Doctor MacKenzie has given us this journal to record our thoughts and feelings about the Errinious mission, since no one is willing to talk about it.  The rules are that you can write as much or as little as you want, about whatever you want, but you can’t lie.  Oh, and everyone is entitled and encouraged to read what everyone else has written.

 

It’s a common enough diagnostic tool. Psychologists often use it to gain an understanding of events that patients are incapable of discussing with them directly.  I’ve even used it myself when I did my psych training as an intern.

 

I’ve never had it used on me before though.

 

I had to volunteer to go first to show my faith in the medical profession.  Wouldn’t look very good would it, if the doctor in the group refused to participate in the therapy?  Not surprisingly, it’s much harder when you’re the one on the metaphorical couch, though. 

 

There is no question in my mind that we have to do this.  At the moment, there isn’t an SG1 at all and won’t be if we don’t fix things.  And everybody from General Hammond to Peggy in the commissary knows damn well that what affects SG1 affects the whole SGC.

 

So we need to fix things.  To do that, we need to talk about what happened.  Which brings me back to the journal – and me.

 

Jack can’t talk right now.  Teal’c never talks much.  Sam is trying too hard to be the good air force officer, feeling the weight of being 2IC with Jack being………………..

 

Well.  Not quite ready to go there yet.

 

Daniel, well poor Daniel is like a ticking time bomb now.  He’s been keeping everything in, holding so tight to his control that he is in danger of bursting at the seams.  And he’s so afraid of adding to the pain and misery of this whole nightmare that he won’t, can’t let go.

 

So, for the third time, here we are with you Janet ol’ girl.  Time to stop dancing around the issue and actually talk don’t you think.

 

Errinious.

 

A beautiful planet with friendly, peace loving locals, tropical temperatures and trees with a little blue, cherry shaped fruit that just might be the biggest thing in medicine since penicillin.

 

SG4 brought them back and I sent them for the usual routine tests.  About a month later, the lab boys rang up in absolute delirium.  Seemed the little blue fruit had all the makings of being a cure for cancer – all cancer, no matter how far advanced.  Killed off the cancerous cells in rats like water dissolving a sugar cube.  Twenty four hours – no sign of cancer!

 

Needless to say this was big.  We needed to perform tests, we needed more samples, we needed to negotiate access to supply.

 

I wanted to go to the planet myself.   Hammond told me in no uncertain terms my place was here on base.

 

Normally, I’d agree with that.  But this was just too important.  Someone with a medical background needed to go to Errinious and I was the most experienced person with the requisite clearances.

 

It took a long time, but finally Hammond conceded and I found myself getting ready to go off world.  I’ve done it a few times before but always when there was some kind of medical emergency.  I’ve always been focused on the symptoms reported to me, what drugs I needed to take, what treatments I’d try first.  Usually I grabbed my medical supplies and left the rest of the stuff to others.

 

This time there was none of that pressure and I realized I didn’t have a clue what to take with me.

 

I was standing, glancing around my office waiting for inspiration to strike when Sam came in.  I told her if it wasn’t a medical emergency she’d need to see Dr Warner because I was already running late for a mission.

 

“I know,” she said, “the Colonel sent me to look for you.”

 

“The Colonel?”  I was a bit slow on the uptake but eventually it dawned.  “You mean SG1 is going on this mission?”

 

“Yep and you’re now… three minutes late and the Colonel hates to be kept waiting.”

 

As she spoke, Sam was repacking my field pack, fitting an astounding amount of stuff into an amazingly compact bundle.

 

I couldn’t get over the fact that I was going off world with SG1.  I had assumed the General would have given the job of being my escort to one of the newer teams – it was after all a milk run.

 

Then I groaned.  O’Neill hated milk runs.  He hated scientists.  And he hated to be kept waiting.

 

Boy, wasn’t I just going to be his favorite person!

 

Sam led me to the Gate room at a full run.  To my surprise, O’Neill didn’t say a word, just turned to the General and offered him the trademark flick that constituted an O’Neill salute before leading his team – and me – up the ramp.  At the top he gestured them ahead while he stopped and waited for me.  “Glad you could join us, Doc,” he said, before waving me through.

 

I glared at him but bit my tongue.  After all, he was my commanding officer this time out, not my patient.  The grin he flashed me in return showed me he recognized that and intended to make the most of it.  I had a sudden sinking feeling this wasn’t going to be a fun mission after all.

