Title: Misfire

Author: Badgergater

Email: Badgergater@cs.com

Season: 3

Category: Angst

Summary: Jack must deal with the consequences of a mission gone bad

Warnings: None

Rating: G

Pairing: None

Spoilers: Small one for A Matter of Time

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of SciFi Channel, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

Author's Note: For Lewie, who thought I couldn't do it. This fic was written in answer to her challenge...

------------------------

The blaring of the klaxons on level 28 of Cheyenne Mountain was totally unexpected.

"Unauthorized off-world activation, security team to the gateroom."

The on-call SF team scrambled for helmets and weapons, racing down the corridor.

General George Hammond slammed down the phone and hurried out of his office,

crossing the empty briefing room and trotting down the stairs to the control room.

It was nearly midnight.

Only a skeleton crew was on duty at this hour of the night because the Stargate shouldn't be activating.

No one was due back for at least 14 hours.

In fact, he knew there were only three teams off world... SG-10, SG-7 and SG-1.

Hammond stood behind Lt. Graham Simmons, watching as the computer recorded

each of the seven chevrons...

"Seventh chevron locked, Sir."

"Close the iris, son," Hammond ordered.

Simmons quickly typed in the command, and the trinium covering slid over the gate.

Hammond tapped his fingers impatiently on the back of the lieutenant's chair.

Finally, after endless seconds, numbers began to appear on the computer screen. "It's SG-1's code, Sir," Simmons confirmed.

"Open the iris!"

The young lieutenant tapped more computer keys, opening the protective shield and sending the confirmation code.

The SFs were in place, arrayed around the bottom of the ramp, guns raised,

aimed at the middle of the shimmering blue pool in the center of the alien artifact.

The azure surface rippled.

As Hammond watched anxiously, figure emerged, staggering... no, two figures, one carrying another.

"Medical team to the gateroom!" Hammond shouted into the mike, not waiting for confirmation that one of the team was badly hurt. He ran for the stairs down toward the base of the gate ramp.

The General arrived just as Jack O'Neill stumbled forward, sliding to his knees, losing his grip on the limp, unresponsive bundle he carried. The Colonel eased the unmoving figure off his shoulder, letting the green BDU clad form slide down to rest on the ramp. Using his blood slicked hands, O'Neill gently cradled the body as Daniel Jackson came to rest, motionless, on the ramp.

Even as Hammond stared down at the two men, two more figures dived through the gate, Teal'c and Major Carter, Sam shouting "Close the iris!" even as she landed hard and rolled to a sitting position against the railing. Both late arrivals turned to stare silently at the spot where their teammates lay further down the ramp.

At the same moment the medical team arrived, Dr. Fraiser running quickly toward Jackson and O'Neill, her eyes immediately drawn to the blood soaked clothing.

She went first to Daniel. His wound was obvious, his motionless figure disturbing as she instructed the orderlies to place him on a gurney, a trauma nurse already working on him. With the amount of blood soaking his jacket, she knew there was no time to waste.

Taking a second, she turned to the other man. O'Neill, too was bloodcovered. "Colonel, where are you hurt?"

White faced, he simply shook his head, silently, his gaze never leaving Daniel's stricken form.

"Colonel..." Fraiser started again, reaching for O'Neill's wrist to check his pulse.

The gray haired man jerked his arm away. "I'm not hurt. The blood..." he looked down at his hands, "the blood, it's not mine... it's..." O'Neill raised his face to look up at the doctor. "Take care of him..."

She nodded, turned and hurried after the gurney that was already on its way to the infirmary.

Hammond was still staring down at the team leader of SG-1.

The Colonel's gaze was fixed on the doorway, his expression rigid, his eyes bleak.

"What happened?" Hammond asked.

O'Neill continued to stare past the General, unseeing.

"Colonel," Hammond raised his tone, demanding an answer.

There was still no response.

"Colonel O'Neill," the command tone was unmistakable. "What happened to Dr. Jackson?"

At last, the gray haired officer acknowledged his commander's order. Slowly, he raised his eyes, his face devoid of emotion. "I shot him."

^^^^^^^^^

In the corridor outside the Operating Room, Jack O’Neill paced like a caged tiger. Back and forth, back and forth, eight strides from the doorway to the junction of the hallways, eight strides back, over and over again. His face as an expressionless mask, his eyes dark and unreadable, his mouth set in a stern line. Every few minutes, he would pause long enough to glare down at his wristwatch, then resume his aimless motion.

They’d been home from P2L-775 for nearly two hours now. O’Neill had walked miles in that time, waiting, waiting, waiting... the non-stop motion the only thing that kept him from punching a hole in the wall or himself.

The only break in his vigil had been for the required post-mission exam. Even then, Doctor Fraiser had resorted to threatening to tie him down in order to complete the check-up, and had released him with relief offset by a liberal dose of worry.

The moment she’d dismissed him, he’d bolted from the infirmary and begun his vigil outside the OR where Dr. Warner was working to save the life of Daniel Jackson.

Unable to bear the tension caused by the Colonel’s continual pacing and the tense silence of his teammates, Janet climbed up to the observation deck to check on the progress of the surgery. She watched and listened in for several moments before leaving to update the worried trio waiting in the hallway.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, Teal’c and Sam Carter, who’d been standing nearby, turned towards her. The Colonel stopped, spinning to face the petite physician, his whole body tense, poised as if for flight. “Doc?”

She didn’t miss the tiny tremor in his voice. Janet could only imagine the horrible images this waiting game might be evoking for him, images of an unbearable wait in another hospital, desperate for good news about his son, good news he would never hear…

She shook her head, driving away the grim thoughts. “Dr. Warner is closing now. They’ll be taking Daniel to recovery in a few minutes.”

