Death stands above me, whispering low

                                                   I know not what into my ear . . . .¹

 

                                                                   

 

            Seven miles down; five more to go.  Not far.  I’ve walked that far for a cold beer.  It’s not far at all.  Unless you feel like crap.  Which I do, by the way.  I’m sitting on the grass, leaning back against my pack.  I’d called a halt 20 minutes ago, and I’m really not looking forward to the remainder of the trip.  While the others had munched on energy bars, I’d unwrapped mine, took one look at it, then wrapped it back up and shoved it into a pocket on my vest.  I settled for a lunch of water and aspirin.  Seems my appetite is hiding behind the marching band performing its heart out somewhere behind my eyes.

 

            Only half listening to the conversations among my team members, I frown at the brilliant sun, which has somehow managed to pry past the bill of my cap, dark sunglasses and closed eyelids to poke incessantly at my sore eyes.  Eyes:  doorways to the soul, some say.  Or, in this case, to an all-drum band beating a frenzied, manic rhythm.  The throbbing tempo reminds me of a rock group I’d seen while channel-surfing a few weeks ago, but I can’t place the name.

            “Colonel?”

 

            I manage a “hmmm” in response to Carter’s soft voice.

 

            “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

 

            Actually, it’s hot here.  And bright.  Very bright.  Eyes still closed, I nod.  Big mistake.  One drummer drops his instrument behind my left eye and a sharp pain shoots straight through my temple.  “Yeah, Carter.  It’s nice.”

 

            “Sir, we’re over halfway there.”

 

            I may not be an astro-physi-whatever-ist, but I can take a hint.  I lift my head and squint over at them.  The three of them are all quietly, expectantly, watching me.  “Then we’d better get going, huh, kids?”

 

            I’m digging in my pack for more painkillers when I realize two things: my team members are waiting on me, and the bottle of aspirin I’d started out with two days ago is empty.  Sighing in frustration at the glare, the heat, the pain, the whole damn day, I give up my search and slip my pack onto my back with practiced ease.  “Teal’c, take point.  I’ll catch our six.”

 

            Teal’c heads out, Daniel close behind him.  I take a last look around to make sure we’re packing out everything we packed in.  Daniel gets a little sloppy sometimes.

 

            “Sir?”  Carter is holding something out to me.  I look at it and smile before taking it from her.  A packet of aspirin.

 

            “Thanks, Carter.”  I try not to look too grateful as I dry swallow two of them to go with the two I’d swallowed just minutes ago.

 

            “You okay, sir?”

 

            “Smashing Pumpkins!”  I smile at her, pleased with my not-so-failing memory.

 

            “Colonel?”

 

            “The name of the group.”  I realize she has no idea what I’m talking about.  “Never mind.”  I shake my head.  Damn!  Another drum rolls around behind my eyes.  Or maybe it’s a pumpkin being slung to the ground, splitting open, its innards decorating the inside of my head.  I look over to find Carter eyeballing me like I’ve grown another head.  “I’m fine, Major.  Just a little headache.”  Only this isn’t your average headache.

 

                                                                       * * * * *

 

            “Jack, I’d like to go ahead and get started right now.  I don’t know how much time it’s going to take, but the sooner I get started –,”

 

            Yeah, yeah.  The sooner we can go home.  The sooner we get to march back across the same 12 miles we’ve just put behind us.  I know that.  But, right now, the way I feel, the whole idea pisses me off.  I glare over at Daniel and start to snap something like, ‘Dammit, Daniel, will you give me a minute!’, when I see his face and suddenly realize he’s not whining.  He’s asking nicely.  Too nicely.  Obviously, Carter has been running off at the mouth about the health of her CO.  Fine, I’ll take it out on her then.  Call it the privilege of rank.

 

            “Carter!”  She flinches, surprised by the sudden anger in my voice.  “Go with Daniel.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”  Throwing me an occasional glance, they gather up Daniel’s video gear and Carter’s weapon, and trudge off toward the ruins a hundred yards distant.

 

            “And, dammit, Carter, don’t let him touch anything!  I’m holding you responsible!”  She waves at me without looking back, and I see Daniel look over at her, his mouth moving.  Probably saying something about what an ass I can be.  He’s right.  I can be.

 

            I sense Teal’c staring at me, and glare over at him for good measure.  “What?”  It comes out harsh, making my head pound harder.

 

            “You are angry, O’Neill.”

 

            “I’m not angry!”

 

            He remains stoic, as always.  “You sound angry.”

 

            I do.  I know that.  What am I, an idiot?  “I do not!”

 

            “O’Neill–,”

 

            “Teal’c!”  I hold up my hand to silence him, to silence myself, then rub both hands over my face wanting nothing more than to wipe away this entire day.  Barring that, I’ll settle for an end to this headache ad nauseam.  I begin again, more civilly.  “Teal’c, please, just – go patrol or something.  Look mean.  Anything.  I don’t care.”  Silent, he stares back at me, but I can see concern in the arch of his left eyebrow.  I hate concern.  It makes me uncomfortable.  “Please.”  He bows stiffly and taking his staff weapon, walks away.

