The slight difference in atmospheric pressure woke me. That, and the slight clink I heard from somewhere downstairs, a noise that I shouldn’t have heard at…04H14 in the morning.

Damn. What had happened to the state of the art burglar alarm General Hammond insisted I got?

For a moment I was tempted to call the base, had actually reached for the phone before common sense wore out. If I did that, the extension in the dining room might click, warning whomever that I was awake.

That I didn’t want. I wanted the element of surprise firmly on my side, something I had at this moment in time.

Happier than I had been in a long while, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a black Tee shirt and padded to the door.

Damn, I so loved the hunt.

A cautious thought sent me back for my gun. Nowadays not everyone gave up without a fight.

Armed and dangerous, I acted like a ghost and made my way towards the stairs.

There were two of them, silhouetted against the myriad of summer stars seen in the open glass door leading to my garden, a tall hulking figure and a slight figure, one who seemed to be seated on my lounge chair watching the other work.

Another tiny clink made me grit my teeth. How dare they rob me?

Well aware of where the creaks were, I slowly made my way down the stairs.

I never even saw the cunningly concealed tripwire third step from the top.

…

"Wakey, wakey, Colonel O’Neill"

I awoke to find myself tied hand and feet to one of my dining room chairs, an strange dough-faced man regarding me closely.

"Are you back with us?" he enquired politely.

I blinked, still coming to terms with what had happened. One minute I was creeping down the stairs and the next…Damn, this was a set up.

"Who in the hell are you?" I snapped, testing the tough rope tying my arms to the wooden arm rests.

"My name is Roscoe," the man said pleasantly, pulling up his own chair. "Not that it will mean anything to you, Colonel O’Neill."

I glared at the man, all the while straining against the ropes that bound me.

"What do you want?" I asked eventually.

"Your cooperation," the man called Roscoe said, smiling slightly, watching me watch him.

…

I am a unremarkable man with a plain face and mousy brown hair. In fact, being of average height and girth, I am instantly forgettable, something that I have used to its full advantage all my adult life.

I was in striking contrast to the tall gray haired air force officer who glared at me like a cornered cobra, his dark eyes spitting fire.

"My cooperation?" O’Neill hissed. "You break into my house, tie me up, and now you want my cooperation?" He reared back his head, looking totally composed despite being tied up.

"I don’t know who you are, little man, but know this," he snarled. " I will never willingly cooperate with someone who holds me prisoner." His eyes went flat. "Especially in my own home."

I had been waiting for this.

I looked over O’Neill’s shoulder, noticing the man narrow his eyes. So this Colonel knew there was someone standing behind him? He was a smart one all right.

"Vincent, come here please."

I always had pleasure in watching my victim’s faces when Vinnie came into view.

At six foot six and built like a brick shithouse, Vinnie always managed to put the fear of God into most people. He was a mean giant, and looked it. Mentally retarded, he would do anything I asked, no questions asked, no matter what.

"Colonel O’Neill," I said with a smirk. "Meet my associate, Vincent Pirelli."

"Your dog more like it," O’Neill muttered, raking him with dark eyes.

The good Colonel never even saw the blow coming. Vinnie’s expression didn’t change at all as he sank his fist into O’Neill’s midriff, making him gasp in agony.

"Oh dear, Colonel O’Neill," I said, watching O’Neill turn gray. "Vinnie so hates insults. You would do well to remember this."

For a while, O’Neill was completely incapable of moving, taking deep agonized breaths and blinking the tears away. Finally, he had enough breath in him to straighten in his chair again.

" I’m due at my base at 05H00, he whispered. " If I’m late, they will come looking for me."

"Nonsense," I said, placing a pad and pencil on the dining room table in front of Jack. "You’re only due in to the SGC at 08H30, and have been known to go straight to your office before meeting your team, so in theory, nobody will miss you until at least ten o’clock."

I was pleased to see that I had O’Neill’s undivided attention.

"How do you know all this?" he asked, making me smile.

"This is an NID operation," I said bluntly, noticing O’Neill’s face harden in reaction. "We know a lot of things about the Stargate program."

"NID," he breathed, his eyes flicking to Vincent and back to me. "I see that they have reduced the IQ level for admittance again. Not that it was that high to begin with."

I felt Vinnie stiffen and put out a cautionary hand.

"Not now Vincent," I said quietly. "Get behind him and hold him down. Let the drug do the work for you."

That tidbit made O’Neill go still, as I expected.

"Drugs?" he enquired cautiously.

"That’s got you worried, hasn’t it?" I thought privately, enduring another round of O’Neill’s steely eyes.

"Why yes, my dear Colonel," I said aloud, reaching for a small case sitting innocuously on the cheap dining room table. "I have need of information and you have a history of stubbornness."

"And you think that drugs will work?" O’Neill sneered. "Better people than you have tried and failed in that department."

I nodded, refusing to be baited. "Indeed they have," I said, carefully preparing a syringe. "This is why they sent me instead."

