knew . . .*
The voice whispered like the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, and Sam’s eyes snapped open again. She searched the room, finding Jack still near the door. He looked up and their gazes held, a small reassuring smile tipped one corner of his lips.
The burn eased and the hiss silenced. Sam swallowed against the dry desert in her throat and headed for the showers.
~*~
“You seem very distracted tonight.”
Jack looked up from the plate of take-out Chinese in front of him, his fork twisted in the soft chow mein noodles, to focus on Kerry sitting beside him.
“Sorry. Long day.”
“Wanna talk about it? Or is it stuff that requires higher clearance than I have?”
He shook his head. “Been up since 0300 hours.”
She smiled, and sipped her Merlot. “Do you ever forget you’re military?”
Jack let his arm relax, the side of his fork clicking on the edge of the plate. He stared at the redheaded woman who had so recently infiltrated his life, so quickly that some days he swore he couldn’t remember how or when it happened. One day he was swapping omelet recipes with Carter, and the next he was sharing his bed – one that had been empty for more years than he liked to think about – with a woman nearly half his age.
*What the hell are you doing, O’Neill?*
“No,” was his simple answer.
Kerry daintily cut up her sweet and sour chicken, lifting a piece to her mouth with the fork held upside down. Jack had a passing memory of sharing a similar meal with the Gang in the past. Chinese food was never eaten at the table or dished out on stoneware plates. It was eaten in the living room while watching the game – whatever ‘game’ was applicable to ‘the season’. Usually, Jack claimed his favorite corner of the couch and Sam – more often than not – sat on the floor near his feet and used the couch as her backrest. In stocking feet, her legs crossed Indian style, she’d eat her Eggs Foo Yong from the carton and occasionally twist around to steal a bite of his Chow Mein. Daniel sampled a little bit from every container, usually opting for a paper plate from the pantry closet and T’ stuck to the Pork Fried Rice. With lots of Soy Sauce. Lots and lots of Soy Sauce.
“I heard some SG teams came in under fire this morning.”
Jack blinked, forcing himself once again to focus on the conversation – and company – at hand. “Yeah.”
“You lost one.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that what has you so quiet?”
Jack abandoned the food, setting his fork down and pushing the food away. “Sorry. Long day.”
Kerry swirled the wine in her glass, staring at him over the rim. Then she sighed and set the stemware down. “Yeah, you mentioned that.”
~*~
“You’re distracted tonight.”
Sam looked away from the television screen and the movie she hadn’t really been watching, and focused on Pete. “What?”
He chuckled and smiled. “That’s pretty much been the answer to every question I’ve asked you tonight. What’s on your mind, Sam?”
She shook her head and slipped her thumbnail between her lower front teeth, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch. “Sorry. Long day.”
“How are you feeling? I mean, I know you can’t tell me *how* you got the crap knocked out of you . . . but . . . you are okay, aren’t you?”
Sam nodded and shifted, immediately regretting it as pain shot down her leg. “I’ll be fine in a day or two. I’m a fast healer.”
“Can I get you anything?”
The phone ran beside him as he asked, and Sam nodded towards it. “You could get me the phone.”
“Cute,” he said, picking it up. “Hello.” He paused, and Sam saw a familiar shadow pass over Pete’s features. Without asking, she knew who it was. Pete handed the phone to her.
“Hello . . .”
“Hey, Carter.”
“Hello, Sir. Is something wrong?”
“No.” Jack’s voice came emphatically over the line. “I just called to see how you were feeling. You doing okay?”
“Just sore, Sir. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You need a day or two? To rest up.”
“No.” This time Sam realized it was her turn to sound overly emphatic. She cleared her throat and glanced at Pete, who was doing his best to appear like he wasn’t listening to the conversation. “No, that won’t be necessary, Sir.”
“Sure?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good enough. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sir?” she said quickly before he had a chance to hang up.
“Yeah . . .”
“No word yet?”
There was a pause before he spoke, and that was all the answer Sam needed. “No. Not yet. The moment I know anything about Daniel, you’re my first call. No matter the hour.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Night, Carter.”
Sam turned off the phone and set it on the couch cushion beside her. The same burning pain she had felt in the infirmary worked its way up the back of her skull, coursing through her veins and capillaries until it capped her head and made her eyes burn. She pressed her lids shut and ground her teeth against it.