 

            In the quiet left by my team’s departure, I feel the anger slip away leaving behind a slimy trail of guilt, something with which I’m only too familiar.  I roll my head around gently, trying to loosen my stiff neck and shoulder muscles in an effort to reduce the pain in my head.  My efforts are rewarded with a flash of pain so intense I stagger.  “Shit!”  I reach out and brace myself against the nearest tree.  Breathing in through clenched teeth, I wait until the pain levels off enough that I can stand on my own.

 

            Maybe the best remedy is to take my mind off whatever’s going on in my head – no pun intended.  I start by looking around at our campsite, noting the packs strewn about and the sun which is beginning to lower in the sky.  Swallowing back a wave of nausea, I go about setting up camp, starting with erecting the tents.  Ashamed as I am to admit it, I know it’s as close as I’ll get to apologizing to them.

 

            An hour later, the tents are up, and a fire is going.  I’ve heated water for MRE’s, and made coffee.  And, I have good news and bad news:  The bad news is that all the bending, squatting and tugging has left me even more nauseous and dizzy.  The good news is that while pulling out their tents, I’ve managed to filch more aspirin from the others’ packs.

 

            It’s almost dark when I drop down by the fire, and pour myself a cup of coffee.  I see the beam of a flashlight as Daniel and Carter exit the temple.  Daniel is so excited that I can hear him babbling to Carter from clear over here.  This whole trip has been one big field day for Daniel.  Two days ago, we’d set up camp one mile from the gate at the site of an old settlement. While Daniel and Carter had unearthed artifacts and studied ruins, Teal’c had kept a watchful eye.  I, on the other hand, had stumbled around the ancient city measuring the passage of time by the increasing pressure in my head.  What had started as a twinge back at the SGC had, over the course of two days, blossomed into something resembling the effects of a Goa’uld ribbon device.  Truth be told, I’m beginning to worry.  But, not wanting to bother the others, I’m struggling to keep evidence of my pain and concern tucked away.  So, when Daniel and Carter step into the ring of our firelight, I’m reclining against a dead tree, trying to look casual and not sick.

 

            “Hey, kids.”  I’m speaking softly now, trying to make up a little for earlier, but also trying not to jar my head.  “Went well, I take it.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”

 

            “Coffee!”  Daniel drops down across the flames from me, and pours a cup for himself and for Sam.  He sips his gratefully.  “Jack, this place is amazing!  It’s going to take an entire day just to videotape.  Maybe more.”

 

            “That’s great, Daniel.”

 

            Taking the cup of coffee Daniel is holding out to her, Carter sits down beside him and looks over at me to see if I’m being sarcastic.  I’m not.  I’m long past having the energy for sarcasm.  I avoid her scrutiny by sitting up straighter, a small grunt slipping out as I do so.  Carter frowns and opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by Teal’c’s return.  The Jaffa sets down his weapon and lowers himself to the ground beside me.

 

            “Everything clear, Teal’c?”

 

            “All is well, O’Neill.  I do not believe anyone has been in this area for many years.”

 

            “Yeah,” Carter is helping Daniel mix up the MRE’s, “the building appears to have been abandoned decades ago.  At least.”

 

            “If I were guessing by the state of the artifacts inside, I’d say no one’s been here for at least a hundred and fifty years.  Maybe two hundred.”  Daniel attempts to pass me a helping of whatever it is he and Carter have mixed up.  Macaroni and cheese?  But I decline.  “You should eat, Jack.”  Even as he is trying to convince me, Daniel sniffs his suspiciously.

 

            “Already did.”  Technically, that’s not a lie.  Half an hour ago, thinking I must be hungry, I’d managed to swallow half of the energy bar from earlier before staggering off into the trees to throw it all back up.  Now, hit by the smell of their dinner and the sounds of their eating, even the coffee threatens to come back on me.

 

            I set down my cup and push myself up onto shaky legs.  “Neighbors or no, we’ll keep an eye out as usual.  Daniel, take first watch, will you?  Then Carter, me, Teal’c.”

 

            “Sure, Jack.”  They look puzzled.  The sun has barely set and it’s just after 1900 hours.

 

            “Are you turning in, sir?”  Sam sounds incredulous.  I never go to bed before first watch.

 

            “After I water the garden, Major.  ‘Night, kids.”  I stumble out into the trees before sinking down to my knees and clutching my head.  Panting, swallowing, sweating, I remain motionless until my stomach settles and my vision clears.  Well, partially clears.  Squinting, I look around.  Not all of the stars I’m seeing are constellations.  I ‘water the garden’ while on my knees, then force myself upright and stumble to my tent.

 

            I fall onto my sleeping bag, resting a moment before pulling another packet of aspirin from my pocket.  I’m getting way too proficient at dry swallowing these bitter, little pills.  This time, I wash them down with a prayer that these four are the ones that will finally cure me.  I fall asleep to the sound of my team’s voices, and Sam’s soft laughter.  The high point of my day.

 

                                                                       * * * * *

 

            Third watch.  I always take third watch.  Long ago, I’d learned that it was the most dangerous time of night.  It’s when the majority of all nighttime raids happen.  So, I always take it.  I will never ask one of my people to cover what I know to be the most deadly shift.  Just like I will lead them into battle and follow them out, unless there is a valid, strategic reason to do otherwise.