 

And, as if that isn’t an understatement.  Nothing in my worst nightmares could have led me to imagine a mission like this one.

 

Come on Jack, you have to live.  More than just your life depends on this one.  SG1 need you.  StarGate Command needs you.  And I really, really need you to be ok.  So, take your time if you need to, but don’t you dare leave us.

 

Samantha Carter

 

I’ve uh read Janet’s entry.  I understand that’s ok.  That we can read what others have written before us.

 

I can kind of see Janet’s point.  This is easier than talking about what happened. I can’t … won’t do that.  But it’s still hard.

 

I’m writing this sitting next to the Colonel’s bedside.  He's still unconscious.  Critical condition Janet says.  What a word…critical. 

 

He has so many tubes and wires attached to him.  And he is so very pale.  Whiter almost than the sheets he is lying on.  This is the worst I’ve seen him injured in the four years I’ve been his second in command.  Worse even than Antarctica.  And I was as much help to him this time as I was then…

 

Ah, screw it. 

 

Look, all I wanted to record here is that the Colonel didn’t draw the short straw in getting this rescue mission.  He insisted on it as soon as he heard Dr Fraiser was going off world.

 

General Hammond wanted to assign it to the new guys – SG14 – but the Colonel insisted.  Told the General it had taken him four years to “train ol’ Doc Fraiser” and he didn’t want to have to break in a new doc if SG14 lost her; which everyone who reads this will know is O’Neill-ese for caring and affection.  Not many people get that close to the Colonel, Janet – I just thought you should know.

 

Janet Fraiser

 

The journal has sat on the desk for a day and a half now and on one has written in it except for that brief piece by Sam.

 

The Colonel requested the mission, huh?  That’s ….. nice.  And believe me Sam, I’m only too conscious of what an honor it is to be admitted into the select circle of people O’Neill calls friend.

 

Those first few nights we spent on Errinious were among the most enjoyable of my adult life.

 

The orchards containing the cancer killing berry (so named by Colonel O'Neill, of course) – called Chaar by the locals – were about a day’s walk from the StarGate.  O’Neill set a swift pace and we had set up camp on the outskirts of the farms before night fell.

 

We decided to let the farmers know we were there in the morning, so we sat back, lit a fire and relaxed.

 

Daniel and Sam were discussing the MALP readings while O’Neill threw together what the team gleefully told me was called an “MRE stew”.  Teal’c stood silent sentinel on the perimeter of the camp.

 

The stew was ….. interesting.  Not really much better than a stand alone MRE but not worse either.

 

I was watching the interaction between the members of SG1.  They had everything down to a very comfortable routine.

 

At some stage, Sam and Daniel’s conversation had shifted to wormhole physics and I'd understood less than one word in ten.  I stood and went looking for Colonel O’Neill, intending to get a feel for how he saw the next few days panning out.  Instead, I'd found myself lurking unseen behind a tree, watching as O’Neill tried to show Teal’c how to do a slap shot using a tree branch as a hockey stick and a big flat rock as a puck.

 

The two of them looked like they were having a lot of fun.  O’Neill’s face was animated and he flung his hands around a lot as he instructed Teal’c.  Teal’c was a study in concentration but when he finally connected with a rock and sent it skimming about 100 feet into the darkness he turned to O’Neill with the first real smile I have ever seen on his face and said, “I believe I’ve found the sweet spot now, O’Neill.”

 

O’Neill chuckled out loud and patted the big man on the shoulder.  “Oh yeah,” he said.

 

This mission was to be one of epiphanies for me and just then the first hit me.  O’Neill and Teal’c were friends.  Not just team mates, not just colleagues thrown together by fate, not even just warriors with a common cause but actual hang-out-in-front-of-the-tv, discuss-their-personal-lives friends.  I wonder how many people Teal’c has been able to call friend in his long, eventful lifetime.

 

If Jack should……………. No!  Dammit.  I won’t even write that possibility, won’t think it.  He’ll be fine. 

 

Think I’ll go check on him.

 

Daniel Jackson

 

If Jack should die?  Is that what you were going to write, Janet?  If after all the goddamned torture and the nightmare trip back to the Gate, he should just decide it’s too damned hard to fight and just give up?

 

That’s what you’re not writing, not thinking about?  Well, half your luck because it’s all I think about every second of every fucking day.

