DISCLAIMER: All characters and property of Stargate SG-1 belong to MGM/UA, World Gekko Corp. and Double Secret Productions. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
There was a message waiting for me at the duty nurse's desk. Please see General Hammond at once. Frowning, I let the Infirmary staff know where I was going and went to find out what he wanted. Not more bad news, I pleaded silently. I can't take any more right now.
Sam, Daniel and Teal'c were waiting outside his office door.
"He'll be back in a minute," said Daniel.
"Do you know what this is about?" I asked.
"We do not," said Teal'c.
I looked at Sam. "How are you doing?" I said. I hadn't seen her since the mess hall incident, she'd been cooped up in the briefing room with the rest of the Project scientists, trying to work out exactly what had gone wrong, and why. She looked tired.
"I'm fine," she replied. "Really. A little stir crazy, maybe."
"Any progress?"
She shrugged. "Some. I just don't know whether it'll be enough."
"Geez," said Daniel. "You saved the planet, Sam. What else do they want?"
"Assurances that we won't have to save it again," she replied. "Problem is, I can't give them any."
Daniel bumped his shoulder against hers. "You're doing your best. That's all they can expect."
Sam and I exchanged a look. Dear Daniel. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite seem to wrap his mind around the concept of Military Thinking.
Daniel said, "We were just talking about Jack. We think there's something wrong."
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Said, "Really?"
Daniel stared at me for a long, silent moment. "Really. Is there something going on we should know about?"
Before I was forced to lie, General Hammond returned. "Sorry to keep you, people. Please, go in." His manner was pleasant. He was freshly shaven, spit and polished to his fingertips, no outward signs of catastrophe .... but all my alarm bells were ringing. Maybe because he refused to meet my questioning look.
Into his office we trooped, to find four chairs ready and waiting. We sat, like kids in the principal's office, and exchanged surreptitious glances.
Sliding in behind his desk, the General folded his hands in front of him and surveyed us with a curious intensity. Grave. Determined. My alarm bells were ringing so loudly it was a wonder no-one else could hear them.
"Thank you for coming," the General said. "I know that you're all extremely busy right now. But something has arisen that affects each of us, and after due consideration I felt it necessary to address the matter directly."
More swift looks.
"As you by now have probably all realised," said the General, "it's not my habit to discuss one member of the SGC staff with another. What each of us chooses to tell others about himself or his past is up to us. Some of us are happy to discuss our personal and private lives, and others prefer to keep that information to ourselves. It's certainly nobody else's business but our own." He paused, and we nodded. No arguments there. He continued, "Recent events, however, have conspired to place me in the position of having to break that rule. I don't do it lightly. I don't do it happily. And I do it with the expectation that what gets said here, now, within these four walls, will go no further. Is that understood?"
We all murmured appropriately. Daniel said, "This wouldn't be about Jack, by any chance, would it, General?"
For a moment Hammond looked startled. Then his face relaxed into a tiny smile. "That's very perceptive of you, Doctor Jackson. Yes, it would."
Sam turned to me. "He's all right, isn't he? He hasn't had a relapse, or anything?"
"No," I said. "He hasn't."
"Physically, Captain, Colonel O'Neill is just fine," the General reassured her.
"But emotionally he's a wreck," said Daniel. "Because of SG10? Or is there something else?"
Dear, dear Daniel. Flying in at a hundred miles an hour where no angel would even look, let alone tread. And seeing straight to the heart of the dilemma, as always.
The General said, "The loss of SG10 is certainly part of the problem. You all know how much work Colonel O'Neill put into preparing them for their first away mission. You know how close he was to them, and to Henry Boyd in particular. And you know he will blame himself for their deaths."
"Which is utterly ridiculous," said Daniel. "How could it possibly be Jack's fault? It was an accident. A horrible, awful accident."
"I know that, son," the General said. "So do you. But Jack O'Neill doesn't see things that way. One of the reasons he's such a good officer is because he takes his responsibilities so seriously. Nothing is more important to him than the welfare and safety of his team. And, rightly or wrongly, he looked upon SG10 as his team. Without even talking to him about it, I can tell you for a fact that he considers their deaths a personal failure. That he feels he overlooked something that would have enabled them to save themselves from the black hole. " He looked at me. "Would you concur with that assessment, Doctor?"