“Doc?” There was a spark of hopefulness in O’Neill’s voice, the first emotion she’d heard from him since they’d come through the gate.

“We don’t know the prognosis yet. He lost a large amount of blood, his pressure was negligible when he was brought in. Whether that’s caused any permanent damage, we won’t know until he wakes up.”

“*When* he wakes up,” O’Neill rasped. “Soon.” He was trying hard to look confident, and failing miserably.

Janet shook her head. “That depends on Daniel. It will be hours at the earliest, most likely not until noon or later. Look, I suggest all of you go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a long and difficult day.” She saw O’Neill’s jaw set in that stubborn line that meant a refusal was about to be declared. “Colonel, those are your doctor’s orders. You *will* go and rest…”

“After we talk, Colonel.” None of them had heard the General approach. “Colonel O’Neill, I need to hear your initial mission report…”

“Sir…”

“Now, Colonel, while events are still fresh in your mind…”

O’Neill threw the doctor a look that she understood exactly, that the events of this mission would be engraved on his brain for a long time to come, if not forever. “Sir…Daniel…”

“Doctor Fraiser and her staff will take care of Dr. Jackson. And they’ll inform us of any change in his condition. In the meantime, you and I need to complete the debriefing you missed…” Hammond turned and headed toward the elevators, hoping that years of conditioning to follow orders would prompt O’Neill to obey.

The Colonel hesitated, his glance boring into the OR door as if by staring hard enough he could see through it.

“We will remain here, O’Neill,” Teal’c offered. “DanielJackson will not be alone.”

Not meeting his teammates eyes, Jack nodded and followed Hammond down the hallway.

The two men were silent in the elevator and as they walked down the corridor, through the briefing room and into the General’s always neat office, neither sparing a glance for the alien device that stood in the gateroom below.

Hammond walked around the desk and took a seat, sighing heavily with a mixture of worry and relief as O’Neill followed him into the office. The gray haired officer stood in front of the desk, at parade rest, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.

“Have a seat, Jack.” Hammond wanted to keep this as informal as he could, trying to relax his tense second.

O’Neill shook negatively. “No thank you, Sir.”

“Colonel,” Hammond waved at the chair.

O’Neill, his face still expressionless, his eyes refusing to leave their fixation with the floor, sat, moving gracelessly, as if every bone and muscle pained him.

Which it probably did, Hammond thought, studying the bleak face of his premier team leader. A good commander took it hard when one of his team was hurt, took personal responsibility, and if there was one thing George knew about this man, it was that O’Neill was obsessed with responsibility.

Deliberating using the Colonel’s first name in an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere, George asked again, “Jack, what happened? Teal'c and Major Carter have already given their reports, but I need to hear your side...”

O’Neill was still looking down, staring at his hands as if he could find answers there, as if looking hard enough at the long slender fingers, fingers that had held the gun and pulled the trigger, could supply him with the answers. Could assuage his guilt. Could call back the tiny, lethal projectile. Could change what had happened like he’d wanted to change what had happened then…. in a room in his own home where his actions had led to tragedy.

“Jack…”

O’Neill shook his head, rousing himself from the haunting memory to look into the steely gaze of his CO. “General?”

“Start at the beginning, Jack,” Hammond suggested kindly.

O’Neill shuddered, and began speaking in a raw whisper…

*******************

It had started like all their other missions. The MALP had shown an Earthlike planet. Arrayed around the gate were a series of towering, engraved stone columns. Daniel had been all but drooling with excitement at the prospect of getting a closer look.

Jack had smiled indulgently as Carter had joined in the conversation and SG-1’s matched set of resident geni… geniei… smart people… had gone off on a tangent discussing something about moving such big stones, ala Stonehenge and the pyramids and Easter island and…. Jack just shook his head and tuned out the babble until the two of them had finally wound down.

The next morning, they’d gated out to the land of the giant rock formations.

When they got there, they found more than rocks.

There were people, another colony of transplanted humans from Earth, speaking a dialect that Daniel was sure was related to some ancient Earth people who built monstrous stone pillars centuries ago in England.

Jack, of course, was mostly worried about whether they’d built other things latter-day Brits built, like guns and bombs.

SG-1, to Jack’s delight, quickly learned that the Druans, as they called themselves, hadn’t evolved past much more primitive, though still deadly, weapons, namely large, curved swords, longbows and arrows, and a nasty looking thing that quite closely resembled a medieval battle-axe. Daniel had seemed rather surprised that Jack knew what it was. Jack had patiently, okay, not so patiently, explained that as a military officer, he had studied military things like weapons, yes, even old and primitive ones.

The natives had been friendly in a wary sort of way.

The kind of wary that sent Jack O’Neill’s trouble instincts into overdrive.

**********

The argument had arisen the second afternoon.

Daniel, with Sam’s help, had finished videotaping all 32 of the stone pillars that surrounded the gate.

“Jack,” the archeologist/linguist had gone in search of his team leader, eyes bright with excitement. “Eeshtar has asked if I’d like to go with him to the village. There are more pillars, some with carvings, along the lake.”

“Easter?”

“Eashtar. One of the village leaders. Sort of like a priest, I think.”

“And he wants you to come and visit…” Jack frowned. “Did he say why?”

“No. I suppose he just wants to show off what his people have created…”

“They created these things?” Jack waved at the giant rocks.

“Yes.”