 

As for this journal, what do you want to hear?  That it’s all my fault?  That I'm responsible for putting Jack in that infirmary?  That I'm responsible for him hovering on the edge of death?  That I should never have gotten us into the situation?  That I should have found a way to stop it?  Ok.  I admit it.  Am I cured now?  Hallelujah – it’s a goddamned miracle.

 

The Journal

by Frizzelly

 

Part 2 of 13 – see Part 0 for warnings etc.

 

Samantha Carter

 

Daniel none of this was your fault.  Whatever happens you need to believe that.

 

Janet Fraiser

 

Dear, dear Daniel, Sam’s right you know.  This wasn’t your fault.

 

You were tortured every bit as much as the Colonel was and you’ve got it worse now because we’re all focused on him instead of you.

 

Your friendship with Jack didn’t hit me as an epiphany, like Jack’s with Teal’c.  You were friends with Jack O’Neill long before I came on base.  Your friendship with him has been one of the few constants in the ever-shifting world that is the SGC.  That’s not to say it isn’t still a source of constant wonder to me.  That two men so very, very different should have become so close.

 

You no doubt think that both having lost family tragically; having lived through the first trip through the StarGate together has formed the basis of your friendship.  But shared loss is no basis for a lasting friendship.  What you two have is something much more remarkable.  Underneath the two very different surfaces, I think you are two souls that speak to each other.  That sounds kind of corny and I won’t write any more about it, but hold onto it in the days and weeks ahead, Daniel, as you and Jack heal together.

 

Samantha Carter

 

OK, I can’t stand sitting and staring at the terrible, still form in the infirmary bed any more.  I can’t stand listening to every beep of the heart monitor, watching every spike on the EEG, hoping for some sign of consciousness, some sign the Colonel is still in there, still fighting.  Besides MacKenzie’s been on my back.  I’ll give this journal thing a try.

 

The second and third days on the planet passed peacefully enough.  Even once we’d established that the Errinians were perfectly friendly and willing to discuss terms with us, the Colonel insisted on escorting the doctor each day to her meeting with Farm Owner Menscher, the lead farmer of the Errinian, a courtly old gentleman with exquisite manners and a ready smile.  God forbid we should ever accuse the Colonel of being protective, even if the man is like a mother hen.

 

Daniel went along too, to negotiate terms and learn more about the Errinians.  Teal’c and I roamed the area round our campsite colleting as much data as we could on the planet.  It was nice.  Long, pleasant, warm days.  Just the kind of routine mission that drives the Colonel mad.

 

Things fell apart on our fourth day.   I had last watch but well before dawn Janet had joined me.  She said she was still so thrilled with being on another planet that she couldn’t sleep. And Errinious had a magnificent sunrise, the sky filled with all shades of lilac, blue and green, the light diffraction through the atmosphere slightly different to that on Earth.

 

Soon Teal’c was awake and the Colonel, always an early riser, had put on the coffee.  Only Daniel slumbered on.

 

The Colonel had a wicked gleam in his eye and I wondered what poor Daniel was in for.

 

When I saw the Colonel head to the stream with a bucket I realized ruefully that  he had settled for an old, tried but true method.  Holding the bucket, he approached poor Daniel.

 

“Rise and shine, Danny,” he said.  I’ll give him that much, he always gives Daniel a chance to get up on his own.  But then again, since he knows how Daniel will respond it’s probably no concession.

 

“Mmm…….. away,”  muttered Daniel.

 

Jack now raised the bucket above the sleepy archeologist.

 

“Sam, he wouldn’t!”  Janet whispered next to me.

 

“Oh yes he would,” I replied.

 

“Frequently,”  Teal’c added.

 

“Doctor Jackson, as an anthropologist-type person, you would probably know how the Indiba tribe on P4T-616 teach young warriors not to sleep on the job, wouldn’t you?”  Jack asked matter-of-factly.

 

He began to tilt the bucket of icy water.  Daniel obviously did know the Indiba method for he started to scramble up.  “What? No, Jack.  You….”  The rest was lost in the deluge that landed on his head and ran into his mouth, leaving Daniel gasping and spitting and looking a lot like a recently landed fish.

 

When he could finally speak, Daniel was furious.  “Dammit Jack, why can’t you act your age and wake me up like a normal person?”

 

“Because normal people don’t have the reflexes of a three toed sloth, Danny-boy.  Besides, I did call you once.”

 

“Well I hope you got your thrills, Jack.”

 

“Daniel, like I said, it’s a survival skill.  What if I’d been a Jaffa?”