I tapped the glass, expelling the last of the air bubbles, and looked at O’Neill closely.

"Aren’t you wondering what this will do to you?" I asked.

"Not particularly," O’Neill grated. "All I’m interested in is getting my hands around your fat little neck and…" his voice disappeared into a strangled cry as Vincent reached round from behind him and encircled his throat with one heavily muscled arm.

"Who’s the one being strangled now?" I growled, my professional veneer slipping. I smiled broadly as O’Neill’s face turned brick red as his oxygen supply was cut off.

I watched with interest as the veins stood out on the sinewy arms as he desperately tried to free himself and reach Vincent, to no avail, and then tut-tutted.

"My dear Colonel," I said. "I must be slipping. Here you are, veins enticingly displayed for my needle, and I am watching you like a stuffed dummy, doing nothing."

I took pleasure in seeing O’Neill’s eyes widen as I quickly found a vein and injected the contents into his arm.

"There, that’s better," I said, calmly putting the empty syringe back into its case.

"Vincent, you can let go now," I called. "The Colonel is no longer a threat."

With a smirk, Vincent suddenly let go, allowing O’Neill’s head to drop forwards, the man wheezing faintly for breath.

"You won’t feel any different at first," I said, watching him closely.

"The reason for that is this drug works on Naquadah, and if you know anything about the properties of Naquadah, you should know that the residue tends to concentrate in the heart…"

"Don’t…No Naquadah…in my blood," O’Neill said, painfully lifting his head.

"Nonsense," I said, enjoying myself immensely. I always liked this part, when my victim reacted to the drug and cracked. Although in this case, the drug was very different to the usual.

"You may not be aware of it, but you have enough Naquadah in you to make this drug work most effectively."

"What…" O’Neill moistened his lips; the pinched expression on his face telling me that he was feeling the drug already.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I pushed the pad of paper towards the man.

"I want the address of Tollana 3," I said softly, noticing that O’Neill was beginning to tremble.

"Does it hurt yet?" I asked gently. "I am told that it feels like your blood is on fire, and when it reaches your heart, well, all you want to do is die."

…

I felt like…well I felt like I was being burnt alive, from the inside. It took all the willpower I had not to scream aloud, defiantly facing my captor with gritted teeth.

To breathe was hell as well, courtesy of Vinnie the hulk, making me begin to seriously believe I wasn’t going to survive the morning.

If I didn’t, I didn’t, because, no matter what this man did to me, I was never giving up the address of Tollana 3.

…

Tollana 3 was my own brainchild, something that still amazed me, and stunned my team.

Throughout the years, the Tollans had had no patience with the people of earth, stating that they were primitive and slow, something that always galled me.

I hated arrogance, more so when I knew they were right.

Finally, after a day of blistering insults from the Tollans only made slightly easier by the soothing presence of the Nox, I had snapped.

‘If the people of earth were so damn stupid,’ I had asked, ‘why not then teach them your way of doing things from a very young age?’

‘If you have a planet,’ I told them, ‘the SGC will supply the children.’

At first both the Tollans and the Joint Chiefs met the suggestion with ridicule. However, the idea was sound, and the Nox were interested.

Six months later, the Tollans and the Joint Chiefs found themselves presented with a temperate planet, protected by the Asgard, where twenty children of the Nox were waiting for their companions to arrive.

Presented with such a feint accompli, Tollana and Earth had given in, and a corresponding amount of children were sent from each planet.

The Nox had been adamant. Although the idea had been mine, no one but the Asgard and the Nox were to interact with the children, although Tollana could send through whatever technology they deemed fit.

And so, Tollana 3 was born, a planet of learning for three races. Four, if the Asgard were involved.

I had never been so pleased in my life.

…

"I will never give up that address," I gasped, glaring at Roscoe through sweat soaked eyelashes. "That is the one thing I will never ever divulge."

"You will," he said in a smug voice.

"Never," I growled, straining frantically at the ropes holding me to the chair.

I was on fire. Fire burned around my body, the pain of it making me feel faint.

I saw Roscoe nod his thanks as Vinnie placed a tall glass of water on the desk, and moaned.

I was hot, burning up, making me squirm in agony. I was also sweating profusely, the wooden chair I was tied to was slick with my sweat, turning my jeans a dark blue where they encountered my skin. Every now and then, an especially bad twinge of pure agony made me arch my back with a shrill scream, only the bindings keeping me from crashing to the floor.

And I was so thirsty.

I was aware of Roscoe slowly drinking the water, my eyes greedily fastening on the small rivulets that ran down the glass to land on the table with loud plops, and despite myself, whined like a dog.

I was aware that Roscoe was talking to me again, his voice gently cajoling me, but I could not do what he asked.

Those kids were too precious to ever have the NID involved.

Those kids were earth’s only hope.

Those kids were the beginning of the fifth race, and I would die to protect them.

…

I was worried.

Things were not going according to plan.

According to my masters, Colonel O’Neill would cave in within ten to twenty minutes of receiving the drug.