“How did they do it? I mean, I don’t see any cranes or earthmovers…”

“Jack, the ancient Egyptians built the pyramids. The Easter Islanders moved huge statues from the quarries to the hillsides. People all over Earth built temples and buildings and cities and we don’t understand how or why. We might be able to answer those questions.”

“Gee, we’ve survived very well for a very long time without knowing.”

“But this might show us.”

“Might not.”

“Jack, if we don’t look at what a world offers to us, the possible knowledge we could gain, then we might as well have stayed home…”

“We didn’t come here looking for rocks, Daniel. You said yourself, we’ve got stuff like this on Earth. What we’re looking for is signs that the Goa’uld were here, that they might have left behind something useful like weapons. And from what we’ve seen, the answer is no. “

“Jack…”

“No. *My* answer is no.“ O’Neill stood, and waved a finger at his team’s scholar. “Daniel, N-O. The village is off-limits. We came, we saw some nice rocks, we took a lot of pictures, and now it’s time to be going home. First thing in the morning. Now, you’ve got the rest of today to study this stuff,” the Colonel waved a hand at the surrounding monoliths, “and tomorrow we go back to our own little hunk of intergalactic rock.” Seeing the crestfallen look on the scholar’s face, he added, “Maybe Hammond will send a follow-up team.”

Disappointment clouded Daniel’s face. Even if the general decided to let someone explore further, he wasn’t going to get the opportunity. It was so frustrating, to be here, in a fascinating place like this, a place where he could spend a lifetime studying and researching. Instead, he had only a few hours. “Jack…”

“Danielllllllll.” O’Neill raised an eyebrow in exasperation.

Jackson thought the expression was one that would be directed at a child. Which he wasn’t. Even though Jack all too often treated him like one, and treated his work as unimportant. Stalking back towards the base of one of the huge stones, Daniel went in search of Sam and Teal’c.

At dusk, SG-1 gathered at their campsite next to the woods. O’Neill had lit a campfire, and its ruddy glow cast enough illumination for the four of them to eat their evening meal.

Not much was said. Daniel’s unhappiness was palpable. Carter felt caught in the middle between her own desire to, like Daniel, explore more, and her understanding of her CO’s caution regarding the natives.

Daniel had first watch. The others turned in early.

Sam relieved Daniel at midnight. Instead of turning in, he poured himself another cup of coffee and sat, thinking, trying to come up with an argument that could sway Jack into amending his decision. Finally, with a weary sigh, Daniel headed for his sleeping bag.

The camp was quiet but not everyone slept.

*********

When Jack got up to take the final watch, he started, as always, with a quick reconnoiter of the area. Teal’c had picked a quiet spot to stare into the flickering flames of their campfire, performing his nightly meditation that passed for sleep. Carter was sleeping a few feet from the warmth of the fire, nothing but her blonde hair peeking out of the top of the sleeping bag. Daniel was curled up tightly into his blankets, his back toward Jack, and unusually quiet. Often, he got up to join the Colonel for an early morning cup of coffee, but not today. Well, Daniel was probably still angry, but he’d get over it. They’d clashed before over similar issues, and they’d disagree again.

Jack walked the camp perimeter, then sat back, away from the fire so that its light wouldn’t ruin his nightvision. Twice he thought he heard noises in the woods, quiet sounds, but he’d been unable to pinpoint anything unusual. Animals, most likely, the hunters and the hunted, making the most of the darkness.

Uneasy, he sat down once more, his eyes watchful, his ears alert for every sound.

This time, the noise was definitely something. Languidly, as if nothing was amiss and he was working to stay awake, O’Neill rose, stretching and yawning, his eyes sliding slowly side to side, covertly studying the woods. Moving even further away from the fire, he walked toward the latrine as if to relieve himself. Once in the darkness, he crouched down and slipped off the trail and into the brush, circling away from his previous spot and toward the sounds he’d heard.

There… in the darkness… someone or something… moving stealthily.

Every instinct at the ready, Jack worked his way closer to the sounds. It was pitch dark in the woods, moonless, the faintest of illumination supplied by a cluster of bright stars.

There, a shadow. Jack stopped, standing motionless, watching. It was someone, moving in the darkness. Deciding it was time to alert the others, Jack turned to make his way back to the camp.

Another shadow. O’Neill raised his MP-5, finger on the safety, as he crouched, watching the figure move toward the camp.

A flicker of movement, seen out of the corner of his eye, saved his life. There was someone right there, almost on top of him, in a pool of deeper darkness cast by a thick, heavy bush, an upraised hand, a flash of starlight glinting on the polished steel of a curved blade in a sweeping downward arc...

Jack didn’t have time to shout a warning. He had no time to do anything but duck and roll as the blade whistled past the spot where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier, the unknown assailant grunting in surprise as his weapon carved through empty air.

The shadowy attacker followed him.

The burst of gunfire was loud in the still forest, cracking through the night, the flash of fire from the barrel momentarily blinding O’Neill as he fired. Spinning away, he heard more bodies crashing through the underbrush even as he heard Carter’s shout and the sound of Teal’c’s staff weapon powering up.

But he had no time to think, no time to wonder who or what was out there because the woods was full of moving figures. Jack snapped off another burst, higher into the trees, wanting to scare off the attackers. He heard them hesitate, and then there was more movement.

“Don’t move!” he shouted.

O’Neill had no way to know if the lack of response meant they didn’t understand, or if they were pressing the attack. There was more movement in the shadows, the curving arc of the deadly native swords visible in the dim light, flashing out of the darkness, toward him, and he fired, and then Daniel was shouting… how the hell had Daniel gotten out here so fast, Jack wondered… and before he could stop his finger on the trigger he saw another figure go down and another as the natives screamed their defiance.