 

“Jack, I sincerely doubt a Jaffa would sneak up and pour a bucket of water on my head.  That sort of schoolboy humor is reserved strictly for air force Colonels who have never grown up.”  And with that Daniel crawled into his tent signaling the conversation was over.

 

Unrepentant, the Colonel shrugged and strolled over to the fire and poured a cup of coffee for himself and one for Daniel.

 

Janet was staring at him as if he had grown another head.   Teal’c had that tolerant look he gets when the Colonel’s at his worst – kind of like, your conduct is unbecoming a warrior but it would be undignified of me even to mention it.

 

Before long Daniel was out of his tent and drawn to the coffee in Jack’s hand like a bee to honey.

 

“Thanks,” he said, taking it and inhaling the rich aroma before swallowing about half the mug in one go.

 

“No problem,” the Colonel replied nonchalantly.  It was as if the dunking incident had never happened.

 

“How do you know about the Indiba anyway?”  Daniel asked,

 

“I read SG9’s report,” the Colonel said, poking his tongue out at Daniel’s incredulous stare.  Like I said, a normal morning for SG1.  Boys will be boys.

 

It was just before Janet, Daniel and the Colonel were due to set off for another meeting with Farm Owner Menscher that things started to go wrong.

 

Teal’c heard it first and tensed, grabbing his staff weapon.  I turned to ask him what was wrong but by then I’d heard it too.

 

A death glider.

 

“Sir?”  I began, but the Colonel overrode me.

 

“Into cover everyone, quick.”

 

Damn!  Severe flashback then.  I could hear it all over again – our desperate scramble into the tree cover, the silent wait, hoping they wouldn’t notice our campsite, the Colonel’s curse when they did, turning to fly over it twice.

 

We laid perfectly still until the death glider left, presumably to return to whatever Goa’uld mothership had chosen this time and place to set down.

 

Of all the damned, bad, rotten, stinking, stupid … typical SG1 luck.

 

Anyway, we waited till the death glider disappeared.

 

Then we booked.

 

And we ran and ran and ran and made it safely back to the Gate – tired but happy and we all lived happily ever after.

 

Teal’c

 

I do not understand this Tauri custom of recording thoughts and feelings.  But Dr MacKenzie and Dr Fraiser say it will help SG1, so for that reason I will try.

 

I do understand Major Carter’s wish that things had not occurred in the way that they did.  And yet, look over the events of the last week as I may, I cannot find a place where we could have done anything differently.  From the time that the death glider appeared until O'Neill collapsed in front of the Stargate, we did the best and only tings that we could. 

 

You are right Doctor Fraiser, when you say O’Neill is my friend.  But he is also much more than that.

 

Since I have joined the Tauri, I find I can enter Kel-no-reem without fear of the visions awaiting me there.  I no longer have a constant bellyache from the things I have had to do that day.

 

In four years as my commanding officer, O’Neill has never asked me to do anything that has bothered my conscience.  He saved my soul.  I am grateful for his friendship but for giving me back my soul, for helping me begin to redeem myself, for my salvation, he has my undying loyalty and gratitude.  To meditate without waking in a cold sweat, to feel entitled to smile and enjoy life, I wonder if he knows what a gift that is.

 

He knows.

 

Sometimes a smell or a sound or a place trigger recollections for him and I see the horror and disgust on his face.  Like me, he has little liking for some of the things done by his younger self.

 

He is restless now.  Dr Fraiser says he as a fever.  She says it is to be expected but there is fear in her eyes.

 

Janet Fraiser

 

What a night.

 

You were right Teal’c that I was more worried than I let on.  With the Colonel’s wounds untreated as they were for far too long, infection was almost guaranteed.

 

The Colonel’s temperature spiked rapidly and he got very restless and aggressive.  Restraints were out of the question.  Jack was never actually truly conscious but the thought of him waking up to find himself tied down was unthinkable.  Teal’c and I sat with him, keeping him still, cooling his face, talking to him.  Eventually, Sam and Daniel found their way to his side, as they always do and took his hands in theirs.

 

It was a long, long, night but the fever finally broke an hour or two ago.  I’ve sent the rest of SG1 off to bed.  Disturbingly, they went without speaking or looking at each other, all eyes down despondent.  I’ll go myself just as soon as I’m happy the Colonel’s temperature won’t soar again.

 

Meanwhile, guess I can write some more about what happened on the planet.

 

I was musing as we breakfasted on that fourth day that Daniel was a better man than me.  No way, if I’d had a bucket of icy cold water poured on my head, would I be ready to forgive and forget ten minutes later.