*Do what needs to be done . . . do it before it’s too late . . . DO IT!*
“Sam?”
“What?”
Pete shook his head. “Nothing . . .” and stood up to head for the kitchen.
~*~
Sam woke with a start, her head coming up off her folded arms as she tried to reorientate herself with her surroundings. Her lab was almost completely dark, except for the soft glow given off by the various indicator lights and strobes on her equipment.
She pushed up her sleeve and twisted her watch to look at the face. 0216 hours.
*Damn!*
She didn’t even remember what she had been doing. Sam blinked, trying to focus on the day. Wait. . . wasn’t today Saturday? Why was she even on base?
Sam realized then that she had a small, red handled screwdriver held tightly in the grip of her left hand. She opened her fingers and stared at it, feeling very much like she had never seen such a thing before. *What is going on?*
She set the tool down and stood off the high stool she had been perched on. How she had managed not to keel over and crack her head open, she didn’t know. Sam looked around her lab. There was nothing on the table to indicate what she had been working on . . . no notes, the computer wasn’t on.
*What the hell?*
She shook her head and stepped backwards towards the door. Better get out as stealthfully as she could. If anyone saw her and told the General she was here this late, she’d get an earful on Monday about not having a life.
That and he’d want to know what was so important to drag her back to the base in the wee hours of a Sunday morning.
And since she didn’t know, that posed a bit of a problem . . .
~*~
“Sergeant Siler has been working on the stock elevator since early this morning. He hasn’t determined what caused the short, but is positive he’ll have it up and running by 1630, General.”
Jack nodded, looking down at the report in front of him. “Good. The guys upstairs are complaining about our supplies taking up to much space. What about the refrigerators in the Mess?”
Walter shook his head, taking from Jack the report he had just signed. “Two are running normally again. Two are running warm, and two are freezing everything.”
“What the hell . . .” Jack mumbled, rubbing a hand across his hair.
A shuttering clank rumbled through the air vents overhead, and both Jack and Walter turned their faces to the ceiling. The vent whispered and hissed, and steaming air curling into his office.
“Ah, for cryin’ out loud! Walter, go - - “
“Get Sergeant Siler on it. Right away, General.”
As Walter left, Jack shouted after him “I told you to stop doing that!”
Ten minutes later, Jack switched his computer to stand by and rose from his chair to move to the Briefing Room for his meeting with Carter and Teal’c, and the remaining healthy members of SG’s three and five. As he rose, a bead of sweat rolled down between his shoulder blades and he glared up at the offending air vent.
The air in the briefing room was no cooler, and he shrugged apologetically as his people took their seats at the table. “Siler is on it,” he said in explanation.
Sam sat down beside him, her cheeks flushed red and the hairs along the nap of her neck dark with perspiration. Jack walked back to the low table that sat outside his office and retrieved the pitcher of water and glasses that always just seemed to *be* there before these meetings, bringing them back with them.
“Considering the heat in here, everyone feel free to . . .” He rolled his hand in the air in the general direction of everyone seated. “Get more comfortable.”
Sam was the first to sigh in relief and shrug off her green BDU jacket, revealing the sleeveless tank beneath. Jack sat down and poured a glass of water and slid it towards her across the smooth tabletop, then did the same for Hastings sitting on his other side – just to be polite. Then he pushed the pitcher and glasses away and they were passed around the table to everyone present.
“So, let’s talk . . .”
The air vents shuttered and banged overhead, and everyone in attendance collectively looked up. Jack heard a muffled *poof* sound, and seconds later the room was filled with the vilest stench he had smelled since their nightmare stay on Netu.
Sam’s face twisted into an expression that fit Jack’s opinion of the situation, and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, god . . .”
Major Wong picked up his report folder, waving it in front of his face. “Is that a stink bomb?”
“What, are we back in high school?” Jack cursed, standing with such force his chair rolled back and crashed against the wall behind him. “Walter!”
~*~
Sam huffed a breath up her face, trying desperately to cool her skin from the sweltering heat that permeated the air in her lab. The small fan that sat on her desk did little to cool her, succeeding only in stirring the heavy air rather than actually providing relief.
She tried to focus on the scan report in front of her, red and blue lines paralleling each other in peaks and valleys with gamma and alpha readouts that meant little more to her right now than quantum physics would to a nursery school student. The niggling sensation that she was supposed to be doing something else - going somewhere - seeing to something important - tickled at the back of her mind. Her stomach twisted and knotted with the anxiety of something forgotten.