This had not happened. In fact, an hour later, all the man was doing was dying.

I cast an anxious eye at the clock noticing that it now read 05H15, and grimaced.

If we weren’t careful, we would be seen leaving. I was okay about this, but poor Vinnie… well, a little hair dye would do wonders for me, but Vinnie would have to die, and I was fond of the brute.

Damn the man.

Somehow, despite the odds, Colonel O’Neill had managed to deny us any information for over an hour, something unprecedented when it came to this drug.

"Boss, the suns coming up," Vinnie said in a deep rumble, making me start. He still stood behind O’Neill, a patient giant willing to do anything and everything I desired without a second thought.

"You want me to waste him?" Vinnie asked, his eyes gleaming in anticipation.

Did I?

I hated failures, and this was a failure.

Did I want Vinnie to break his neck?

I watched as he placed his large hands around the Colonel’s head, his face flushed in anticipation.

"Can I boss?"

Somehow, despite the predicament he was in, I was aware of O’Neill watching me.

Despite the obvious pain he was in, his expression was calm. He knew what Vinnie wanted to do, he must have known that Vinnie had one hand cupping his chin and the other flat at the base of his neck in the classic position for a clean neck break, but said nothing.

It was then that I realized that Colonel O’Neill was never going to give up the address for Tollana 3.

"Damn you Colonel," I said, meeting his eyes.

"Damn you to hell and gone."

There was nothing anybody could do for him now.

My decision made, I shook my head, waving Vincent off.

" Leave him," I said, crouching down next to O’Neill. I reached forwards, pulling the Colonel’s head back by his short hair, and stared at him intently.

"How does it feel to die?" I asked gently.

"There was no antidote, was there?" he whispered.

I shook my head sadly, making him grin slightly.

His face was a translucent pearly white color, and his lips were tinged by blue, making me wince in sympathy. Despite what had been done to his system, the man still breathed, was still conscious, making me admire his stamina.

"I’m sorry Colonel," I said, surprising myself to realize that I actually meant it.

"Even if you had cracked, there was no cure. Even if there had been, I wouldn’t have administered it to you." I looked at him sadly. "You see, I can’t afford to be recognized. This type of job is too profitable for there to be any loose ends."

I shook my head sadly, putting the slim black case back in my pocket.

"I’m sorry it had to come to this." I placed two fingers on the side of O’Neill’s throat, feeling for his carotid artery. "It won’t be long now," I said softly, feeling the irregular heartbeat.

Then we walked out of his house and into the dawn, leaving Colonel Jack O’Neill to face the end alone.

…

Once before in my life I had stared at death. I had welcomed it then, had allowed it to worm its insidious way into my mind.

I had allowed its hypnotic fingers to massage me and almost lure me to my doom before common sense kicked in.

I had survived Iran. I had survived Iraq. And I had decided that I was damn well going to survive grief as well.

I had, and a new and oh so wonderful life had slowly grown up around me, replacing the grief in my heart, mostly.

Daniel, Carter, and Teal’c had become my new family, as close to me as I was to them.

We had been to hell on many occasions, once literally, and each knew that one day someone would miss the dawn; such was the danger of what we did.

I had always determined that it would be me that paid the ultimate sacrifice, protecting my new family to the bitter end.

Nowhere in my book of ways to die had it said anything about being on earth at the time.

…

I sat back quietly and watched the dawn through the lounge windows, feeling a deep sadness as the colors turned from pink to red to yellow as the sun rose to greet the new day.

There were worse ways to die, if one wanted to die. I didn’t. I also could see no way of preventing it.

I shifted my gaze to my dining room table. Someone in my brother Joe’s parish had made the table and had given it to Joe, who had passed it on to me, knowing that it was just so hideous and cheap that I would be tempted to keep it.

I had, storing my fine table in the attic and forcing my team to eat around this cheap substitute whenever they visited, grinning at their expressions as the sharp nails dug into their knees.

"Sharp…nails…" I said aloud.

Oh God.

Gritting my teeth, I reached up with my fingers and awkwardly pulled the table towards me, unheeding as my fingernails tore off at the weight I was pulling. I knew precisely where a nail was, still as sharp as it had been when Joe had…

"Come on Colonel Jack O’ Neill," I muttered, not even feeling the pain as I tipped the table towards me. All I was interested in was getting the nail as close to one wrist as possible.

Finally, something sharp dug into my wrist and I desperately started sawing.

Eventually the bindings on one wrist fell free, and I was desperately attacking the other.

My feet were too much of a problem to untie, but the phone was within reach if I really stretched.

I was in the process of hanging up my coat when the phone my office rang, startling me.

Very few people knew that the infirmary had a private line, one that was not routed through the switchboard.

I had insisted the infirmary had a private line the minute I had been promoted to chief medical officer, and had found out that all my calls were routinely routed through the main switchboard, where anybody could listen in.

Because most of my calls were to the Pentagon, and were extremely private and confidential, I had caused a ruckus.