 

Sam and Teal’c, however, were acting like this was something that happened fairly frequently.  So I bit my tongue and prepared to label it in my head as a “boy thing” or actually a “Jack thing” and joined with the rest of them in pretending it hadn’t happened.

 

In fact, the only person not ignoring the whole thing was Jack, who was insufferably pleased with himself.

 

There was no sense of impending danger, no weird vibe, nothing to suggest things were about to go so badly wrong.

 

I didn’t even notice Teal’c or Sam tense up.  One minute I was reaching for my pack, the next Jack was telling us all to get into cover.

 

When I didn’t move fast enough he put a hand on my back and shoved me in the right direction.

 

Only when I was lying on my belly behind a small ridge where the clearing ended and the forest began did I understand why we were hiding.

 

A death glider.  Which meant Jaffa. Which meant Goa’uld.

 

Shit.

 

When the glider spotted our camp, Jack swore savagely.  When it finally disappeared from view he said,  “Our one chance is to try and beat them to the Gate.  If they don’t have a heavy force there we might be able to get through.  Stay in the cover of the trees and move quietly.  Teal’c, watch our six.”

 

And then we were off.   My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear anything around me.  I found myself starting at every sound, breath rasping out in short pants.

 

Around me SG1 were calmly professional.  Daniel eased up next to me and put a hand on my shoulder.  “Relax,” he whispered, “Jack’s very, very good at his job.”

 

I smiled - well, it probably looked more like I was baring my teeth at him - grateful for his thoughtful gesture more than the words.

 

It took us about five hours to get to the Gate.  God, Sam, I wish things had turned out like you said.  We ran for the Gate. We made it home safe and sound.  But we didn’t.  Instead, the Gate was being guarded by a couple of units of heavily armed, highly alert Jaffa.  Once again, Jack demonstrated his mastery of creative cursing before we melted back into the bush.

 

I’ll stop there.  It’s awfully close to bed time and I've already got enough nightmares without reliving the events through this journal as my final thought for the day.

 

The Journal

by Frizzelly

 

Part 3 of 13 – see Part 0 for warnings etc.

 

 

Daniel Jackson

 

Two broken fingers, a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, two cracked ribs and a fractured cheekbone.  A stab wound to the upper right shoulder, a cut that needed 15 stitches from scalp line to left eyebrow.  A moderate concussion.  Severe lacerations to both wrists.  And whatever the hell it is that the pain stick does to you apart from leaving you in quivering agony.

 

Samantha Carter

 

I’ve been Jack O’Neill’s second in command for four years now.  In terms of soldiering, he’s taught me everything I know.

 

I came to him as green as could be.  I cringe when I remember how cocky I was, my arrogant words at our first meeting - “I clocked over 100 hours in enemy air space.”   What I didn’t know then was that while I was flying overhead the Colonel was getting up close and personal with the enemy in the worst possible way and if there’s anything I’ve learnt over the past 4 years it’s that meeting the enemy head on, on their territory, takes a very special kind of courage. 

 

The Colonel has it in spades.  So does Teal’c.  Together they’ve taught Daniel and me.

 

When we saw that the Gate had been surrounded, the Colonel gave the signal to retreat and we pulled back into the bush.

 

Once safely out of earshot of the Jaffa, we gathered together for a hasty conference.  “Way I see it, our only option is to hide out in the forest somewhere and hope they lose interest,” Jack said.

 

“Why would they?”  Daniel asked.

 

“Well, why not?  I mean, they’ve no reason to know who that campsite belonged to, do they?  Presumably they’ll do whatever dark side stuff they’ve come here to do and then book it back to the mothership.  Right?”

 

“I do not think we can sit and wait O’Neill.  A Goa’uld would not normally bring a Ha’tak to a planet unless he had an intention of remaining for some time,” Teal’c disagreed.

 

“OK, we’ll wait until we’re overdue and Hammond sends a MALP to check on us.  Use the distraction to take out the Goa’uld at the Gate.”

 

“Sir, that’s four days away,”  I said. 

 

“I do not believe we can avoid the Goa’uld for so long,” Teal’c intoned.  “They are aware someone is present.”

 

“Colonel, what about Farm Owner Menscher and his people?  They have no way of defending themselves against a Goa’uld and they have been very kind to us,”  Janet put her two cents worth in.

 

“I know that Doc, but we’re a little outnumbered here.”