Jack was gasping for breath, adrenaline rushing through his veins, as he stared at the now ominously still forest.

Teal’c was suddenly at his side. “O’Neill?”

“I’m okay. There were at least a dozen of them.”

They could see movement in the darkness, figures down on the ground, several of them writhing, others still, still as death.

“Jack…” it was a half-whispered moan.

“Daniel?” Jack’s heart went cold with dread…”Daniel?” Snapping on his flashlight, heedless of the danger, O’Neill flashed the beam toward the ground… a native’s body, dead, another, moaning, unable to rise; another still form, and then… a body, not in native leather but in the familiar green of BDUs…

“Daniel?” Jack fell to his knees beside the shuddering form. “Daniel?”

“Jack?” the voice was barely audible.

O’Neill frantically dug in his vest pocket for a dressing, ripping open the package and pressing the bandage tight against the bleeding wound in the younger man’s side. “Daniel, what the hell were you doing out here? Daniel?”

“I….”

“Don’t you die on me, damn you. Daniel,” he hoped the anger in his voice covered up the fear.

“You…shot me…”

God, he’d shot Daniel. Daniel… had the natives kidnapped him during Jack’s watch? What the hell had happened? How had he not seen it was Daniel? Not realized? Shit. “Daniel…”

The wounded man moaned, his breathing taking on a sudden ragged edge that scared O’Neill.

Teal'c voice was very quiet. “O’Neill, they are returning.”

“Then we’ve got to get out of here.” Without asking, the Colonel bent down and grabbed Daniel’s shoulders, hoisting the younger man over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