I was so angry with him, I could have spit. Because I knew what was coming, I knew what he was going to do. How far he was going to take this. I knew why, too, but that didn't make it okay. I wanted to run out of the room. To thump my fist on his desk and shout, Don't you dare drag me into this! Not without asking, not without making sure I agreed. And I didn't. This was a gross violation of confidence, and I didn't want any part of it.
But if I walked out. If I left him to it -- I wouldn't know exactly what was said. I needed to know. Needed to be able to control the damage.
So coldly, letting him know I was not impressed, I said, "Yes. Colonel O'Neill is likely to take their loss very personally indeed. I know that Hank Boyd considered him a great friend, and his mentor."
Late one Tuesday night, over mouth-searing pepperoni pizza, Hank said to me: I wish you'd known him before his kid died. He was different, then. He laughed a lot. Seeing him now, it -- well, it hurts. It's like he's been crippled.
I said: But he does laugh, Hank. You make him laugh.
He grinned at me, that silly, cheesy grin we'd all fallen in love with. Then it faded, and his long face was serious. "I owe him everything, Doc. I owe him my life. And I miss the old Jack.
My heart gave a painful double thump, and I bit my lip, hard. Hank.
Daniel said, "Okay. I understand that Jack's upset about Hank's death. And everyone else's. We all are. But he's not a sentimental person. SG10 isn't the first team we've lost. I don't see why this time is so different."
General Hammond held up a hand. "Bear with me. I'm getting to that." He took a deep breath. Eased it out. "What do you people know about Colonel O'Neill's involvement in Operation Desert Storm?"
"Desert Storm?" said Teal'c. "I am unfamiliar with this conflict." He looked at Daniel.
"Wouldn't have a clue what he did," said Daniel. "Jack's not much into battle reminiscences."
"I asked him, once," said Sam. "Making conversation. You know ... I was flying support out of Saudi during Desert Storm, sir, where were you?"
"What did he say?" said Daniel.
Sam's expression was mystified. "'Club Med.'"
Daniel's eyebrows rose. "'Club Med?'"
She pulled a face. "I took it he meant 'butt out, Captain', so I didn't pursue it. I like my head on my shoulders, if you know what I mean."
The General was smiling, a grim, not very amused little smile. "I expect he was telling you to mind your own business, Captain," he said. "But in his own way, he was also telling you the truth. Colonel O'Neill spent most of Operation Desert Storm in an Iraqi prison."
Into the shocked silence Sam said, "Oh, my God."
Daniel, staring into thin air with a remembering, bemused look on his face said, "So that's what he meant."
I just sat there, feeling sick.
Hammond continued, "At the time of the Gulf War, he was Major O'Neill, and 2IC of a 55th Special Operations team led by Colonel Frank Cromwell. As well as colleagues, they were close friends. They even had a nickname: The Bobbsey Twins. Their wives were like sisters, their kids played together. You get the picture."
Daniel turned to Sam. "I thought you said there was some kind of problem between them?"
"There was," said Sam.
"So what happened?" Daniel asked Hammond.
"I'm getting to that, Doctor Jackson," said the General, not entirely thrilled by the interruption. "Cromwell's team was sent behind enemy lines on an extremely sensitive, extremely dangerous mission. Somehow, the Iraqis found out they were coming. The mission was blown, and O'Neill was shot. According to Colonel Cromwell, it appeared that he was dead. Retrieving the body would have jeapordised the rest of the team, so he pulled them out. They barely escaped with their lives."
"Except that Jack wasn't dead," said Daniel. "Whoops."
"Intelligence discovered that O'Neill was still alive and being held by the Iraqis," the General continued, after giving Daniel a look. "When Frank Cromwell found out that he'd left his friend wounded and in enemy hands, he was beside himself. Tried everything he could to get a rescue mission mounted. Just about scuttled his own career in the process. But rescue was deemed too dangerous and permission was refused."
"Refused?" Daniel echoed. He looked ill, and angry. "How could they? The military must have known what the Iraqis would do to Jack. How could they refuse? How could they just -- just abandon him like that?"
"The risks were higher than the likelihood of a positive outcome," Sam said quietly. "It's not good strategy to endanger ten lives for one."
"Strategy?" Daniel spat, choking on the word. Indignant and furious and horrified as only Daniel can be when faced with harsh military reality. "What happened to loyalty?"
"If you think the decision was taken lightly, Doctor, you're very much mistaken," the General said, his tone touched with ice. "Wait till you're in a similar position yourself before you pass judgement on those who are."
Unabashed, Daniel said, "Sorry. So ... what did they do to him?"