"Everything okay, Carter?"
Sam jumped and looked over her shoulder. Jack stood in the open doorway, the light from the hall glowing behind him to shadow his face and outline his form. His shoulder was against the jamb and his hands were pushed into his pockets.
*You know what you have to do . . .*
Acid burned up her spine, hitting the base of her skull, leaving an alkaline tang in the back of her throat. Sam swallowed and slowly blinked her eyes, trying to push aside the dark thoughts that had grown more and more frequent in the past hours and days. The slithering voices were worse when she was tired, or when her mind wandered too far from a clear point of concentration, but as time went on they grew more and more persistent.
She wondered how long she could go without saying anything . . . and wondered if she were going insane.
"I'm fine, Sir. Just - - "
"Hot."
"Sir?"
"It's hot in here." He stood away from the jamb, and as he stepped out of the circle of lights, she saw he wore a black tee shirt that accentuated the refined muscles of his biceps and triceps, and as he shifted his fingers within the confines of his pockets, the tendons and chiseled angles shifted with each movement.
"It's hot everywhere, Sir."
He reached the table where she sat, and his hand left its restrictive pocket to pick up a pen and turn it end over end, bouncing it off her notes. If he couldn't get his hands on a doohickey, a pen would do.
"Did you need something, Sir?"
"Nah. Just . . . checking in."
The air vent rattled and clanked, and Sam braced herself - considering the option of holding her breath. The last time she had heard that noise, the most God-awful stench had filled the briefing room. Instead, the ambient temperature in the room instantly cooled and she sighed.
"Oh, thank God."
"Thank Siler . . ." Jack amended, and Sam smiled.
She shifted her gaze from the gray air ducts overhead to Jack, and her breath caught in her throat when she found him watching her. His dark eyes were intent and unwavering on her face, and his hand had stilled in its fidgeting. Jack hitched up his chin, his lips parting for a moment in a sign she had long ago learned to recognize. He had something to say . . .
"So, everything *really* okay, Carter?"
Sam shrugged, pressing her lips together with a slight arch of her eyebrows. "Sure. Great."
"You're feeling okay since PX4-133?"
She nodded again. "Yes."
His gaze shifted over her face, and Sam wondered if he knew. If he could possibly guess that right now a serpent whispered in her ear.
*He's the one . . . it's all his fault . . . he must die*
She swallowed hard, and fought the urge to press her eyes closed against the evil whispers. A shiver shot up her spine, and she couldn't stop the quake that moved through her body.
"Damn it," Jack muttered. "First it's sweltering, now it's the Arctic Tundra."
The fine sheen of sweat that had covered her skin moments before now felt like shards of ice frozen to her skin as the temperature in her lab dropped at an amazingly fast paced. She half expected to look up and see snowflakes escaping the air vent.
"This is insane. Damn gremlins in the works."
Another shiver shot through her, shaking her from the inside out, and Sam crossed her bare arms over her body. Jack looked around, and spotting her discarded BDU jacket, he retrieved it from the back of her desk chair and brought it back to her. As he draped it over her shoulders, Sam reached out her hand to pull it tighter and their fingers touched.
For just a moment, the slightest flash of an instant, the burning pain in her veins eased and she blinked against the relief. Then Jack pulled back and headed for the door, mumbling to himself about never feeding Walter again after midnight.
Sam watched him go, and as he disappeared through the doorway, a thundering pain shot through her temples making her cry out and clutch her head.
*HE MUST DIE!*
*~*
Doctor Brightman sat in her office, the latest lab reports from SG's three, and five stacked in front of her. She had already gone over them twice, but focused again on the top page, preparing to go over them again.
This report in particular.
*Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter.*
She had been in the Air Force long enough to know not to question the recommendation of her commanding officer, and she had been at the SGC long enough to know that if there was anyone here that knew Sam Carter better than she knew herself - it was General Jack O'Neill.
So, when he came to her two hours before and told her something was *off* with the Colonel - and asked her to look into it - she wasn't about to refuse him.
Problem was, as of yet, she hadn't found a damn thing.