With Teal’c and Carter providing cover, O’Neill hurried toward the gate, surging adrenaline giving him the strength to carry his wounded teammate.

~~~~~~~~~

Jack raised his head to meet his CO’s gaze. “Sir, I didn’t check for friendlies.”

“You were attacked, Jack.”

“That’s no excuse, General, for taking down one of my own people.”

“Friendly fire incidents happen all the time in combat situations.”

“Not to my people. Not by me.”

“Jack, go home. Get some rest. You’ll be in a better frame of mind about this in the morning.”

The silverhaired head shook a definite no. Hammond wasn’t sure if that was in regard to the home, the rest, or the better frame of mind. Probably all three. “You’re dismissed, Colonel. Get some sleep. That’s an order.”

Wearily, Jack hauled his tall frame out of the chair and left Hammond’s office. He knew sleep was an impossibility. And he wasn’t going home. He had to know what was happening with Daniel, whether he’d once again managed to kill someone important to him, someone he’d been responsible for protecting, someone he’d failed…

Making his way to the infirmary, O’Neill paused outside the door to the ICU. There was a nurse in the room with the injured man. Jack entered, nodding at the lieutenant.

“I’m sorry, Sir, no visitors allowed,” she whispered.

“I’m not a visitor. I’m his CO. And I’m staying,” O’Neill pulled up a chair and set it down next to the bed, folding his long frame into it.

The nurse looked confounded, knowing he outranked her. “Sir, I’ll have to check with Doctor Fraiser.”

“You do that,” he snapped, sliding deeper into the chair and staring at the quiet form on the bed. Daniel looked awful, pale, his face almost as white as the sheets he lay on. The monitors arranged around the bed were blinking and beeping, giving off signals he didn’t understand, but reassuring in their steady tones. That must mean something good. It had to.

For a moment, Jack’s vision blurred, and Daniel’s face metamorphosed into a child’s face, equally pale, a child’s body, equally unmoving. “Oh, God,” he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to rest on the edge of the bed, banishing the vision.

*****

“I told him no visitors were allowed but he’s there anyway, Ma’am….”

“I’ll go talk to the Colonel,” Janet Fraiser told the worried nurse, knowing the young lieutenant would be no match for O’Neill. Even on his best days, and Fraiser knew this day was far from that, the stubborn, opinionated and sarcastic senior officer was a handful. Senior nurses cringed when he appeared in the infirmary, either as patient or visitor. Janet hurried down the hallway, then paused at the door to the ICU.

“Daniel, you know I didn’t know it was you. What the hell were you doing out there? You were supposed to be sleeping, damn it,” the low voice didn’t sound angry, it sounded raw and distressed and weary. “I don’t know how I could have missed… damn it, don’t you dare die on me. I can’t… there’s been too many… crap, just don’t, okay?” O’Neill dropped his head into his hands.

Taking a deep breath, Janet walked into the room. “He’s holding his own, Colonel.”

“That’s all?” O’Neill didn’t look at her, just stared at Jackson’s still form.

“For now. It’s a good sign, actually.” She stepped closer. “Sir, there’s really nothing you can do here. Why don’t you get some rest?”

“No.”

“Colonel…”

“No.” He looked up at her at last, and she knew him well enough to see what he was trying so hard to hide. “Doc…”

“He doesn’t know you’re here.”

“You don’t know that.”

Janet nodded. “Okay, I don’t.” She understood, better than he did, that his being here was, at this stage, far more important for O’Neill than it was for Jackson. Both men were her responsibility, one more obviously than the other, but she could see the Colonel was in pain in a way her medical expertise couldn’t ease. Knowing she shouldn’t give in to him, but knowing too that it was what he desperately needed, she sighed, and caved in. “You can stay for a while, Colonel. Just keep out of the way. Talk to him if you’d like, it can’t hurt and it *could* help.”

He threw her a look of utter gratitude, then ducked his head and refused to meet her eyes again.

She reached out and touched his shoulder, feeling the tension there. “If there’s anything, Sir…”

He shook his head and kept his gaze fixed on the wounded man before them.

*********

Long hours passed. Doc and the nurses were in and out of the room, doing things Jack didn’t want to see. Hell, he was way too familiar with the impersonalized ways of hospitals. And yes, he knew the things being done were being done for the patient’s welfare, but that didn’t mean they were comfortable or pleasant. Not to mention the indignity of it all. But tonight, none of that mattered, not if what they were doing was going to help Daniel.

He couldn’t bear another loss. He knew that, as surely as he knew that the sun would rise in a few hours. Sometimes, he swore he’d lost everyone who’d ever really been close to him, starting with the most important, his son; his parents, both gone now; Sara, who was still alive, though he’d nearly destroyed her, too; Charlie Kawalsky, Frank Cromwell, Henry Boyd… let people into y our life, and fate will snatch them away.

So okay, he hadn’t really let Daniel in. Hadn’t meant to, anyway, the guy had just inserted himself into Jack’s life, first by saving it, then by needing a place to live, and a friend, and a job. And for some misguided, totally off the wall reason, Jack had decided Daniel should be on his team…

There were plenty of days he’d wanted to strangle the man, but even then, he could never forget the debt he owed Daniel, for dragging him back from the brink of that dark pit… at a time when Jack had believed that he had no reason to live, no reason to care, it had been Daniel who’d reminded him that life went on; that every life had value; that dying wouldn’t absolve him of his guilt; only living could provide him a chance to make up, in whatever small ways he could, for the horrible, unrightable wrongs he’d done.

Life was about living.

Daniel had taught him that.

And now… now… shit, he’d shot Daniel, he’d been careless. Again. Maybe he should retire. Maybe he should have stayed retired. Maybe he was too old to do this, too old to trust his instincts, no longer fit for the job….

If he was a praying man, he'd be praying. But he didn't pray anymore. There'd been times when he had, long ago. But he'd given up on God four years ago, in that terrible moment when God had refused his pleas to save his son. Jack couldn't believe in a God who was that cruel, that vicious, who could take away a life so innocent.

Daniel wasn't so innocent, not like Charlie, but he also wasn't cynical and bitter like Jack knew himself to be. Daniel was good and decent and he cared. He didn't have layer after layer of blood coating his hands. He didn't have a thousand black marks against his soul. He wasn't Jack O'Neill, who lived on, despite all that he'd done, despite having broken commandment after commandment, despite the darkness in his heart and the emptiness in his soul.

Guilt and dread and the memory of death and loss and defeat, a miasma so thick it threatened to smother him, settled across Jack O'Neill's shoulders.

*************

Jack dozed.

Hours passed.

Fraiser and the nurses appeared, performed their tasks, and left the room to the silent patient and his equally silent watcher.