 

            I usually awaken 15 to 30 minutes before my turn at watch, even at home or on base.  No need for an alarm.  Just years of practice that I wouldn’t recommend to my worst enemy.  Well, Apophis maybe.  Tonight is different.

 

            I wake without moving; listening.  Even without knowing the time or the schedule, I can tell who’s on watch by the noises they make.  With Daniel comes the sound of pouring and sipping coffee; and the quiet sniffing brought on by his allergies, although his sneezing is usually at a minimum during the nighttime hours.  Carter’s presence is announced by her soft pacing, followed by the click of a weapon being laid across her knees, and the slide of cloth against cloth as she hugs her arms tight across her chest; then, every 10 to 15 minutes, a whisper-soft sigh – something I don’t think she even realizes she does.  With Teal’c there is mostly silence, a silence that is somehow louder than anything Daniel and Sam do.  At other times, I sense his massive body circling the camp, and imagine I can even hear the sound of his staff weapon touching the ground like a walking stick.

 

            I listen:  a whisper of cloth; a soft sigh.  Sam.  I glance at my watch.  I’m early tonight.  I have another 45 minutes.  I should sleep, but the Smashing Pumpkins have other ideas.  So, I lay there in the dark, one arm across my forehead.  I don’t really care what I’ve done to deserve this, but I’d sure as hell like to know when it’s going to end.  If it’s going to end.  One more day here, another back to the Stargate; and, at the rate I’m chugging aspirin, our supply will be gone by tomorrow night.  Of course, judging by the amount of painkillers I’ve already ingested and the amount of pressure still building behind my eyes, I don’t think a few more aspirin are going to make much difference.

 

            “Dammit.”  I crawl out of my tent and, acknowledging Carter with a grunt, traipse back out to the men’s room.  At least this time I manage it standing up.  I come back to camp and sit down next to her, our backs to the fire.  She hands me a cup of coffee.

 

            “Can’t sleep, sir?”

 

            “Oh, you know, early to bed and all that.”  I study the sky and take a sip of the coffee.  “God.”  Grimacing, I pitch the foul liquid into the dirt and set the cup down.

 

            “Daniel made it.”

 

            “Tell me something I don’t know, Major.”  It’s kind of a joke:  Daniel loves the stuff, but he really sucks at making it.

 

            Carter looks down at her feet.  “We all know you’re sick.”

 

            Okay.  I walked into that one.  Should have seen it coming.  But, I can’t say I’m surprised.  We’ve been a team too long; we know each other too well.  “Yeah, well,” I shrug it off, the movement itself setting off the band and underscoring her point.

 

            “We think we should head back first thing in the morning.”

 

            “We do, do we?”

 

            She nods.  “Even Daniel.”

 

            “S’that right?”

 

            “Yes, sir.”  She can tell I’m getting pissed.

 

            I rub my forehead, pinch the bridge of my nose.  I don’t know why I do that.  It has yet to cure a headache, even a normal one.  Certainly not this monstrosity.  “We came here so Daniel can study this,” I wave in the direction of the ruins, “temple-thingy.  We’re here.  We’re staying.  There’s no reason to rush home.  Waste all this time and effort.”

 

            “Except that you’re sick.”

 

            “Carter, this is not a democracy!  We stay.”

 

            Sam isn’t stupid.  Not by a long shot.  She knows my hand trumps hers.  “Yes, sir.”  She manages to sound pitiful, mad, and resigned in two simple words.

 

            “Major, I’m fine.  I’m not sick.  It’s just a headache.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”  She has that tone in her voice.  The one that says, ‘You may be in charge, but you’re still wrong.’  Kind of an advance ‘I told you so.’  I hate that tone and she knows it.

 

            “Carter!”

 

            “Sir?”

 

            “Don’t.”

 

            “Don’t what?”

 

            “Don’t give me that look.”

 

            “Look, sir?”

 

            “Dammit!  You know what look.”  The pain in my head chooses that moment to shift heavily.  I moan and rest my face in my hands.

 

            “Colonel, with respect, look at yourself.”

 

            “I’d rather not,” I mumble through my hands.

 

            “It’s obvious you’re miserable.  We’d feel better if we got you back to the base.”  She knows how to play me, I’ll give her that.  Hell, the entire team is expert at it.  It must be in some damn SGC handbook:  If you want your way with Jack O’Neill, appeal to him via his team.

 

            In my weakened state, I almost fall for it.  Almost.  “Carter,” I sit up, looking out at the dark, “it’s just a headache, for cryin’ out loud.”  I hate talking about myself like this, so I stare straight ahead, trying to pretend she’s not really there.  “Thanks to Janet and her buddy McKenzie, you all know she’s been treating me for them.  It’s no big deal.”  Sam starts to protest, but I stop her.  Where am I going with this?  “Tomorrow – well, today, we’ll let Daniel do his videotaping.  We’ll leave bright and early tomorrow morning.  I promise.”