 

“Jack, if Janet’s berry really does hold the key to curing cancer and who knows what other medical advances we have a duty to try and get some samples home.  If the Goa’uld are setting up here we mightn’t get another chance.”

 

Seriously frustrated, the Colonel turned from constantly searching the forest with his eyes to focus on Daniel.  “Daniel, you were looking at the same Stargate as me, weren't you?  The one surrounded by great honking squads of Jaffa.”

 

I spoke.  “Sir, Daniel’s right.  If some Goa’uld is about to set up camp here, this might be our only chance to get some of those berries home.  They’ve seen our campsite.  They’re not just going to sit around and wait for us.”

 

I saw the mulish look come over the Colonel’s face.  He’s never been one to need or respect subordinates who kowtow to his every whim, but all the same he hates it when we all tell him he has to do something he really doesn’t want to do.  And he especially hates situations that put his team in danger.

 

I remember getting up one morning on one of our first missions and trying to sneak off to take care of business.  It can really suck being the only female on the team sometimes.  Anyway, I was a couple of hundred yards from our campsite when I was grabbed from behind.  Someone had a tight grip around my waist and one hand over my mouth. 

 

I kicked out and wriggled, struggling in vain to get free and only realized it was my CO when he hissed in my ear, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

 

I was already convinced he had a chip on his shoulder about me being female and I was furious that I hadn’t even heard him come up behind me, so my response wasn’t exactly out of the air force training manual.  “With all due respect, sir,” I said in a tone indicating clearly that that meant none, “it’s none of your damn business.”

 

He let go of my waist and spun me around and I saw for the first time that he was furious.  “Everything that happens to this team is my business, Captain.  You want to leave he campsite, you tell the person on watch.  Every single time.  Is that clear?”

 

He’s only ever pulled the full military colonel mode on me a few times over the years and this was the first.  It’s terrifying enough when you watch it from the outside – it’s thoroughly and completely intimidating when you’re the subject.

 

“Yes sir,” I said, looking him in the eye to let him know I meant it.

 

He held my eye for a long moment, before finally relaxing, obviously satisfied with what he saw.  With a sharp nod he released me from attention, then, irrepressibly O’Neill again, said, “Watch out for poison ivy, Carter.  You wouldn’t want Teal’c to have to rub you down with chamomile lotion.”

 

I know this journal isn’t meant to be about reminiscing, that we’re supposed to talk about what happened on the planet, but it’s hard.

 

Really, really hard.

 

Janet Fraiser

 

Back on shift and the Colonel’s temperature is still down.  A good sign at last.

 

Daniel’s sitting with him, a study in dejection.  I feel like I should do more for him but he’s taken to disappearing whenever anyone else is around.  There’s only one person who can help shift him out of the guilt and anger he’s wallowing in anyway.  Hurry up and wake up, Jack.

 

I see Sam’s written some more.  I remember that morning well.  There we were in the forest cut off from the Gate by a squad or more of Jaffa, the Goa’uld alerted to our presence and Daniel, Sam and I arguing that we really, really needed to get some Chaar berries back to Earth and suddenly I was struck by a second epiphany.

 

Jack took his cap off and scrubbed his gloved hand through his short grey hair.  He chewed on his lower lip as he stared into the distance, obviously sorting through our limited options.

 

And I suddenly realized, this man had the weight of the world on his shoulders.  Literally.

 

Oh, intellectually, I’ve always known Jack has a high stress job.  Travelling to other planets, tripping across all kinds of surprises, often of the not very good for your health variety, engaged in active duty.  Commander of the elite SG1 and second in command of the SGC.  I treat him (as far as he will let me) for all the expected symptoms – headache, sleeplessness, bellyaches, flashbacks, occasional mood swings.

 

But standing in that forest watching as he decided what our next move would be – how to get the team and a possibly revolutionary cure back home, how to protect our colleagues back on Earth, I realized that this man made decisions every day that affected whole planets.  Whatever Sam, Daniel and Teal’c ultimately advised or argued for, Jack made the final decision.  I knew them all well enough to realize they would abide by that decision, whatever it was.

 

And I knew Jack well enough to realize he would never forgive himself if he got it wrong.

 

A crushing responsibility.  An awesome power in the wrong hands.  A terrible burden to place on one man.

 

When Jack gets over his injuries I’m going to start reading between the lines in mission reports.  “We decided to make a run for the Gate,” sounds so innocuous when all the members of SG1 are alive and healthy in front of you.  If this mission has taught me anything, it’s that no decision made by a commander of an SG unit is ever innocuous.