A warm eyed Colonel called O’Neill, the base’s 2IC, I later found out, had gravely listened to my complaints, and acted on them.

The following day, a lime green telephone had been installed, with a direct line to the outside world.

Months later, someone had told me that Colonel O’Neill had had the military machine tied in knots with his insistence that the phone be green and none other. It was a private joke of his that he had never explained.

He had insisted that my phone took priority over anything else on the base, resulting in said telephone the next day, almost unheard of in the military.

My green telephone became one of three secure phones in the SGC, and my link with the Pentagon, to whom I reported on a regular basis.

I also always dialed out, that is why the phone ringing was such a surprise.

"Hold your horses," I muttered, trotting back to my office.

…

"SGC Medical," I said briskly, expecting to hear Lieutenant Colonel McElroy’s voice.

All I got was dead air, and a low keening sound.

"Hello?" I said, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up. My medical staff were watching me now through the glass, realizing something was amiss.

"Who is this?" I asked.

The low voice was unintelligible at first, before uttering one word.

"Doc?"

I sank bonelessly into her chair, waving madly to my nurse, Captain Milner.

"Colonel O’Neill?" I asked.

"Where are you?" I asked when he didn’t reply.

His voice was soft, but distinct.

"Home," he whispered. "Dying… NID."

My blood ran cold.

"Hang on Colonel," I snapped. "We’re on our way."

I sat back and concentrated on staying alive.

I prided myself on how fit I was, always had, which was why I found my predicament so frightening.

A bullet wound I could handle. Hell, even a burn from a staff weapon I could handle, but this…this was inside me.

And it was killing me.

I could feel myself begin to slip away, and railed helplessly at the feeling.

This wasn’t fair, but I was helpless to quell the tremors that wracked my body, and even more helpless to prevent the sudden spasms of pain that arched my back off the chair and forced pathetic cries through my lips, cries I scarcely believed came from me.

When this happened, I felt my heart flutter, the most frightening thing of all.

I was desperate for help, hoping against hope that Janet would arrive soon.

I strained my ears, listening for the first strident sounds of a welcoming siren, but all I could hear were the familiar sounds of my neighbors leaving for work, sounds I should have been contributing to as well, as I too left for work, cheerfully heading for the Mountain.

"Oh God Janet," I whispered, taking comfort in the sound of my own voice. "Please don’t be long."

…

"We will treat this situation exactly as we would treat any situation we have ever trained for, that is as a potential hostage situation," Detective Murtaugh said, standing ramrod straight in front of his men.

"As you are aware, we have our secret friends from the Mountain with us again." He turned slightly to me. "Welcome."

"Delighted," I grunted, not meaning it for a minute.

Murtaugh gave me a small smile and turned back to the men.

He was a tall thin African American pushing fifty with a competent attitude that I appreciated and a tough SWAT team I needed. He was also a mover and shaker, refreshing in this town.

He had his SWAT team set up, ready and waiting, at the end of O’Neill’s road before we arrived, and we weren’t slow.

"According to the Intel we have from our friends, Colonel O’Neill phoned the base to say he needed help. That there were person’s unknown holding him capture."

I nodded, catching Doctor Fraiser’s eye, noticing her set expression as she leaned against the ambulance. She just wanted to get to her patient, whom she believed was critically injured, as soon as possible. Unfortunately, Detective Murtaugh didn’t work that way, and truth be told, nor did I.

Many a mission had been a disaster because we went in too fast too soon, and I was determined that this one wasn’t going to be one of them, not with the life of my 2IC at stake.

Murtaugh raked the SWAT team with dark eyes, making sure that everyone was paying attention.

"The street has been cleared of all friendlies, so in theory, you are clear to take them out. However, we all know from bitter experience, the words ‘in theory’ can come back and bite you in the butt, so be careful."

The SWAT team leader stepped forwards, taking control of his team.

"Let’s go," he snapped, and they all seemed to melt into the undergrowth before my eyes, giving me new respect for their abilities.

"Now we wait sir," Fraiser said, walking up and standing next to me. She shivered, despite the morning’s warmth.

"Let’s hope there’s still something left to rescue."

I was beyond pain. I had eventually reached that little area beyond space and time; between light and darkness I had long ago christened the 'betweenworld'

I had been here before.

Twice.

The first time was when I was crawling for home, skull fractured.

Home was the USS Nimitz, a temporary naval home.

They tolerated us because we could fly, and the 'Nimitz' was an aircraft carrier.

The 'betweenworld' kept me safe from harm.

Once in there, I was unaware of the deserts burning heat, and uncaring of my other injuries.

I was uncaring of the luck I had in anybody finding me.

Nevertheless, find me they did, thank God.

The second time was in Iraq, during the last couple of days of my incarceration. We had all been beaten with an inch of our lives and left to die.

That I refused to do.

The 'betweenworld' again became my refuge from pain, my only refuge.

Once in the 'betweenworld' I had a choice, to live or to die.