 

            “But–,”

 

            “Major, to be honest, I could use the break.  I’m not exactly looking forward to the walk back.”  She looks over at me.  See, I know how to play her, too.

 

            “Yes, sir.”  She stands up.  “Colonel, I’d be happy to cover your watch.”

 

            “That won’t be necessary, Carter.  Get some sleep.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”

 

            I wait until she’s settled in her tent then grab a canteen, my vest and my weapons.  Tossing more wood onto the fire, I head out into the cover of the trees.  For the next hour, I circle the camp, studying the lay of the land in the moonlight, eyes and ears open for anything that seems out of place.  I devote extra attention to the ruins before settling down for the remainder of my watch.  I find a natural depression in the grassy area about 50 yards north of the camp.  From here, I can see the camp, the ruins, and the tree-line.  I can also keep an eye on the horizon.  I sink down with a sigh and squirm around until I’m as comfortable as I can get under the circumstances.

 

            During our travels, I’ve discovered that all planets are different, with their own unique sounds.  This place is quiet – absolutely quiet.  I mean, no noisy bugs, no babbling creek, no scurrying animals, not even the sound of a breeze through the trees.  It’s eerie actually, and the silence makes the throbbing behind my eyes seem even louder.  I have to strain to hear around it.

 

            Irritated at my own weakness, I break open another packet of aspirin and wash them down with water for a change of pace.  I think I read somewhere that aspirin thins your blood.  If that’s true and if I skin my knee or something, I’m probably going to bleed to death.  I smile at the stupid irony that my bum knee might be the death of me yet.  I always suspected it would be, but I’d always imagined it would be because it failed me just as some Goa’uld had me in his sights.

 

            Unexpectedly, my left temple flares with pain and I grab at it, cursing softly.  This is so not funny!  Cradling my head, I wonder briefly if I’ve picked up some weird, alien virus.  I’m also beginning to think I’ve made a bad command decision.  When we left our camp near the gate yesterday morning, I was already sick.  I had operated under the assumption that it couldn’t get any worse.  Obviously, I was wrong.  Not only was I wrong, I was now a full day and 12 miles from getting my team home.

 

            At least, whatever this is, none of the others are sick.  Guess that probably rules out the alien virus theory.  Maybe something went wrong during our trip through the gate.  Or, maybe it’s true that we have a finite number of trips allotted to us and I’ve just reached my limit.  That possibility makes the thought of the trip home even less exciting.

 

            Finally, with agonizing slowness, the pain recedes, dulling to its previous racking, thrumming, pulsating ache.  Breathless, I lean back against my shallow foxhole until I find a measure of comfort.  I remain motionless, fearful of waking the sleeping beast that has taken up residence alongside my brain.  I wonder what time it is, but I’m afraid to make even the small movement required to look at my watch.  When I see Teal’c emerge from his tent, I know it must be 0400.

 

            Carrying his staff weapon, he walks to the edge of the camp and turns around slowly in a full circle, staring out at the night.  I realize he is searching for me.  I am so motionless that his eyes sweep past me.  Then, as if sensing my presence in the periphery of his vision, he turns back and looks directly at me.  Bravely, risking another bout of agonizing pain, I lift a hand, acknowledging him.  He bows slightly, then disappears into the night in the opposite direction.  It is not uncommon for us both to remain on watch until the others awaken, so my presence does not alarm him.  But knowing Teal’c is on duty, I can now lower my guard and allow my tired eyes to close.  The grass cool against the base of my skull, I drift into a light slumber.

 

            I’m awakened by the sound of voices and the smell of fresh coffee.  The sun is coming up on my left, and Daniel and Carter are milling around the campfire.  I locate Teal’c sitting at the base of a tree on the edge of the clearing.  Having spied me, Daniel is making his way towards me, bearing 2 cups.  He hands me a steaming mug and lowers himself to the ground nearby.

 

            “Morning, Jack.”

 

            “Daniel.”

 

            “Sam says we’re staying.”  I look up at him.  “Do you think that’s wise?”

 

             I don’t respond because I’m not quite sure what to say.  The way I feel, no, I don’t think staying is wise; then again, I’m not sure leaving is an option.  Instead of answering, I take a sip of the coffee, but I’ve had nothing to eat since early yesterday morning, and my stomach lurches.

 

            “I mean, you look like hell.”

 

            “I love you, too, Dr. Jackson.”

 

            “Jack.”  His blue eyes search my face, and he frowns.  “You sure you’re up to this?”

 

            I shrug.  “I’ll be fine.”

 

            “Yeah, sure.  You’ll be fine.  Let me guess, you’re feeling peachy, right?”

 

            “Actually, Daniel, today, I wouldn’t go that far.  But I’ll be okay.  This’ll pass.”

 

            Daniel gives me a look of something - disappointment maybe?  I know he and Carter think I should open up more, quit hiding behind the SOB routine.  I can’t.  I won’t.  I don’t think I want to.  Anyway, I’m not so sure it is a routine after all these years.  I sometimes worry about what will happen if they ever see the real Jack O’Neill.  The things I’ve done.  God, the things I’ve stood back and let happen!  Why would I want to share that with these kids?  They have so much ahead of them.  Smart, talented, and pretty damn innocent from where I’m standing.  I mean, what the hell am I but a hired gun?  A paid killer?  A glorified mercenary?  Point me in the right direction, tell me who to assassinate, then pin another medal for bravery on the breast of my nicely pressed blue suit.  I look down at my hands, a little surprised at how clean they appear.  Unstained.