Beyond the obvious injuries that Colonel Carter had returned with, her physical had come back perfectly normal. Her CT scan was fine, her BP normal, her Pulse OX, respiration levels and heart rate perfectly acceptable considering the situation. Her tox-screen came back fine. No sign of anemia or any other deficiency, no excessive levels of adrenaline or hormones that would indicate stress. Red and white blood counts normal. No foreign chemicals in the blood, especially those they had begun scanning for in the last several years.
She shook her head.
*What did he expect her to find?*
She rested her temple against her curled fingers and scanned the numbers again. As she reached the bottom of the page, and the factor levels decreased, her breath caught.
Unknown factor: .002%
She quickly flipped to Major Rigg's page, her eyes scanning to the bottom of the page.
Unknown factor: .0021%
It was the same for three of the ten other SG members. Some unknown factor in their bloodstream that the infirmary's tox-screen could not readily identify. But with the percentage so low, the computer wouldn't send up a red flag.
Doctor Brightman shoved back from her desk and stood to her feet, rushing from the room to find General O'Neill.
~*~
“Sabotage?”
Sergeant Siler shrugged and nodded. “Yes, Sir. Every case of system or equipment malfunction in the last twenty-four hours has been a direct result of sabotage.”
Jack slammed his elbows on the briefing room table and roughly raked his hair with his fingers. “Anything serious?”
“No, Sir. Nothing that can’t be fixed with some time. I’ll have the air scrubbers and climate control systems back online within the next three or four hours. The stock elevator is already up and running again, and the refrigerators in the mess will be fixed shortly. For those, we needed some parts to be brought down. The equipment in the infirmary and Colonel Carter’s laboratory will take a bit more time due to the highly specialized and technical nature, but - - “
“Carter’s Lab? Infirmary? Has anything *else* gone wrong I don’t know about?*
Siler cleared his throat and looked down at the report in front of him. “Um, no, Sir. I don’t believe so.”
“Okay, fine. Just . . . get on it, and report back to me when we’re all set. Walter!”
Before the airman’s name was off his lips, he appeared beside Jack. “Yes, sir?”
“Get me the Head of Security for the base, and the names of all the shift leaders for the last forty-eight hours. I want to see them here by 1430 hours.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Walter headed through Jack’s office to the hall beyond, leaving Jack alone in the briefing room. He reclined his chair back. Letting his head rest on the smooth leather with his eyes momentarily closed. *Sabotage? What the hell? Who? How?*
“General O’Neill, could I speak with you for a moment?”
Jack looked up to Dr. Brightman. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“It’s in regards to the matter you brought to my attention earlier.”
He immediately stood and motioned towards his office. Doc Brightman preceded him inside and he shut the door behind them, crossing behind her to shut the other door. Jack didn’t bother go behind his desk, instead he stood at the corner and tapped the wood with his fingertips.
“So . . . what’re we talkin’?”
Doc Brightman sighed. “I wish I knew for sure, General. I went over the medical reports of all the returning SG members, and on a handful of them – Colonel Carter included – there is a trace unknown substance in their blood that as of right now I can’t account for.”
Jack squinted his eyes. “You don’t know what it is?”
“No. I need to run further tests . . .”
“Ah, crap,” Jack muttered under his breath. “I was hoping you’d say she was just . . . you know . . . tired, or somethin’.”
“I suggest we bring her, and the other SG members, to the infirmary immediately.”
Jack nodded, still fuming over the news. *Crap, crap, crap* “I’ll go with you.”
~*~
Sam paced her lab from one end to the other, her hands twitching and fisting nervously at her side. Her skin crawled and her blood ran hot in her veins, as if part acid/part lava.
She couldn’t think . . . couldn’t concentrate. Her mind was a jumble of hissing voices and whispered secrets demanding her attention. Anxious knots twisted her stomach and made her insides quiver with nervous energy.
*It’s going to happen . . . any second now . . . any moment. He’ll be dead. Dead. DEAD!*
“No!” she shouted to the room.
No, he couldn’t be. What was she doing?
The voices! The voices!
Sam dropped to a hunch on the floor, slapping the heel of her hands against her temples trying desperately to silence the maddening hoard in her mind. She rocked on the balls of her feet, curling in on her own body, begging for the screaming to stop.
*You did it! You did it! He’s dead! He’s dead! You killed him!*
“No!” she screamed to the silent room and lunged to her feet, sweeping her arms across the nearest table. Equipment and notes flew across the room, papers filling the air. “No! No!”