Back then, I chose to live, both times.

The decision was easy then.

This time the decision was much harder.

I sat still in my solid wooden dining room chairs, with their intricate arm rests that Sarah had loved so much, and contemplated death calmly.

I could let go if I wished. I was a peace with the world now. I could just let go and…I was so tired.

That is why a mouthful of teargas came as such a big surprise.

"One friendly, no hostiles," the voice crackled.

"Tell Dr Fraiser we have her patient and…"

His voice was drowned out as the ambulance burst into life, sirens wailing, and lights flashing.

"She’s on her way," I said dryly.

" Colonel Sir, are you…" A young goggled face peered at me, his eyes wide. "Are you okay?" he asked in a rush.

All I could do was gag before one of the older people pushed him out of the way and placed an oxygen mask over my head, allowing me a smidgen of relief.

Then I heard a siren, and two black clad people were hacking at the bindings tying my feet to the chair before bodily lifting it, and me, and carrying it to the porch.

"Oh God, what had they done to this man?"

I skidded to a halt as two of the SWAT team members gently placed the chair he was in on the porch, noticing how he was slumped, like a rag doll.

His breathing was almost non-existent, his lips were blue, and he was sweating and shaking as if having continual fits.

It took me two seconds to realize we were dealing with a drug. One look at the angry bruise on his bicep told me that. It also told me that he had been struggling at the time, obviously desperately trying to keep the needle away from him. He had lost.

He may have lost, but whomever it was who had done this must surely have had a hard time in subduing him.

Anyone could see that Colonel O’Neill had put up one hell of a fight, from his extremely bruised throat to his torn wrists and badly broken fingernails.

Keeping my emotions in check, I set to work; aware of men in black crouched all around me, their faces respectful.

"I want his clothes," Murtaugh said softly, squatting down next to me. "There could be fibers, hairs that could identify his assailants."

I nodded distractedly, aware that his request was justified.

"In the ambulance," I said, "once we have stabilized him."

He nodded soberly and moved off, allowing me room

We did what we could for him, which was pitifully little, and rushed him back to the infirmary.

I don’t even remember the trip back to the SGC.

I feared the worst. I feared that I would be greeted with the news that O’Neill hadn’t survived the trip, meaning that I would somehow have to tell the rest of SG1.

It was then that I realized with shock that they probably didn’t even know.

O’Neill had this habit of coming in early and completing his reports, then complaining about them for the rest of the day.

The rest of SG1 followed similar habits, with the scientists heading for their offices and Teal’c to the gym.

The first time I saw them together was usually in the canteen at 10H00.

It was quite conceivable, since it was only 09H15, that they had no idea the seriousness of their C.O’s situation.

Oh damn, I would have to tell them, and do so as soon as I arrived. Jack deserved to have them around him, just in case he didn’t…

I sat back feeling sick, remembering his eyes. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Jack O’Neill was finished.

That had shocked me more than anything else. He seemed…beyond life, like he had ascended to another plane of existence entirely. There was none of the fire that was Jack O’Neill left in his eyes, merely ashes.

We almost lost him in the ambulance.

He had turned his head, looked at me intensely, and died.

By that, I mean his heart just stopped.

It scared the life out of me, although I had been aware that it might happen.

I could see from the monitors that his heart was taking a hammering from…something.

Faces strained, we worked as a team, restarting his heart and praying.

Something was interfering with his normal cardiac rhythm, and until we had him in the ICU, we had no idea what it was.

All we could do was work on him and pray.

The morning had started off so promising.

I had driven to the mountain with the fresh summer breeze blowing in my face, and actually took time off to appreciate the dawn.

I remember it distinctly.

The dark purple giving way to a rose pink that in turn gave way to the yellow of the sun.

It had been magnificent.

At that moment, when I was enjoying nature’s tapestry the most, they were probably tearing the fingernails off Colonel O’Neill’s hand.

"Oh God."

I leaned back against the rear wall of the infirmary sighed, a bone weary sigh that was immediately picked up by the rest of SG1.

"What’s wrong?" Daniel asked. "Besides the obvious, I mean," he added hastily.

He was sitting on the edge of one of the beds, looking grave, as was Teal’c.

Ideally, we shouldn’t have been in the infirmary at all, allowing Janet and her staff to work on the Colonel without distractions, but during his brief periods of lucidity, he had been asking for us, so a compromise was made.

We would be allowed in, but not close.

Janet did not want the Colonel’s distress to be seen.

Knowing the intensely private person Colonel O’Neill was, I couldn’t agree more.

"He was tortured," I whispered, feeling my eyes fill with tears.

"Someone from the NID strangled him for information, and when he wouldn’t give them anything, they tore his fingernails off. When that didn’t work, they injected him with something and left him to die."

Teal’c shook his head. "You may be incorrect in your assessment, Major Carter," he said. "We will only know for certain how the sequence of events transpired once O’Neill awakens."