 

            “Jack?”

 

            I look back up at Daniel.  I want to tell him the reason I don’t open the floodgates even just a little is because I’m terrified of what lies behind the dam.  “What?”

 

            “I asked if you wanted some breakfast.”

 

            I can’t speak for the thoughts clogging up my synapses.  It must be the effect of too much pain, or a symptom of aspirin overdose.  I simply nod, wondering if he can hear the thrum of Smashing Pumpkins from two feet away.

 

                                                                       * * * * *

 

            I’m sitting again.  I’ve been doing so much sitting today that my butt is getting sore.  Funny.  Normally, I can’t sit still through a single briefing.  I have to get up, pour myself some water, stare out the observation window, pace.  But today, I’ve been sitting in this same spot for over three hours.  Hammond will never believe this.

 

            I stretch out my bad knee and study the back of Daniel’s head.  He’s still intent on recording the hieroglyphs.  As usual when he’s faced with some new archaeological find, he’s totally immersed.  I doubt he even remembers that I’m here.  The mid-day sun is peeking through the fissures in the sagging roof of the ruins, lighting up the wall where he’s working, but over here, leaning back against what Daniel says was once an altar, it is cool and shady.

 

            At breakfast, I had managed to swallow half a dozen bites of reconstituted egg and a few swigs of water.  That was nearly six hours ago and so far, so good.  Nothing has backfired on me yet.  No sooner had we finished eating, than Carter had hurried off to do her soil sampling bit, and Teal’c had walked away saying he wanted to check out some tracks he’d come across during his watch.  That left me to babysit Jackson.  I didn’t realize until it was too late that I’d been set up.  I’m glad.  If I’d known what they were up to, I would have been compelled to protest and so would have spent the day painfully wandering around in the hot sun.  Instead, I’ve been sitting on my ass inside this decrepit building, resting my eyes while half-listening to Daniel’s running commentary to himself on what an amazing find this is.

 

            But, I think the rest is helping.  I think I’m feeling a little better.  It seems like there’s a little less drumming and thumping taking place behind my eyes.  Maybe the band has finally run out of pumpkins.  Or, maybe it’s because I haven’t turned my head for the last two hours.  I really hope the latter’s not the case because I’ve taken all but a couple of doses of the remaining aspirin, and I’ll have to move eventually – I have a 12-mile hike ahead of me tomorrow.

 

            Still, to be honest, I have to say I haven’t felt this bad in a long, long time.  Shaky and weak as a kitten; stomach full of agitated butterflies; head made of eggshell.  The sunlight, while meager, is still too bright.  Even in here, I’m wearing my shades.  And the latest symptom, discovered just moments ago, is the sudden increase in gravity - seems my limbs now weigh twice what they did when I got here.  To top it all off, I’ve had to pee for the last hour.  Despite trying, I can’t seem to work up the energy or the courage needed for that daunting task, and I’m a little embarrassed to ask Daniel for help.  But, I think I’m feeling better.

 

            “Jack?”  I must have zoned out because, unnoticed by me, Daniel has set aside his camera and is squatting down beside me.  I must look bad judging by the fright evidenced on my friend’s face.  “Shit, Jack.”  He rests a hand lightly on my shoulder.  “You okay?”

 

            It’s really rather comical: here I am, sprawled awkwardly back against this pagan altar like some messed up, too old, sacrificial lamb.  And Daniel looks a little funny, too: kind of fuzzy around the edges.  “Hey, Daniel.”  My voice sounds far off, unreal.

 

            Daniel puts a cool hand on my forehead.  I want to pull away, but can’t.  “Jack, you’re white as a ghost.”

 

            I grunt and think about making a joke that, no, I’m white as a lamb.  A sacrificial lamb.  But I’m kind of wrung out.  So, instead, I shrug clumsily.

 

            He keys his radio.  “Sam.  Teal’c.”

 

            “What’s up, Daniel?”

 

            “Sam, you guys should probably get in here.  Uh, now might be nice.”

 

            “Crap,” is all I can manage.

 

            Daniel removes my sunglasses and leans close, studying my eyes.  “Jack, what are we gonna do with you now?  Huh?”

 

            “Daniel?”  I see Carter approaching over Daniel’s shoulder; Teal’c isn’t far behind.  Seeing me, she hurries over and kneels down.  “Sir?  What’s wrong?”

 

            “I am not sick.”  But I am.  They know it.  Even I know it.

 

            “Of course, you’re not.”  She’s ignoring me now; talking to Daniel.  “How long’s he been like this?”

 

            “Shit, Sam, I don’t know.  I wasn’t paying attention.  I was–,” he waves back towards the wall, his video camera.  He grabs his head with both hands, a sign that he’s feeling guilty.  “Could be two hours, maybe more.”

 

            “Damn!”