 

So.

 

We decided to make a run for the Gate. 

 

Complete with a stack of Chaar berries.  It wasn’t that simple of course.  First we needed to get some Chaar berries.  And there was that pesky squad of Jaffa to consider.

 

Jack, Sam and Teal’c planned for ages.

 

Finally, it was decided that Sam, Daniel and I would wait near the Gate while Jack and Teal’c headed over to Farm Owner Menscher’s and retrieved some berries.  While Jack and Teal’c were gone, we would set some traps for the Jaffa.    Then we would try to lead them into the forest and hopefully, into our lethal traps.  While confusion reigned, Daniel would dial.  The others would cover him.  Then it would be home for all of us.

 

Easy.

 

Yeah, right.

 

Teal’c

 

From the second I had heard the death glider approach I had known we were in a life and death situation.  O’Neill knew it too.  We had had to make the run for the Gate – it would have been foolhardy not to, but even with his brand of blind optimism O’Neill hadn’t really expected to find it unguarded.

 

So we found ourselves trapped on an alien planet, cut off from our only escape route by an enemy more numerous than us, who knew we were out there.  It is almost impossible to imagine a worse tactical situation.  Outnumbered, outgunned, cut off and without the element of surprise.

 

What do the Tauri do?   Daniel Jackson, Samantha Carter and Doctor Fraiser argue for us to get their miracle cure home to the people of Earth.   None of them gave a thought to their own safety and they were all experienced enough to recognize the situation for what it was.

 

Such self sacrifice is a gift.  It is what will allow the Tauri to prevail over the Goa’uld.  The Goa’uld will never have an answer for such people.  They are humanity’s greatest hope.

 

Daniel Jackson, I wish you were not suffering as you are now.  But I also know that your compassion, your empathy make you what you are, is your strength even as it is your weakness.

 

I know you will not forgive yourself until O'Neill himself wakes up and tells you it was not your fault, but, in the meantime, consider this.

 

Jack O’Neill listened to you and Janet Fraiser and Samantha Carter and agreed with your plan because, if it worked, it offered the best possible outcome.  And also because, in reality, no plan was going to make any difference.  Our capture or deaths was only a matter of time.  Our campsite had been seen.  Our run to the Gate would be tracked.  Our supplies were limited.  O’Neill knew all of that.

 

I know, because I saw it in his eyes.  Even if I hadn’t, I would still know it.  O’Neill may like to play the fool but he is a consummate tactician.  He would never delude himself about the situation.

 

When we headed to Farm Owner Menscher’s, O’Neill was already preparing himself for a worst case scenario.  If you had not alerted the Jaffa, something else would have.

 

This way, perhaps the natives of Errinious will remember your actions and learn about courage and self sacrifice.  Perhaps one day they will be able to rise and throw off the Goa’uld.

 

Janet Fraiser

 

Before I joined the SCG, I had only ever fired a gun on a rifle range as part of my air force training.  Then came Hathor.  All the women of the base carried weapons that day.  And fired them.  When I shot at Hathor and her Jaffa I was trying to save the SGC and I shot to kill.  Luckily, in the end I did not have to kill anyone.

 

Before he headed off, Colonel O'Neill handed me his sidearm. 

 

I guess it’s kind of cowardly, I respect Jack O’Neill and all the SGC teams and I know the Goa’uld would wipe us from the planet if we didn’t fight them with everything we have, but I don’t want to kill with my own hands.  I have spent my whole life a healer, I don’t know if I could go on if the same hands I use to heal had also taken a life.

 

How can I condone what the SGC teams do and yet not be prepared to do it myself?  Hypocritical? Perhaps.

 

So we’ve established that I’m a coward and a hypocrite.  What a breakthrough.  This journal is doing wonders for my self esteem.

 

Anyway, what I was going to say was that when Jack O’Neill unholstered his sidearm and handed it to me, I was suddenly struck with the reality of our situation for the first time.

 

Teal’c, you give me too much credit when you say I argued for getting home with the Chaar berries without regard for my own life.  The fact is it had not occurred to me that we wouldn’t make it home.  After all, it’s an unwritten rule that SG1 always make it home.

 

Not always with a spring in their step and a song on their lips, but definitely home.

 

Something in the matter of fact way Jack handed me his gun, without quite meeting my eyes made me realize he didn’t share my blind optimism this time.