"If he awakens," Daniel said gloomily. "Janet says that she has never seen such a drug before in her life.

It affects the blood. She has him on a dialysis machine trying to filter whatever it is out of the system, but so far, it’s slow going."

"But it’s helping, right?" I asked, watching as Janet carefully drew some more blood.

He nodded. "Slowly. The problem is, whatever it is, it’s also affecting the heart."

Janet stepped away from her patient, holding her vial of precious blood and beckoned to me.

"Sam?"

I walked up to her, leading her back to the bed where the guys were. "What’s wrong?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I’m not too sure," she said slowly. "Here." Suddenly I was clutching the vial of the Colonel’s blood, wondering what to do with it.

"Analyze it," she said at my puzzled look. "Something isn’t right, and if the Colonel is to survive, I need you to figure out what it is."

"Oh God," I said softly, looking at her. "You think this is an offworld drug?"

She nodded, her face drawn.

"I know this isn’t an earth based drug. What I want from you is to figure out what it is."

She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "We have him stable at the moment, but he is still in intense pain." Her eyes were serious. "Pain kills. If we don’t find a cure for this drug, and soon, Colonel O’Neill will die."

I fairly flew towards my lab.

There was a demon inside me, baking me alive.

I was aware that I was in the infirmary, and I knew they were trying to help, but there was nothing they could do.

I was dying. I could feel it, and for the first time in my life, I welcomed it.

If it meant the end of the agony, then I would take it.

There was a vicious cycle to this drug.

First I would start to shake, then the fire would start, making me arch my back in agony, then suddenly as it came, it would go, leaving me lying helplessly, awake and aware, waiting for the next round.

"Make it stop," I whispered, aware of the pleading in my voice and uncaring.

"Colonel?" She was there, wiping my face will a damp cloth.

"Janet?" I asked. I couldn’t see too well anymore.

She nodded, looking concerned.

I reached out to her, trying to make her understand. I didn’t want to live like this.

"Please," I whispered. "Make it stop."

She answered something, but I couldn’t hear as the returning fire caused me to cry in agony, stiffening helplessly.

Colonel Jack O’Neill was dying, right before my eyes, and I could do nothing to stop it.

We tried sedatives, Steve and I, to no avail. Whatever Colonel O’Neill had been injected with was far stronger than whatever I had available in the infirmary.

All we could do was be there for him, and wait for the end.

It had been four hours since we bought him back to the infirmary. Lunch time, not that I felt like eating, and in that time, Colonel O’Neill had been reduced to a shadow of the man he was. His face was gray, cheeks hollow, and when he opened his eyes, there was such hopelessness in them I felt like crying.

Steve Milner had tried analyzing his blood, tried to see what the underlying problem was, but there was nothing.

He reported back that O’Neill’s blood was absolutely normal, with not a trace of anything unusual.

Nevertheless, there had to be something. We were missing something, or the Colonel wouldn’t be so gravely ill.

At my wits end, I had bought in a dialysis machine, hoping that would help, and to a certain extent it had, but not enough.

Not enough to keep him alive.

I was aware of General Hammond making his way towards me, and met him half way, leading him into my office.

"Any progress doctor?" he asked.

I shook my head. He deserved the truth.

"No sir." I blew my hair out of my eyes with a sharp puff, aware that he could see my frustration. "He is in agony, and nothing we have here helps." I shrugged, feeling despondent. "He’s dying, I said softly. "The pain is so great…the human body tends to shut down when this happens."

He sat back, silent, absorbing what I said.

"So there is no hope?" he asked eventually.

"Not without offworld help, no."

"Can I see him?"

I was going to shake my head, tell him no, but then I saw his eyes and relented.

Colonel O’Neill was his friend as well as his 2IC and he deserved to say his goodbyes.

First the General, then his team.

"Follow me."

I was aware that General Hammond had arrived. Hell, I was aware of most things now. Whatever Janet had given me to lessen the pain had long since worn off, leaving me helplessly caught in a spiral of agony, making me curse the NID with the last of my breath.

My one consolation was the fact that I hadn’t cracked.

"Damn them," I whispered, aware that that male nurse was watching me closely.

"Sir?"

"NID."

"Son?" I blinked up against the blinding light to see Hammond at my side, looking concerned.

"Tollana 3," I said, starting to shake. "They wanted…"

That is all I could get off before the pain took me again.

"Tollana 3," I breathed, aware of Dr Fraiser looking at me curiously.

"Hot Damn," I muttered, feeling the first spurt of optimism. If the NID had been after the location of Tollana 3, then I had every right to contact the Nox and the Tollans to warn them. In addition, if I just happened to mention that Colonel O’Neill had been tortured for that information and was now dying from his injuries well…

"Hot damn," I breathed again, aware that the Colonel’s team were looking at me curiously.

"How in the world did they do it?" I muttered to myself, feeling my scalp contract. "Why in the world would they even contemplate such a thing?"

"Naquadah," I muttered aloud, "They have somehow managed to magnetize the Naquadah."