The General gave me the minutest of nods, and I cleared my throat. Treated him to another glare, and said, "During his four months in Iraqi detention, Colonel O'Neill was subjected to regular physical and mental torture in an effort to make him reveal key US Military information."
I kept my tone cool and distant like a college lecturer. Striving for the impersonal, because anything more than that was too painful. Remembered his face, his voice, as he dreamed of that time, and failed, utterly. Saw in my mind's eye the photographs, the medical reports, Jack's debriefing notes. After all, it's always useful to know what little tricks of persuasion the enemy's getting up to. As it turned out, nothing new. Just good old fashioned sleep deprivation, starvation, electricity and beatings. Lots of beatings. And humiliations so degrading, so foul, it turned my stomach just to think of them.
Four months in prison, two months in hospital, another month of sick leave after that. And the scars in mind and body that will never, ever heal.
"Torture," said Daniel. "For four months." He shook his head slowly. Disbelievingly. "Why isn't he dead?"
General Hammond snorted. "God knows, Dr Jackson. From the evidence it would appear that He isn't finished with Jack O'Neill just yet."
"He did not break," said Teal'c. Said it like he'd been there, said it like it was written in stone. There was a cold, fierce satisfaction in his face.
The General smiled. "He did better than that. He held out for three months. Then he pretended to break, and fed them enough disinformation to keep their wires crossed for a year."
I already knew that. I watched Sam and Daniel and Teal'c exchange looks, watched them think about it. Absorb the implications. Imagine the reality behind the deceptively benign words.
"Wow," said Daniel. "That's .... pretty amazing. Even for Jack."
"He was made a Colonel on the strength of it," said the General. Then he gave an inelegant little snort. "There are times, I swear, when stuffed shirts like Mayborne and Samuels and a few others I could mention whinge and bitch and moan about O'Neill's manners and lack of military decorum, I just want to grab his service record and rub their noses in it till they bleed."
"Why do you not do so?" said Teal'c.
The General just shook his head. "Because, Teal'c, ninetynine percent of it is classified. Because it wouldn't be appropriate. Because Jack O'Neill doesn't need defending by me, or anyone else for that matter." He sighed. Allowed a rueful smile. "But it sure would feel good."
It sure would. For a brief moment the five of us indulged in a mutual fantasy involving revenge, comeuppances and grovelling apologies ... then Daniel said, "You said Colonel Cromwell thought he was dead? That means Sara and Charlie thought he was dead, too. God!"
So much for lightening the mood.
"We were at war, Doctor Jackson," the General pointed out heavily. "Mistakes happen in war."
I could see Daniel wanted to argue, wanted to rail and fight and scream against what had been done to Jack. So did I. We'd never talked about it. I doubt he ever spoke of it again, once the inescapable debriefings were done with. Not even to Sara. Not that I know for sure, of course ... it's just a feeling. Bad enough to live through that kind of treatment once. Worse to have to detail it, blow by bruising blow, for doctors and psychiatrists and curious superiors and all his peers. For Jack, private to the point of paranoia, a second torture as unbearable as the first. To go through it a third time, even for his wife ... unthinkable.
Besides. I couldn't imagine Jack subjecting someone he loved, who loved him, to those kinds of images.
"So how did we get Jack back?" said Daniel. "Did he escape?"
"No," said the General. "Not even Jack O'Neill could escape from a maximum security Iraqi prison." Our eyes met, and in them I saw the knowledge we unwillingly shared. Vicarious memories of savagery and suffering visited on a helpless, wounded man. "Not in the condition he was in. He was released at the end of hostilities."
He took a deep breath and let it out. I wondered if he was regretting his decision to break confidence, now that it was far too late to turn back.
If he was, there was no sign of it in his face.
He continued, "Once O'Neill was free, Colonel Cromwell tried again and again to see him in the hospital. O'Neill flat refused. Eventually Cromwell gave up. Once he was declared fit for active duty, the newly promoted Colonel O'Neill was put in charge of his own team. He moved to a different theatre of operations. Managed to avoid Cromwell from that point on. To the best of my knowledge, they hadn't spoken since the day O'Neill was taken prisoner in Iraq. Not until --" He scowled. "Whatever the hell day it was down here that they met."
"Seven years," said Sam. "Seven years without once talking. Wow. That's what I call holding a grudge."
"O'Neill suffered greatly as a result of Cromwell's erroneous assumption," Teal'c said. "It was not unreasonable for him to be angry."