Daniel slept on.

^^^^^^^^

In the early hours of a new day, the SGC slowly came to life, rousing from its night-time quiet. With the arrival of day, shifts changed. The small night-time duty crew was replaced by the super-sized day shift which included scientists, lab workers, the commissary staff, and the paper pushers, required even on this top-secret, combat ready base.

Jack O’Neill remained as oblivious to the changes as did the silent figure in the ICU bed. Not that the Colonel was sleeping. Mostly, he stared with bleary eyes, sometimes seeing the injured man before him, sometimes recalling others, too many others, whose bedsides he had visited; too often, whose deathbeds he’d visited.

“O’Neill,” Teal’c had entered with his usual silent footsteps.

The Colonel’s head snapped around at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Teal’c,” he acknowledged.

“How is DanielJackson?”

“No different. Still playing Rip Van Winkle, the early years.”

The Jaffa did not know anyone by that name, but he had known O’Neill long enough to understand there would be some underlying meaning in the reference. He filed the name in his memory, promising to later ask MajorCarter, or one of the others. Surely they could explain.

“He will be well.”

O’Neill shrugged. “That’s the plan.”

“A good plan, O’Neill. I have come to sit vigil with him.”

The gray haired man nodded. “Pull up a chair. Make yourself at home,” he invited.

“Doctor Fraiser has stated that only one of us may stay.”

“Then you can go, Teal’c.”

“I wish to remain.”

O’Neill smiled, a grim expression that did not light up his deep-set eyes. “Ah, Doc sent you. Well, it won’t work. I’m not leaving. I was here first, picked my spot. Possession is ten-tenths of the law.”

“Not in my infirmary, Colonel,” Doctor Fraiser had joined the Jaffa in the doorway.

“Doc…”

“Colonel, you were here all night. You haven’t eaten or slept…”

“I slept,” he contradicted.

“You dozed off a few times, yes, but dozing in that chair isn’t sleep. With all due respect, Colonel, you look like hell. As your physician, I am prescribing a shower, some breakfast, and a nap…”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat anyway.”

“I’m not going home,” he insisted stubbornly, looking from the doctor to his friend’s unmoving form.

Fraiser thought he looked for all the world like a petulant child, well, an exhausted, world-weary, 40-something child, but a defiant over-tired child nonetheless. “Use one of the VIP suites. I’ll clear it with the General.” She waved off his protest. “Colonel, you are banned from this infirmary for the next six hours. I’ll have security stationed at the door to keep you out, and if that doesn’t work, I’ve got a whole medicine cabinet full of sedatives that will knock you on your ass for at least that long.”

She watched anger flicker across the Colonel’s stern features, then acceptance with the realization that she meant what she said.

Rising stiffly, he waved a hand. “Okay, I’ll go. And I don’t need the escort.” Turning to the Jaffa, he lifted an eyebrow. “You’ll stay?”

“Indeed I will. DanielJackson will not be alone.”

O’Neill nodded, then reached down to pat Daniel’s hand, just a light touch, as one might touch a sleeping child. “I’ll be back.”

********

Janet watched the Colonel leave, relieved and more than a bit surprised that he had given in. He was walking slowly, looking much older than his years. She heard his footsteps pause in the hallway, and worried, she followed him out. He was standing with his hands braced against the wall, his forehead touching it, eyes closed.

“Colonel?” she asked softly.

He started, spinning to look at her with tired eyes.

“Colonel, let me give you something so you can sleep.”

He shook his head no, and quickly left.

*********

The VIP rooms were comfortable, heaven compared to the hard backed infirmary chairs or even the cot in his office, it always played hell with his back to sleep there.

Stripping down to trousers, t-shirt and socks, he laid down on the top of the coverlet, folding the pillows, and digging his hip deep into the mattress.

Eventually, his exhaustion won and he fell asleep.

It lasted only a few minutes.

His breathing turned rough and ragged, his body moving restlessly to tangle in the covers until, with a shout, he sat bolt upright, shaking.

Nightmares.

He was no stranger to nightmares.

Jack knew nightmares couldn’t hurt him, knew they weren’t real.

But it didn’t matter.

Despite the soft bed, the soothing quiet atmosphere, the dimmed down lights, and his own exhaustion, Jack couldn’t sleep again, wouldn’t let himself sleep again. Even awake, the images kept racing through his brain, parading scene after scene of blood covered bodies, writhing in pain, calling out to him, to save them…to help them... to comfort them… not to kill them…

For hours, then, he lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to close his eyes and invite the return of the demons that haunted him. Not that that was anything new. They’d been there, in his head, for a long while now. But this had brought them raging back to life, in 3-D, lifesize, technicolor…

Finally, he gave up.

Heading for the locker room, he showered, shaved, donned clean clothes and went back to the infirmary.

It had only been four hours.

Fraiser debated sending him away, but one look at his face told her it wouldn’t matter. She could order him out of the infirmary, but she couldn’t order him not to think or feel or, most importantly, to stop blaming himself. Only Daniel could do that. When he woke up. If he woke up.

It was a big if. The archaeologist had lost so much blood, it was entirely possible he’d incurred brain damage in the time between being wounded and his arrival back at the SGC. She hadn’t told O’Neill that, yet, but she was aware that he knew already.

Watching the Colonel, back at Daniel’s bedside, she worried. He was so stubborn and so strong, it was easy to forget that behind the walls he’d built around himself, he was a man of very strong emotions. You had to know him well to see that, to understand how much of his façade was bluff and bluster, but under it all was a man who cared too much for the work he was in and the people he worked with; who carried his burdens well hidden; who refused to let anyone else shoulder even part of the load. It was one of the things that made him the leader he was, earned him the respect of those who served around him. But it took its toll, whether he admitted it or not.

She wished she knew what to do for him, some way to help him, but she knew him well enough to also know that he would never allow her to offer him that grace.

He might accept it from Daniel.

If Daniel didn’t make it, Janet Fraiser had the really really bad feeling that there would be two victims of this incident.

^^^^^^^

“Shouldn’t he be awake by now?”

Janet didn’t miss the barely concealed despair in O’Neill’s question. It was 1900 hours. Daniel should have awakened from the anesthesia by noon. “Well, you know Daniel is always rather stubborn.”

The Colonel snorted.

“Like his CO.”

O’Neill rolled his eyes.