*Dead! Dead! Dead!*
Hundreds, thousands of hissing, slithering voices swirled and coiled around her. She felt the cold, clammy scales on her skin and she dug at her arms and neck with her nails. They crawled up her back, along her spine, into her hair – their forked tongues tickling her ears.
*Dead! Dead! Dead!*
Sam screamed.
~*~
The primal ferocity of the scream that echoed through the cement SGC walls momentarily froze Jack in his tracks, then propelled him forward. Never had he heard a sound like that, but he didn’t have to see to know who it was.
*Sam . . .*
He grabbed the frame of the door, using it as leverage to fling his body around into the room, scanning the dim space for any sign of her. The lab was a wreck . . . papers and equipment scattered on the floor and across the table, some pieces beeping and buzzing in protest to their mistreatment.
Jack took another step in just as Doc Brightman’s soft clicking heels reached the door.
“Carter?”
Then he heard it . . . a whimpered sob accompanied by a muffled thumping. Jack stepped cautiously around the side of her long table, and his chest seized. Sam was curled in the fetal position, lying on her side. Her fingers and arms were bloody from clawing at her own skin. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and the thumping sound was the steady rhythm she kept – banging her head against the cement floor.
Jack dropped to his knees beside her and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to sit up. “Carter . . . Carter!”
Vacant eyes turned up to look at him, staring but not seeing. Jack couldn’t breathe, squinting in the dim light of the room to try and see her. What the hell was going on? What had happened to her? What had she done to herself?
“You’re dead . . . ” she whispered, her voice raw and rough.
“No, Carter. I’m right here.”
“We need to get her to the infirmary,” Doc Brightman said from the doorway.
*No shit, Sherlock*
Sam’s eyelids fluttered, and her eyes rolled back into her head so far the iris disappeared, showing only white. Her body slumped in his grip, and Jack shifted, bringing her against his chest.
“There’s a gurney on the way . . . ”
“Screw that.”
He lifted her in his arms, and with her head resting over his heart, carried her from the room.
~*~
Jack stood at the foot of Sam’s bed, watching her fitful sleep. Even with the double dose of sedative and sleeping *stuff*, she wasn’t resting. Every few moments, mumbled words passed her lips so low he couldn’t understand them and she would jerk against the restraints the doctor had applied.
Three hours. She had been like this for three hours. Jack ground his teeth together until pain shot from his jaw.
He knew something was wrong.
Why didn’t he do something sooner?
Why did he listen when she told him nothing was wrong? This was Sam, for cryin’ out loud? Since when would she actually *tell* him what was wrong without him pushing?
But he didn’t want to push, didn’t want to step on toes. Shanahan’s toes. Why the hell didn’t Shanahan notice? *Dumb ass bastard.*
Jack walked along the side of the bed, taking in the details of what she had done to herself with just his gaze. Deep gauges marred her throat, neck, and arms, the worst now covered with white bandages. The Doc said she had a good lump on the side of her head from banging it on the floor, coupled with the injuries she had come home with just days before.
He looked down at her hands. Her wrists were wrapped in leather straps lined in fleece to protect her skin as much as possible, but he already saw a red rash spreading beneath the edges. Her hands were curled into tight fists, her knuckles white. With a quick glance around the room to see if any eyes were on him, Jack took a hand from his pocket and ran his fingers along her knuckles.
The skin along the back of her hand was smooth, belying the strength he knew those hands held, contrasting the abrasions she had inflicted along the knuckles. He ran his fingers along hers until he reached the underside of her fist, gently and carefully urging her grip to ease and release. She sighed in her sleep, a shudder moving through her entire body, and her hand opened over his.
Jack looked up to her face and she had turned towards him, her features slightly more relaxed than moments before. Finally, the sedatives had kicked in. He slipped his hand from beneath hers and rested it on top for a moment before putting it back in his pocket.
“I heard you were down here.”
He turned to see Kerry standing a few feet from the end of the bed, her arms crossed over her body.
“Yeah,” was all he could think to say, looking back to Sam’s now calm features for a brief moment before walking past the end of her bed.
“I also heard there have been some concerns about security. Thought we should talk about it.”
“Not now.” He kept his voice low, but hoped his tone projected *there’s not a chance in hell I’m leaving this room.*
“Will there be a better time?”