"Angry, yes," said Sam. "But to cut him dead like that? His best friend? To not even give him a chance to explain? Tell his side of what happened? Holy Hannah."
The General frowned. Picked up a pen and tapped it end to end on his desk blotter. Since I know his file about as well as I know Jack's, I had a suspicion of what was shadowing his eyes. Thinning his lips. Jack isn't the only one with demons. He said, "Time doesn't heal all wounds, Captain, although we like to think it does. Some wounds never heal, no matter how many different bandaids we try." It was indeed a sobering thought. The General's old fashioned carriage clock ticked quietly into the hush as we all sat and considered this new aspect of Jack O'Neill.
"Now," said the General, "to bring this up to date. While I was at the Pentagon briefing the President and the Joint Chiefs, I was approached by General Grant Hill. We go back aways. He's in Special Forces Operations, has been for the last fifteen years, one way and another. He knows Colonel O'Neill, and he knew Frank Cromwell. Knew them both very well before, during and after Desert Storm. "
"What did he want?' asked Daniel.
"To warn me that Frank Cromwell was leading the team sent to investigate our communications blackout."
Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "He anticipated trouble? Why then did he authorise Colonel Cromwell's deployment?"
"Colonel Cromwell," the General said carefully, "requested the assignment. Forcefully. General Hill's exact words were, 'He damned near stood on my desk refusing to get off till I said yes'."
"But why?" said Sam. "Unless --"
"Unless he knew Colonel O'Neill was here," I finished. Despite myself, I was interested. I'd wanted to know the story behind Jack and Cromwell. Had thought maybe I'd hear it from Jack. Never expected to find out this way. A small part of me was ashamed ... but mostly, well, I was interested.
So sue me.
"Jack was his friend," Daniel said. His glasses flashed in the lamplight from the General's desk. "Despite everything."
"Cromwell must have kept himself apprised of O'Neill's activities," said Teal'c.
"Yeah," agreed Daniel. "And when he realised Jack might be in serious trouble ..."
"He came to his immediate assistance," said Teal'c. "A good friend, then." He glanced at Daniel. "Despite everything."
"But that means Colonel Cromwell already knew about the Stargate project, " Sam said. "How is that possible? He's Special Forces, he's got nothing to do with us."
The General took a moment to answer. "As a result of Apophis' aborted attack on Earth," he said eventually, "and one or two other incidents, it was decided that awareness of the project would be extended to a handful of elite Special Forces teams, in the event of a hostile alien takeover here in the base. Colonel Cromwell's team was one of them."
"And suddenly," said Daniel, to no one in particular, "the word 'secret' takes on a whole new garrulous meaning."
"So what you're saying, sir," said Sam, "is that Colonel Cromwell, even after seven years of silence, came racing up here the minute he heard we might be -- that Colonel O'Neill might be -- in serious trouble."
"Yes, Captain, that's what I'm saying."
"And that because he did that, he's now dead," added Daniel.
The General nodded. "It's one way of looking at it," he agreed.
"And you believe that O'Neill will hold himself responsible for this death as well as the loss of SG10," said Teal'c.
"That's about the size of it, yes," said the General.
"But like Sam said," Daniel pointed out. "They hadn't spoken for seven years. As far as Jack's concerned, the friendship's been over since 1991. What makes you think he still cares?"
"He cares, Daniel," said Sam. She and the General exchanged a long, silent look. "He cares."
We all thought about that for a while. Then Daniel stirred. Turned to Sam. "Do you think there's a chance they might have worked things out before Cromwell died?"
She spread her hands wide, shrugging. "Geez, Daniel, I have no idea. From our perspective they were down here alone for hours ... but to them, it was minutes. And they were co-ordinating the automatic destruction of the entire base. I don't see that there was time for a heart to heart. Besides ... you know the Colonel. How likely does it seem to you?"
Daniel slumped. "Not very."
"Well, maybe they did and maybe they didn't," said General Hammond. "Frankly, I'm not sure which is worse. Losing the chance to ever put right what was wrong between them, or putting it right and then losing him. The point is, Frank Cromwell is dead. Colonel O'Neill tried to save him, and failed. He wanted to save Hank Boyd and his team, because he couldn't stand the idea of leaving them behind, and he failed there, too."
"And even though none of it was his fault, Jack's blaming himself," said Daniel. He looked at all of us. "You know he is. Look how he's behaving."
"I believe you are correct, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said. "But how can we help? O'Neill has made it clear he wishes to be left alone. Surely we must respect that desire."