 

            “Oh, God.  Sam, what have I done?  Jack–,”

 

            “Don’t worry about it, Daniel.  Just help me out here.  We need to lay him down, elevate his legs.  He looks like he’s in shock or something.”  I feel like giggling; I mean, Carter’s talking about me like I’m not here, and I’m letting her.  “Teal’c, go get the sleeping bags and the med kits.”  Carter and Daniel ease me up into a sitting position, and begin working my vest over my shoulders.  I endure it only because I can’t think how to stop them.  Everything on me seems mushy – my arms and legs, my thinking.  “Colonel, we’re just going to get you comfortable.”

 

            “I’m fine.”  I sound drunk, but I’m fine.

 

            “Yes, sir.”

 

            The vest comes off.  They start to lay me on my back, but I manage to grab Sam’s wrist to get her attention.  “Problem,” I tell her.

 

            “What?”  I look at her, thinking about what I need to say and how exactly to say it.  My head is banging again and it’s hard to concentrate.  “Colonel, what is it?”

 

            Damn, I hate this.  “I have to pee, Major.”

 

            “Oh.”  She starts to smile, but I guess she realizes how difficult this is for me because she suddenly metamorphs into a taller, blonder version of Janet Frasier.  “Okay.  Not a problem.”  She looks around and spies something across the room.  She brings it back and sets it in front of me.  “Will this work?”

 

            I look at it.  It’s some kind of artifact, an urn or something.  Daniel must be dying inside.  I try to smile.  “Kind of small, but I’ll manage.”

 

            She laughs at that and pats me on the arm.  “Okay.  I’ll – I’ll just go help Teal’c.”

 

            I owe Daniel big time.  In my book, helping your CO take a leak into a priceless museum piece certainly makes you eligible for a medal for bravery in the line of fire, or something.  At the very least, he deserves a good steak dinner and a bottle of wine.  When I’m finished, he lays me down gently and zips my trousers without saying a word.

 

            “Daniel–,”

            “Jack.”  He sits on the floor beside me.  “Jack, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t realize how sick you were.  I should have paid more attention.  But, dammit, Jack, why didn’t you say something?”

 

            “Guys?”  Carter sticks her head around the door.

 

            “Yeah, Sam, come on in.”

 

            Carter and Teal’c both enter the room, carrying the bags and packs.  They make a bed out of the sleeping bags, then Teal’c squats down beside me.

 

            “O’Neill?”  I know he’s asking permission to pick me up, put me on the bed like I’m a stinking invalid.  I debate refusing him, but I have very little pride left at the moment and my head is clanging, so instead I just shut my eyes.  I feel his big arms slip behind my neck and my knees.  Despite the gentleness with which he lifts me, I feel something shift inside my skull.  My eyes shoot open, and I moan as he lays me down on the makeshift bed.

 

            “Colonel?”  Carter makes the mistake of getting too close and I grab her hand, hard.  “Colonel, what is it?  Tell me what’s going on.”  I try to ride the wave of pain, control my breathing, but it’s difficult when you’re trying not to puke on your 2IC.

 

            “Sam, what’s wrong?”  Daniel’s sounding scared again, but I’m past trying to comfort him.  “Jack?”

 

            I stare up at the broken ceiling, battling for control of my own body.  Slowly, the searing pain eases down to something manageable.  Without turning my head, I look over at Sam.  Her blue eyes look huge and watery.  I realize I’m still gripping her hand in a vise and I let go.  “Carter?”

 

            She leans over me.  “What, sir?”

 

            “I think, maybe, I’m sick.”  I manage a tight smile.

 

            She humors me with one of her own.  “Ya think?”  I shut my eyes as Teal’c puts something under my legs, elevating my feet and sending the room into a slow spin.  “Is it your headache, Colonel?”

 

            I keep my eyes closed and mumble, “Give the girl a gold star.”  The Headache.  “Smashing Pumpkins,” I really wish I hadn’t said that.  Now, they’ll think I’m delirious.  Am I delirious?

 

            “Have you taken anything?  Any aspirin?”

 

            I chuckle.  “Oh, a few.”

 

            “When did you last take them?”

            Eyes still closed, I try to think.  “When we got here.”

 

            “Three hours,” I hear Daniel mumble.

 

            “Sir, do you hurt anywhere else?”  Trying to think past this monstrous thing in my head, attempting to assess the rest of me, proves difficult.  Arms, legs - heavy but pain-free; stomach - all fluttery, but okay for the moment.  I must be taking too long to answer because Carter shakes my shoulder, causing the pain to spike.  “Sir?”

 

            “Don’t do that, please.”

 

            “Sorry.  Anything else?”

 

            “Nope.  Just The Headache.”  Jeez, isn’t that enough for her?

 

            I hear someone digging around in a pack.  Then a moment of silence.  “Sir, I’m going to give you some morphine.  Okay?”

 

            “Okay.”  Honestly, I can hardly wait.  Someone pulls up my left sleeve and I feel the welcome swab of alcohol, then the prick of a needle, before they lay my arm back down.  “Thanks.”

 

            It’s quiet.  Seems we’re all waiting for the drug to kick in.  Daniel begins fumbling for something to say.  “You’re being unusually cooperative, Jack.”