Janet debated how much of her worries she should tell to tell O'Neill. On top of her concerns about Daniel's failure to awaken, she was almost equally worried about the gray-haired man in front of her. Though she'd gotten him to leave for several hours while Sam sat with the Dr. Jackson, O'Neill obviously hadn't slept. He'd assured her he'd eaten, but she knew him well enough to know he'd gone to the commissary, stared at and probably stirred the food around on his plate, but actually consumed very little. “Sir," she kept her voice low and gentle, "we just have to be patient."

"Now *that's* one of my better qualities," he said mockingly.

She placed a hand on his arm. "Colonel, Daniel's strong. We know that. His body is recuperating from the trauma, progressing well. And the tests we've done indicate that there is brain activity...."

"Then why isn't he awake?" Jack demanded.

"Honestly, Sir, I don't know. There doesn't seem to be a physical reason for his coma..."

O'Neill flinched at the word. "So he's going to wake up?"

Janet wanted to reassure him, wanted to give him the comforting lie, and knew it was wrong. "I believe he will."

"But you don't know."

"No, I don't. But until I *know* otherwise, I won't believe otherwise. In the meantime, we do what we can to prompt him to awaken. Talk to him. Read to him. Touch him. Ask for his attention. Give him a reason to wake up."

She was stunned when O'Neill climbed to his feet and left without a word. "Colonel...." Staring after him, Janet didn't know what to think. She hadn't been able to pry him out of that chair all day, and now he'd suddenly just walked out?

Less than five minutes later, he was back, a stack of books in his hand.

Janet was relieved to see his look of despair had been replaced by one of determination.

Jack re-seated himself in the bedside chair, opened up the book to the first page, and began to read aloud. The Colonel's voice was soft, not much more than a whisper. Here and there he stumbled over the unfamiliar words, having trouble pronouncing the odd names, but he kept reading.

It was the last thing Fraiser could imagine the Colonel reading... not the sports page or the comics, not a book on hockey or airplanes or weapons, not a war novel or a mystery. It was a book on Ancient Egypt.

He read for hours. The nurses brought him a glass of water, and he'd sip it to ease his throat. Even at that his voice grew raw, the whisper turning hoarse, but he didn't stop.

*********

Finally, somewhere in the deepest hours of the night, Jack detected movement. From the corner of his eye, he saw the still hands twitch.

"So, hey, Danny boy, decided to join me? I could use a little help with these names you know. I think I really mangled this one, Ohso-orkin, ah, no Osorkon? Why couldn't these god guys be named Bill or Bob or something easy, huh?" Jack's brow furrowed in concern. "When you're not talking, I've got no one to tell me the right way to say it." There was no response. Jack, oblivious to the watching nurse, reached out and took hold of Daniel's hand, squeezing it. "C'mon, Daniel, give me a sign here. Let me know you're still in there. I need to know, damn it," the raw voice rose in tone. "You know I'm not very good at waiting. Patience just isn't part of my vocabulary."

The cool hand moved in his. Maybe it was an answer, more likely Doc would tell him it was just a muscle twitching or something. But Jack, desperate for a glimmer of hope, took it as a positive sign. Picking up the book once more, he started reading again.

His eyes were blurred from staring at the printed page for long hours, his throat raw from non-stop talking, his head throbbing with one of those lack-of-sleep headaches he was all too familiar with. Yet, he couldn't stop. Carter had been by, and Teal'c, too, but Jack stubbornly wouldn't concede his spot at Daniel's bedside. He was responsible for Daniel getting hurt, he was going to see the man through this... if it killed them both.

Jack was stumbling over the names of the gods of Egypt when a sleepy voice mumbled from the bed.

"It's Ak-hen-aten."

"What?" Jack's head snapped up, relief washing through him to see blue eyes, looking confused, but open. "What?"

"Ak-hen-a-ten," Daniel's voice was slow, the words slurred but discernable. "Not... Ack *henna* ton."

The eyes went closed.

"Daniel, stay with me here."

"I'm tired, Jack."

"You've been sleeping for over 24 hours. You need to stay awake." Jack was fumbling for the call button.

"Don't want to."

"Doesn't matter... you can't sleep now."

Jackson was fighting with his weighty eyelids. "How'd I get here?"

"You don't remember?"

The head shook slightly. "No. We were on a planet..."

"Yes, we were," Jack's voice had gotten low and grim.

"What hap’ned..."

"I shot you."

The blue eyes flared wide, then slid half-shut once more. "You must have been really mad at me..."

"Daniel, I..." Jack searched for words and failed to find them.

"Why'd you shoot me?" Daniel's confused gaze latched onto Jack's face.

"I...shit..." unable to answer the question. "I'm... I... Daniel...I gotta get Doc." Unable to face the younger man's inquiring gaze, Jack fled.

He nearly ran headlong into the just arriving Janet Fraiser.

"Colonel?"

He ducked his head, not looking at her, mumbling something she didn't understand, his face as full of despair as it had been for the past 24 hours.

Janet stared after O'Neill in confusion, then turned to attend her patient, making a mental note to check on the Colonel later.

************

God, how cowardly had that been? Jack thought as he turned the key in the ignition of his pick-up. Sorry. Simple word, five letters, two syllables, nothing to it. So why the hell couldn't he say it? There was nothing wrong with saying it. He felt it, after all, God knew that. Sorry in fact wasn't anywhere near adequate to explain what he felt. Daniel probably knew a dozen words that would better describe his feelings, but sorry was the only one that came to mind. Just like he'd been sorry for what he'd done to Sara, what had happened to Charlie, that he couldn't hold on to Frank or about what he had to do to Kawalsky. The word wasn't enough, then, either, and just like then, he'd not been able to utter the sounds, make his tongue form the word, force his lungs to produce the air to give voice to the simple syllables.

So, like he usually did when things got too emotional, he'd fled, into the darkness, into the solitude, to be with the only person who could stand his own company. No, that was a lie. Even he couldn't stand himself.

He'd shot Daniel. Daniel *was* going to be okay, he'd stayed long enough to make sure of that, but that didn't change his guilt.

His carelessness. How could he be so bleepin' careless?

He knew the consequences of carelessness.

He'd promised himself he'd never be so freakin' stupid again.

And he had.

He was supposed to protect his team, not shoot the civilian he was charged to protect.

Damn stupid, O'Neill. What the hell good are you, if you can't take care of those you're supposed to take care of?

He'd asked himself these questions before.

And there'd never been any answers.

Half an hour later, he found himself pulling into his driveway, completely unaware of how he'd gotten there, like he'd driven home on auto-pilot.

Another stupid thing to do.

Seemed like he was hip deep in stupidity.