"Even though it's the last thing he needs?" Daniel countered. "And it is. Trust me. I've seen this before. You haven't. That first mission to Abydos? It was five months after Charlie died. He was a walking dead man. If he reacts even half as badly this time as he did then, we're going to have a real problem on our hands. I can't stand by and watch him go through that again without trying to help. And I won't."
"So what do you suggest we do?" said Sam. "If he orders me out of the room, what then? He's my superior officer."
"We're not here because he's our superior officer," Daniel replied impatiently. "We're here because he's our friend. And friends do what needs to be done, no matter how hard it is. Ever since we got on this roller coaster he's been there for us, every step of the way. Now it's our turn to be there for him. Whether he wants us, or not."
Hammond looked at me then, and behind his carefully neutral mask I could see his triumph. He'd gotten what he wanted. Unilateral support for interfering in Jack's life. And yes, it was very moving, this swift and unconditional support of Jack. But it didn't alter the facts: Hammond was playing with fire.
I would have been a lot happier if I didn't suspect he'd cast me in the role of fireman.
"I hope I'm right," said Daniel abruptly, breaking the silence. "I hope they worked things out. To go the rest of your life knowing you can never, ever say the things you wanted to say, meant to say .... and for Cromwell to die without being able to say he was sorry ... for Jack not to hear it ... " He steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips, to hide the swift tremor.
Another pause, fraught with emotion. After a moment General Hammond cleared his throat. "As I said at the beginning, I don't want this discussed with anyone else. But you four are the closest people to him. I thought you should know the background, so that you'd understand why in the coming days he might be --"
"Difficult?" Daniel suggested.
"Difficult," Hammond agreed. "Exactly."
"Thank you, General," Teal'c said. "Your confidence will not be misplaced."
"We'll do whatever we can, sir," Sam added.
"I know you will," the General replied. "It's why I told you. Now, I won't keep you any longer. I know you're all busy. Dismissed."
Silently we filed out of his office. Stood in the corridor like lost sheep, blinking at each other. Daniel said, suddenly stricken, "God. No wonder he was so angry with me over Shyla. The naqueda mine. It was Cromwell and Iraq all over again."
"Hey," said Sam, gently, and rested her hand on his shoulder. Gave him a little shake. "That's over. Okay? Remember what we agreed?" And then she smiled, a small, mischievous smile. "Besides, look on the bright side. At least he didn't stop talking to you."
Daniel managed a kind of watery chuckle. Sniffed. "Well. Not for long, anyway."
And then we stared at the floor, the walls, our fingernails. What now? Did we pretend the last half hour hadn't happened? Go away on our own and think about what we'd learned? Find somewhere to sit, in private, and talk about it? It was the last thing I wanted. Everyone knows I know a lot of stuff about all the SGC personnel. Private stuff. Stuff you wouldn't want anyone else to know. And everyone knows that of course I would never discuss it. But now Hammond had opened the door on questions I didn't want to be asked, didn't want to answer. Not just for Jack's sake. For mine, too.
So we stood there, avoiding each other's eyes, chewing our lips. Until Teal'c said, "I must return to the Gateroom. I am assisting with the installation of the new iris."
Staring, Daniel said, "You mean you're not going to sleep at the foot of Jack's bed? Teal'c!"
"If it were not for the new iris, I would indeed take my place at O'Neill's side," said Teal'c. "And I will do so, once my other duties have been discharged."
"He's teasing, Teal'c," said Sam, and slapped Daniel. "Stop it."
He clutched his arm in mock agony. "So what are you going to do now?"
"Finish up my report," said Sam. "Why?"
"Well, I've got one last box of stuff to catalogue," said Daniel. "Then I think we should go see Jack. Agreed?"
Teal'c nodded. "Agreed."
"Sam?"
She frowned. "Yeah. I guess so. Agreed."
So we said our goodbyes, and I watched the three of them head down the corridor together, united in purpose and stride and affection and worry.
Then I rapped on Hammond's door, and went back in.
He didn't look very surprised to see me.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "But after seeing him this morning, I had no choice. Whether he cares to admit it or not, he needs his friends right now."
"That may be true," I said. "But he needs control of his own life even more."
The General tipped back in his chair and considered me. "If you had a patient in desperate straits, wouldn't you do whatever was necessary to save them, even though they were afraid of the pain?"
The bastard had me, and we both knew it.
"Keep me posted, Doctor," he said.
"Yes, sir," I replied, and closed the door very, very gently on my way out.