Janet needed to be told and quick.

Dropping everything, I bolted for the door.

"It’s Naquada," Major Samantha yelled, almost colliding with General Hammond as she skidded into the infirmary.

"Woah, steady on Major," General Hammond said, holding her by her shoulders, bring to a halt her headlong flight.

"Please explain."

I was aware that Dr Fraiser had ceased to work on my brother, and was listening just as intently, as were DanielJackson and I.

"The drug has somehow magnetized the trace elements of Naquadah in his blood," she panted.

"How is this possible?" I asked, struggling for comprehension.

She turned to me, her face earnest.

"The human body is made up of electrical impulses. We have our own electrical field, as do you." Her eyes flashed, and I realized with a sense of shock that she was angry, angrier than I had ever seen her before.

"Some bastard at the NID figured out a way of magnetizing the Naquadah in the blood, and they injected their experiment into Colonel O’Neill."

"And the Colonel’s own magnetic field is doing the rest." Dr Fraiser said, looking sick.

"Literally cooking him alive," DanielJackson said, his face pale.

I slid to my feet, bowing to General Hammond.

"With your permission," I said, "I would like to visit Tollana in the hopes that they have a cure for O’Neill."

He nodded, his face like thunder.

"Granted, take…"

I shook my head, aware of my brother’s faint pain filled gasps, even from this distance.

If his agony disturbed even me, then it must be twice worse for these Tau’ri.

"No General Hammond, I must go alone. The Tollans do not respond too well to emotion."

"We will tell the Nox," Major Carter said, coming to my aid.

General Hammond nodded, stepping back.

"Agreed."

The end was close now. I could see it from the almost placid expression on his face.

He was fighting valiantly, granted, but even he had his limits, and they were fast approaching.

We had told him what General Hammond and the rest of SG1 were doing, and I felt that he understood.

The problem was, he had no energy left to fight.

There was also only so much we could do for him, making my heart break.

All I could really do now was sponge him down and pray.

Teal’c arrived first, with Molani of the Tollan.

He was a tall man with a grave face, who walked down the ramp with a sense of dignity that all the people of Tollana had. At least he had the grace not to sneer at what he perceived to be primitive aliens.

That was the only good thing I could say about him.

"I scarcely think that there is anything Tollana can do to save this man," he said immediately in a high-pitched voice, setting my teeth on edge.

"Nevertheless, the Jaffa Teal’c was most insistent that I at least come to this planet, and now that I am here…"

"His name is Colonel Jack O’Neill, and he has helped the planet Tollana out of difficulties at least twice in his life so far," I gritted. "The least you can do is try."

We were heading for the lift up to the infirmary when the gate moved again, signifying the arrival of Lya of the Nox.

"Molani," she said, her smile wide. "It has been a while." He bowed stiffly in reply.

"General Hammond," she said, taking my hands in hers. "Sam and Daniel have bought me the bad news.

"Please take me to him."

She hadn’t changed at all, and privately I wondered if she ever would. She was an elfin figure, dressed in a mixture of purple cloth entwined with leaves and twigs from her planet, and despite my anxiety, I found myself beginning to relax.

She had that effect on everybody she met.

"Follow me," I said, forgoing the usual diplomatic niceties.

Lya was here.

I couldn’t see her, my eyes had long since stopped working, but I could smell her. She had an earthen smell, a fine clean smell of a forest after the rains, making me smile.

"L…" I tried to say her name, to reach to her, wanting to feel her goodness, to touch her and maybe share in that deep blue peace she had shared with me once before in my life, but I could not move.

"There is nothing I can do for him," another voice said.

The disdainful tone told me that he was from Tollana.

So, they were both here. It was important that I told them something before I went.

I waited patiently for the fire to abate, then spoke quietly, knowing that the sharp ears of Teal’c, the Tollan, and Lya would hear what I had to say.

"Keep them safe," I whispered. "I don’t want this to have been in vain…"

Then, wonderfully, small soft hands took mine, and I was sliding into blue darkness.

I whirled as the monitors screamed out their warnings, and then stopped.

There was nothing I could do for the Colonel now.

My eyes met those of the rest of his team, and General Hammonds, seeing the acceptance in their eyes. It was time to let him go, and hand over his care to Lya.

We stood silently, even the arrogant Tollan, and watched as something passed between Lya and the Colonel.

Life force perhaps? All I knew was the fact that the lines of pain on his face eased, and he took a small breath, almost a relieved gasp, causing the monitors to dispassionately record his gradual resurrection.

Lya crouched over the Colonel, her quiet eyes never leaving his face, and his vital signs became stronger with every passing minute.

When it became apparent that Colonel O’Neill was no longer in danger of dying, I gently shooed the others out, leaving Lya alone with her patient.

Once the infirmary was clear, I shakily made my way into my office, and rested my head on my hands.

That had been too close.

Way too fucking close.

At first, I had no idea what had happened.

One moment I had been welcoming death, the next, I was…

Quite frankly, I had no idea where I was.