The house was dark, he fumbled with the key in the front door, dropping his coat in the hallway. The shower beckoned, and he let it run steaming hot, but no matter how much he scrubbed, he couldn't wash away the stains of his actions. Finally, when the water started to run cold, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself drying. Pulling on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he padded barefoot downstairs to the couch. Flicking on the TV, he searched aimlessly through the late-night litany of sales pitches, news shows and old movies. Finally, he just let the remote fall from his hands, and stared blindly at the screen, not seeing the too-bright images of overpriced trinkets, gaudy jewelry and faux fashions.

Lost in the ugly deeds and bad memories of his life, the time slipped away.

-----------

Somehow, he must have actually dozed off, because the ringing of the phone woke him. Groaning at the stiffness in his neck and shoulders, hell, his whole body, he fumbled for the handset. "O'Neill," he mumbled, only half-awake.

"Colonel O'Neill?"

Shit, what time was it? What had he forgotten?

"Sir, General Hammond asked me to call. You hadn't checked in this morning.."

"I, uh..."

"The General said he thought you might want to take the day off, Sir, and that that would be fine with him."

"Ah, yes."

Hanging up the phone, he stared around the room. He turned the TV off. He didn't know what to do. He wasn't hungry. He was tired, but not sleepy. He thought about going back to the base, to see how Daniel was. Except he knew he couldn't face Daniel, not after his failure, not after what he'd done.

The day passed slowly, then another and another. Each morning, he got the same phone call, and each morning, his reply was the same... he needed another day off.

His team, the healthy part of it, came to visit, or tried at least. He ignored the ringing doorbell, and disconnected it after they left. He left the machine pick up when the phone rang. They were persistent, but he was stubborn.

He wasn't ready to talk to them, wasn't ready to talk to anyone, really.

Not until he could face himself.

Dr. Fraiser called to tell him that Daniel was asking for him, but he told her he was busy, with stuff, personal stuff, and he'd visit Daniel when he could, and would she just convey his best wishes... crap, that sounded like he was talking about an absolute stranger.

*****************

On the fourth day of his self-imposed exile, he was sitting on his deck, staring out at the lawn that needed mowing, a task for which he lacked the will or energy. He didn't seem to have the will or energy for much of anything, come to think of it. He sipped his beer, and thought about dinner, and decided he wasn't interested in that either. Maybe another beer. That was as far as he wanted to think ahead. Another beer, and then he'd contemplate... something.

O'Neill was so busy contemplating nothing that he missed the approaching footsteps.

"Hi, Jack."

The words jerked O'Neill's head around like a puppet on a string. He stood, setting the beer bottle down. "Hi Daniel." Risking a quick glance, O'Neill saw a thin smile on his friend's face.

"Gonna invite me to sit down? I'd, uh, sort of like to."

The Colonel waved a hand at the bench and desk chairs. "Take your pick."

The younger man, moving carefully, climbed the stairs and sat slowly on the bench. "I'm feeling better, thanks for asking."

Jack shrugged. "Figured that. Since you were here."

Daniel stared down at the weathered floor of the deck. "You didn't come to visit me."

"I did."

"Right. Janet said you were there, while I was unconscious. And I do sort of remember you being there when I woke up." Jackson raised his eyes, hoping to catch the older man's glance. He couldn't, O'Neill's gaze was fixed firmly on the ground. "That was you, wasn't it?"

The gray haired man shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why'd you leave?"

"You were okay. No need for me to be there."

"You didn't want to talk about what happened?"

"No," Jack snapped, as if Daniel shouldn’t already know that talking wasn’t ever going to be on Jack’s list of favorite recreational activities.

"I remember now, you know."

O'Neill's brown eyes lifted to meet Daniel's blue orbs for a single moment, then slid quickly away. The tense shoulders shrugged. "I screwed up."

"You?" Jackson's voice rose in surprise.

"Well, I *shot* you."

"True."

"I didn't mean to..." it was as close as he could come to making himself say he was sorry.

Daniel tried to make his voice light. "I didn't think you did, though there have been times I wouldn't have put it past you."

O'Neill threw him a look that was part chagrin, part annoyance. "Daniel..."

"Jack, I came to apologize..."

"You?" O'Neill snorted.

"For being where I wasn't supposed to be..."

"For..." Jack raised his eyes to look into Daniel's face for the first time. "Huh?"

"Didn't you wonder how I got out there in the woods, in the middle of that mess?"

"Yeah. But I figured one of them had dragged you..."

"Guess then I should have kept my mouth shut..." Daniel took a cautious breath, careful to keep his aching body as still as possible. "But when you told me I couldn't go look at the other stones, by the village... I'd snuck out of camp, right after my watch... so I could go look."

"What kind of stupid stunt..."

"Jack, my video camera's got a low light feature, and I figured I could just go there and tape them... and you'd never know. And then, when I started back, I realized there was someone following me. So it was probably me that you heard in the woods..."

O'Neill swiped a hand across his face. "For cryin' out loud..."

"Jack, I don't know if the natives would have attacked if I hadn't done what I did, and obviously we'll never know... but I know that you did save my life..."

"Saved your life? By shooting you?"

"No. But when you started shooting, the first guy you shot, was on the trail in front of me. I didn't even know he was there. In a few more steps, I'd have run right into him in the dark..."

Jack stood, and paced across the deck, staring out across the lawn. "Daniel, I still should have been more careful. I should have been aware of every shot, and where it went. What you did doesn't change what I did. I was careless."

"You had no idea there was anyone out there except the natives... You'd have needed ESP to know I was out there."

"I should have known."

"That's unreasonable. You couldn't have."

Jack spun to face SG-1's archaeologist. "Damn it, Daniel, I messed up."

"And so did I. You can't take the blame for everything."

"Who said I was?"

"You're here."

O'Neill shrugged.

"I won't go wandering around at night again if you promise not to shoot me," the younger man offered with a shadow of a smile.

"This isn't funny, Daniel."

The young man shifted uncomfortably. "No, it's not. But if I hadn't done what I did, what happened, wouldn't have happened."

"Huh?"

"Jack, what I'm saying, is that we were both less than perfect. But I'll get over it. If you will."

For the first time in days, a weight lifted off Jack O'Neill's shoulders. He shrugged. "You won't do it again?"

"What?"

"Disobey my orders?"

Daniel rolled his eyes. "I can't say that. But I'll be more careful."

Jack nodded.

Daniel stood. "So, I'm going home now." Waving his good arm, he started for the steps, walking slowly. Just as his form was about to disappear around the corner, he heard the soft words. "Daniel. I'm sorry."

"I know Jack," he said, and kept walking.

***********************