“I need to be here right now.”
Doc Brightman chose that opportunity to come over to them, a clipboard in hand and a troubled look on her face. “General, I think we’ve determined what the unknown element is. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, as you know . . . four years ago, the Tok’ra were able to isolate a certain chemical compound related to the Za’tarc mind control used by the Goa’uld, and since then we have tested for this compound in each returning team upon their arrival back through the Gate.”
“Yeah . . .and . . . this isn’t that or you would have caught it three days ago.”
She shook her head. “No, Sir. It isn’t. It’s a derivative. A purer, more refined form of the same compound. Less of it was apparent in the blood than in its counterpart, and the breakdown is significantly different enough that the computer didn’t recognize it as part of the tox-screen.”
“Are you telling me she’s a Za’tarc?”
“I see no evidence to explain it any other way, General.”
“Ah, crap . . . ”
“This is bad, I take it.” Kerry looked between Jack and the doctor as she spoke. “I seem to recall reading a file about some instances a few years ago on base - - “
“You did?” Jack asked, cutting her off.
“Well, yes. There were some members of an SG team that were found to be these Za’tarcs, and also a Tok’ra named Martouf?”
Jack nodded, unsure whether he wanted to accept that was all that was in the report or not. “Yeah. Speaking of the Tok’ra . . . sounds like it’s time to make a call to Anise-Freya and get her in here.”
He pointed in the general direction of Doc Brightman’s office in a silent request to use her phone, and the doctor nodded. With one quick and hopefully discreet glance in Sam’s direction, Jack went to the office and dialed Gate Operations.
“This is the General,” he said to the airman who picked up. “Dial through to all the current addresses with known Tok’ra bases. I need either Jacob Carter or Anise-slash-Freya. Actually, both if you can get them. When you make contact, you can reach me in the infirmary.”
Jack hung up the phone, and leaned his knuckles onto the edge of the desk, taking a moment to close his eyes and try to absorb the new information. He slowly released a huff of air, letting it fill his cheeks before passing his lips. He didn’t get it. According to all the Intel they had on the Za’tarc mind control, there hadn’t ever been a reaction like this. Except when the controlee had failed and was trying to kill themselves. But Sam hadn’t tried that . . . something wasn’t Kosher.
For the second time that day his heart seized in his chest when Sam’s scream ripped through the SGC. But this time it was different.
“Jack! Jack!”
His name – screamed with such terror – closed down on his heart like a vice. Jack ran back into the main infirmary room to find Sam bucking wildly against her restraints, with Doc Brightman and three other nurses trying to hold her down. She thrashed and screamed violently, her head twisting and rolling against the pillow.
“Jack! Noooooo!” she screamed again.
Jack pushed past the nurse closest to Sam’s head and laid his hands on her cheeks, forcing her to turn towards him.
“Carter! Hey, I’m right here. I’m right here.”
She stared at him, her eyes as round as blue saucers and her breath coming in violent, hot huffs against the inside of his wrists. Sam pulled again om the restraints at her wrists, and in his peripheral vision he could tell she tried to reach for him, and couldn’t.
“Jack?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“They said you’re dead.” Her voice dropped so low he almost didn’t hear her, and he leaned in closer. The nurses backed off, giving him space.
“Who, Carter? Who said I was dead?”
Tears welled in her eyes, making them shine, and her lips trembled. A wet trail escaped, running down her cheek to follow the crevice where his hand met her skin.
“Them. The voices. Jack . . . so many voices.”
“They’re wrong, Sam. Don’t listen to them.”
She pulled again at the wrist restraints, and Jack looked to the doctor. With a jerk of his eyes, he indicated she should release them. He saw in the woman’s eyes she didn’t think it was a good idea . . . but that was the benefit of wearing stars on his lapel. With her hands free, Sam reached up and curled her fingers around his wrists.
Jack stroked her cheek with his thumb, and the tension in her body seemed to ease away. Slowly, Sam reclined back onto the pillows and Jack let his hands leave her face. But as he tried to step back, she clutched his hand, holding it with both of hers as she turned onto her side to face him.
As quickly as she woke up, Sam fell back asleep, holding his hand.
Jack looked up. Doc Brightman stood on the other side of the bed, a puzzled look on her face. Kerry stood at the foot, an expression that he didn’t want to even try to define in her eyes.
*Well, hell.*