 

            I say nothing; remain motionless.  The morphine’s not quite there yet and I’m afraid of losing the tenuous hold I have on this thing in my head.

 

            “Daniel,” Carter forces a laugh, “what are you talking about?  The Colonel’s always a model patient.  Every nurse in the infirmary is itching to get her hands on him.”

 

            “Yeah, quite the patient all right.  Last I heard they draw straws on who has to be assigned to him.”

 

            I’m aware of a heat pulsing through my veins and it’s not from the warm, gushy things they’re saying about me.  The drug hits my chest; inches its way up my neck and across my face.

 

            “Indeed.  I have heard O’Neill referred to as the Nurse’s Curse.”  I carefully squeeze open one eye and look up at Teal’c.  “As well as the Bossy Bastard.”  I open the other eye.

 

            “Hey, Teal’c, did you know that when they see Jack coming, they stick the bedpans in the freezer?”

 

            “I did not.  Were you aware, Dr. Jackson, that his room in the infirmary is known as the Room of Doom?”

            “You do realize I can hear you, right?”  Carter and Daniel smile at the sound of my shaky voice.  Teal’c merely raises an eyebrow.  I know they’re just trying to distract me.  Take my mind off what’s happening.  “Teal’c, I cannot believe you just said that.”

 

            “Hey, Colonel.”  Carter pats my arm.  “How’s the head?”

 

            I sigh as the morphine starts to work its magic.  My skull is still pounding, but the edges of the pain have softened.  Are softening still.  “Better and better all the time, Major.”

 

            “So, what’s going on, Jack?”

 

            “Do I look like a doctor, Daniel?”  My words are starting to slur and my eyes are feeling heavy, unfocussed.  “I’ve got a headache.  A very, very bad, ugly, son-of-a-bitchin’, got you by the short ha–,”

 

            “Uh, I think we get the picture, sir.”  Carter feels my forehead.  “No fever.  You didn’t fall or anything?  Get bit by something?”

 

            I shake my head.  “Ah, shit!”  Big mistake, O’Neill.  Morphine is great, but it ain’t perfect.  I think there must have been one pumpkin left because it’s rolling around behind my eyes, making me dizzy.  Oh, maybe that’s the morphine.  I feel my eyes closing.

 

            “Okay, sir.  Just rest.”

 

                                                                       * * * * *

 

            I wake up lying on my left side, facing the gaping hole that was once the entrance to this temple to some unknown god.  It’s still light out.  Somewhere behind me I can hear Daniel talking to himself.  I remember watching him videotaping the hieroglyphs.  Crap!  I’m supposed to be watching out for him.  I must have dozed off.  I try to push myself up, but I feel hung over and my head hurts.  Where’s my gun?

 

            “O’Neill!”  Teal’c kneels in front of me and pushes me back down.

 

            “Teal’c, where’s my gun?”

 

            “It is there.”  Teal’c points to my P90 which is laying across my pack several feet away.

 

            “Is Daniel okay?  I’m supposed to be guarding him.  He didn’t touch anything, did he?”

 

            “Dr. Jackson is unharmed.”

 

            Hearing us, Daniel and Carter approach.  “Hey.  How you feeling?”

 

            “You okay, Daniel?”

            “I’m fine, Jack.”

 

            “Sorry.  I must have fallen asleep.”  I feel tired, and the pounding in my head is getting worse.  I put a hand to my forehead.  “I don’t feel so good.”

 

            Carter takes my pulse, and lays the back of her hand against my cheek.  “You’re sick.  You had a bad headache, and I gave you some morphine.  Do you remember?”

 

            “Oh.  Right.”  I roll over onto my back and look up at the three of them.  No, five of them.  No, three.  I blink, trying to clear my vision, but they keep fading in and out, multiplying and moving.  “How long have I been out?”

 

            “A few hours.  It’s about 1700 hours, sir.”

 

            “Dark soon.”

 

            Carter nods.  “We decided it was best to stick with your plan, sir, and start back first thing in the morning.”

 

            I roll my eyes over at her.  I may be sick, but I’m not deaf and I’m not stupid.  “You decided to stick to my plan.”  Carter swallows and looks away.  “I believe it was an order, Major, not a plan.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”  I glance around.  All of our equipment has been moved inside.  Carter knows what I’m thinking.  “I thought we should bed down in here, sir.  It’ll give Daniel extra time to finish up.”

 

            “Good idea.”  I try, but fail, to hide a grimace as a cold shaft of pure agony shoots through my head, front to back.

 

            “Sir?”

 

            “Jack?  You okay?”

 

            I close my eyes and throw an arm over my aching head, shutting out what light there is. “I’m just gonna shut my eyes a minute, kids.”  I feel someone, probably Carter, pull a blanket up over me.  I’m already too hot, but I’m too sick to protest.  I’m not a praying man, but right about now I’m wishing I was.  Aside from an end to this agony, I can’t think of anything I’d ask the Big Guy for other than the miraculous appearance of Dr. Frasier and her infirmary.  I swear when I get back, I’m gonna kiss that woman and apologize to every nurse who’s ever so much as emptied a bed pan for me.