 

I’d been scared before when we were running through the woods, but now I was suddenly and coldly terrified.

 

By the time I shook myself free of the paralysis that had grabbed me, Teal’c and Jack had disappeared.

 

Sam set up some claymores and left a few other nasty surprises in the area and then we settled down to wait.  I’ve read in books by soldiers how soldiering consists of 99% boredom and 1% sheer unadulterated terror.  Now I’ve experienced it.  You wouldn’t think hiding in the forest from a squad of Jaffa, who would be just as happy to kill you as to look at you, that you would notice your eye getting itchy or your sock scrunched up in your boot annoying hell out of you so your toes try and straighten it about 20 times a minute, but you do.  Then, suddenly, there was a rustling off to our left, from exactly the opposite direction Jack and Teal’c had headed and I instantly forgot all about my itchy eye and scrunched up sock as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest.

 

Sam gestured urgently and we all shrank further back into the bushes.  And just in time too.  Six more Jaffa headed into the clearing around the Stargate leading two young women – Farm Owner Menscher’s daughters.  Then came Farm Owner Menscher himself, held tight between two more Jaffa.  Then maybe 20 or so villagers, trailing along behind.  And bringing up the rear, a figure with glowing eyes and yet four more Jaffa.  This was the first time I had ever seen a Goa’uld in the flesh except for Hathor, who was dangerous but in an entirely different way.  The creature terrified me.

 

Beside me, Daniel virtually spat.  “Heru’ur!” 

 

I had heard the name of course, read about him in SG1’s reports.  This is the Goa’uld who had tried to kill the Harsesis child on Abydos, who had attacked the innocents on Cimmeria.  He was an imposing figure.  Tall, regal with a haughty countenance.  Dressed like an Egyptian pharaoh displaying his vanity in a thin line of facial hair running either side of his mouth.

 

The procession moved about 20 meters down the track to the center of the clearing where the DHD stood.  There, at the Goa’uld’s order, they halted.

 

The Goa’uld raised his voice and proclaimed, “Tauri, I know you are out there.  Give yourselves up or these slaves will be killed.”  The woods fell silent.

 

Daniel and I cast matching beseeching looks at Sam, who shook her head, but she looked uncertain and her hands shifted on her weapon.

 

Boy, reliving this is so hard.  Daniel is calling me.  Gotta go.

 

Thank God.

 

Daniel Jackson

 

Another rough night for Jack.  His temperature spiked again and he was restless and obviously in pain.  He made these kind of whimpering noises.  God, it was awful to listen to.  Janet says he’s too deeply unconscious to be aware of any pain but it sure didn’t sound that way to me.

 

I finally picked up this journal and read what everyone has been writing to distract myself from Jack’s suffering.

 

He seems to be sleeping a little easier now and I guess it’s my turn to record what happened.  Everyone keeps saying that this wasn’t my fault and I appreciate the gesture, even though it’s not true.

 

See, this wasn’t the first time I’ve screwed up a mission and almost gotten everyone killed.  It’s pretty obvious how the story goes, I’m sure.  Poor, stupid Daniel stands up heroically to save Farm Owner Menscher and his daughters.  And instead, gets caught and brings the whole team down with him.

 

Ho hum.  Like that’s a new scenario.

 

The thing is, I recognized Heru’ur the second he stepped into the clearing.  All Goa’uld are bad, but he’s particularly ruthless.  So when the staff weapons charged, I couldn’t stand it anymore. 

 

The foolish thing is that I thought I was saving their lives.

 

Anyway, to cut the hyperbole – I stood up and surrendered, Sam and Janet were captured in short order and with Heru’ur’s Jaffa pointing staff weapons at our heads, Jack and Teal’c were captured not long after that.

 

Jack was livid, although he limited himself to one coldly furious glare in my direction.  He is far too professional a soldier to ever let Heru’ur see any sign of dissension in the team.  He didn’t need to punish me though – the discharge of the staff weapons and the stench of smoking flesh as the Jaffa killed Farm Owner Menscher and his daughters drove home the lesson quite nicely, thank you very much.

 

Familiar?

 

Sounds a lot like Shyla on ‘636 doesn’t it?  Daniel risks everything to save the princess only to find it’s his friends who suffer.  That time everything finally worked out ok – I only nearly got my team killed working in a goddamned naquadah mine.

 

This time I might have managed to finish the job.

 

Oh damn this to fucking hell anyway.

 

Daniel Jackson (continued