"Hello?" I called, looking around me.

I was surrounded by a thick gray mist, obscuring everything but the small area I was standing on.

‘Well, Airman,’ I thought to myself, ‘in the absence of all else, start with the obvious.’

I knelt, feeling the thick,rich loam between my fingers, and suddenly knew where I was.

The 'betweenworld'.

"Lya?"

The mist gave way to huge trees, centuries old that towered above me, swaying gently in a breeze.

I froze, remembering a memory of a childhood long gone, before we moved to Chicago.

Here I had chased dragons, searching for them amongst ancient roots that towered above my small form, my wooden stick a magnificent knights sword.

I had been happy here, with an intact family that loved me unconditionally, as I did them.

This had been my last memory of being safe, a memory I had held close to my heart while the frenzied sprawling metropolis that called itself Chicago tried to eat my soul.

I looked around me, tears streaming down my face, and searched in vain for the child I had once been.

"He is gone," her soft voice said, taking my hand.

"This is but a memory of things long since past."

"Then why am I here?" I asked, looking down at her.

"You bought me here with you" she said simply.

"I felt so safe here," I whispered, feeling the cool breeze on my face."I was going to bring Charlie here…"

I swallowed convulsively.

"He would have loved it, as do I," she said softly. "Here you can find your soul again, replenish your spirit."

"Here you can see what is Nox."

I sat on a log and looked at her gravely.

"I’m dead, aren’t I?" I asked.

She shook her head, making the leaves in her hair rustle.

"No" she said.

"Here, in your place of safety, you can stay forever if you choose."

"Or," she gave me a fathomless look, "you can return to claim the man you used to be."

She looked up at me, her expression sad.

"You have experienced so much, Tau’ri O’Neill. The good and the bad."

She indicated the forest with one delicate hand.

"I admire you for having this as your place of safety."

"Thank you," I said.

She wasn’t finished.

"Nevertheless, know this, O’Neill. Your tasks are far from finished. This place was but one step on the path to becoming who you must be"

She took a step away from me, letting go of my hand, and stood quietly, waiting for me to speak.

I was silent for a while, content to let the whispering trees sooth my soul, and then sighed.

"They aren’t going to go away, are they?" I asked.

She knew what I meant.

"No, and your race will need to be strong against them."

I sighed again.

"And the NID wont stop," I said softly."Roscoe won’t stop, knowing I’m alive."

She was silent, waiting for my decision.

"Let’s go home," I said, rising to my feet.

It was well into evening when Lya suddenly got to her feet, gently laying the Colonel’s hands upon his chest.

My heart sinking, I dropped the report I was reading and rose to my feet.

"Lya?"

Her smile was soft in the artificial gloom, lightening my heart.

"He will live," she said serenely. She touched my shoulder.

"He must sleep for a while, allowing his body to heal, and then he will awaken again."

She inclined her head to the rest of SG1, who had never been far away.

"Molani?" she asked.

"We have returned him to Tollana," Teal’c rumbled, the distaste evident on his face.

"He just wanted to know if Jack had cracked," Daniel said, hugging himself.

"Which was stupid, really," Sam said. "Because anyone who knows the Colonel will attest that he would rather die than let harm come to a child."

"Any child," I said, thinking of Cassie.

Lya inclined her head.

"I will speak to Molani," she said. "He was in error, and in his thinking has insulted you."

Her smile was wistful as she looked at the members of SG1, paying particular attention to their drawn faces.

"O’Neill is a lucky man, to have a new family such as yourselves," she said simply.

"Now I must return to Nox." She held out her hand, which was taken by Daniel.

"It will be my pleasure," he said with a smile.

It has been three days since the attack on my 2IC, and in that time, Colonel O’Neill has recovered in leaps and bounds.

He still favors his right hand, where he tore out his fingernails in his attempt to free himself, but that is to be expected.

As to the impurities in his blood? There are none, not anymore.

Major Carter confirms this, much to my relief.

Colonel O’Neill is complaining, asking Dr Fraiser to send him home, or at least let him return to his office.

Both requests have been denied, much to his disgust.

I have asked for Chet Sanders, a Brigadier General, and a friend of mine, to pay us a visit. He is a damn good shrink, and someone I feel that O’Neill will talk to.

There are two reasons for this.

One being that he cannot be cleared for active duty unless he has a clean bill of health, and secondly, it’s because of the knife.

It appeared a day after O’Neill awoke.

How the hell the Colonel forced a combat knife right into a concrete wall, I will never know.

Suffice it to say, he did.

The knife spears a long white piece of paper, pinning it most effectively against the wall.

The paper has just one word slashed across it.

Roscoe.

I have no idea what it means, and the Colonel refuses to elucidate further, even as a direct order.

That is why I have sent for Chet.

But I now have some idea as to who this Roscoe might be, and if I’m right, then I had better cut O’Neill off at the pass, before he does something really stupid.

Because, this time, it's my turn.

EINDE

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