 

            Despite the pain, I must have slept because I’m awakened by another flare of pain.  “Aagh.”  Grabbing my head, I struggle to sit up.  Almost immediately, Carter is next to me, helping me.

            “Careful, sir.”

 

            Panting, I look around.  I’m lying near a fire and it’s pitch black outside.  Daniel is sleeping on the floor a few feet away, curled up on his side with his head resting on his pack.  He looks cold and I remember they used all the sleeping bags to make my bed.  Teal’c is nowhere in sight, so I assume he’s pulling guard duty.

 

            “What time is it?”

 

            “Just after midnight.  How do you feel?”

 

            I glance over at Daniel and push my blanket towards Carter.  “Cover him up.  He looks cold.”

 

            She drapes the blanket across him and comes back.  She hasn’t forgotten her question.  “Now.  How do you feel?”

 

            I sigh, and pulling my knees up, rest my head on my arms.  “Not one of my better days.  Can I have a drink?”

 

            “Sure.”  I hear her fumble around and then a canteen is being pressed into my hand.  I hold it there a minute before raising my head to take a small sip.  I have to rest a minute before taking another, and then hold the canteen out to her.  “You should try to eat something, sir.”

 

            “Can you help me up?”

 

            “I don’t think you–,”

 

            “Little boy’s room, Carter.”

 

            “Oh.  What about–,”

 

            “I’m not peeing in a bowl again, Major.  Just help me outside.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”

 

            It takes us a few minutes, but between the two of us we manage to get me upright and out the door without waking Daniel.  One arm draped around her shoulder and the other braced against the wall of the temple, I stumble to the corner of the building.

 

            “I can manage from here, Carter.”  I wait until she discreetly retreats, then lean my whole body against the wall and do my stuff.  I have a theory:  you don’t realize how often nature calls until you’re dependent on someone else to help you take a pee.  I’ve developed this theory during my many stays in the infirmary and, unfortunately, today has proven my theory sound.

 

            The trip back is more difficult.  The pain is worsening; the effort of moving is exhausting.  I’ve got the shakes and my vision has narrowed to a pinhole of light in the center of my eyes.  Everything on the edges is dark and blurred.  Carter is talking, but I can barely make out her voice over the throbbing in my ears.  She lowers me down to my bed and props me up against a pack.

 

            “Sir, you should try to eat.  You haven’t eaten anything but a few bites for the last three days.”

 

            Has it only been three days?  My God, I could swear we’ve been here a week, maybe two.  Trying to catch my breath, I look over at her.  She looks tired.  “You should rest, Major.  We have a long day tomorrow.”

 

            “Yes, sir.”  She moves over to the fire and I lean my head back, shutting my eyes.  “Sir.”  When I open my eyes, she’s holding out an MRE and a spoon.

 

            “You’re kidding, right?”

 

            “What’d you expect?  Grandma O’Neill’s chicken soup?”

 

            “Potato.  It was Grandma O’Neill’s potato soup.”  Carter dips the spoon into the packet and then holds the spoon close to my mouth.  My stomach convulses slightly at the smell of – whatever it is.  “Thank you, no.”  When I lean my head back, staring up through the cracks in the roof, she finally gives up and sets it aside.  Just like last night, it’s quiet.  The sound of the fire is the only noise other than Daniel’s snoring.  “Carter?”

 

            “Yes, sir?”

 

            I shut my eyes, they’re not working that good anyway.  “I could use another one of those shots if you’ve got one.”  I know I’ve surprised her because I never ask for morphine.  Ever.  I hate the stuff, the way it makes me feel.  But anything is better than this.

 

            “Sure.  It’ll just take a minute.”  I hear her switch on her flashlight and then rummage through a med kit.  She’s back in a moment and my sleeve is being pushed up.  There’s a cool swab of alcohol then the slight prick of the needle.  The morphine warms my veins and I wonder how many minutes it will take for it to kick in.

 

            “Still with me, Colonel?”

 

            “Mmm.”

 

            “I’m sorry you’re sick.”

 

            “Not your fault, Major.”

 

            “I know, but–,” she doesn’t finish the thought and I realize with a pang of guilt that I’m making my team feel as helpless as I feel myself.  “Sir, I know Janet is treating you for headaches, but are they all like this?”

 

            I don’t respond for a minute as I track the progress of the drug in my bloodstream.  Come on, baby.  A shaft of pain enters the back of my skull.  Come on morphine, come to papa.  I feel the warmth inching up my arms, my chest.  Not fast enough.  The pain fires like a torpedo into the back of my right eye.  I flinch and grunt softly.  Head - 1; morphine - 0.  Too soon, another spot is building, this time on the left side, near my temple.  The warmth has reached the base of my throat.  Fire!  Another grunt.  Two to zip.  “No, Carter.  This is a first.”

 

            “Do you think it could be something else?”

 

            I’m a little breathless, and have trouble ironing out her question.  “You don’t think this is a headache?”  I laugh a little, wishing I could give her a sample taste of this thing that’s happening in my head.  No.  I take that back.  I wouldn’t do that to her.