STARGATE SG-1 Do No Harm by Do No Harm (SG1–12)

Author:Do No Harm (SG1–12) [Retail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fandemonium Books
Published: 2020-06-22T15:55:22+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

O’Neill woke early after a restless night’s sleep. Bad dreams. Bad memories. Iraq. The prison in Baghdad. Abu Ghraib, it was called. He’d found that out afterwards. Did the name translate as hell hole? If it didn’t, it should.

He shifted in his sleeping bag, uncomfortable. The retreat’s wooden floor was hard as rock, waking splintery pain in his hips and lower back. Whispers of the mocking past. Teasing. Tormenting. Those long weeks of confinement brought close again, close enough to smell. To taste. To feel…

He sat up, abruptly. Crap. I don’t need this.

Back then, safely home again, he’d had Sarah when the nightmares came to play. She’d never asked, she’d just held him until the shaking stopped. Nobody to hold him now. Nobody to cling to, lose himself in, to —

Yeah, yeah. Cue the violins, O’Neill.

He pressed a clenched fist to his forehead, rubbing. His damned headache still hadn’t surrendered to last night’s dessert of Tylenol. Still pounded, unwelcome as a neighbor’s leafblower on a Sunday morning. When was it going to let up? Fraiser had fixed his headaches, he hadn’t had one for months. Did she offer a money-back guarantee? He’d have to ask her when he saw her next.

Can that be soon, please? I want to go home.

On the other side of the dim room, lit by a single low-burning lamp, Dixon shifted and muttered. He flicked the bastard a sour glance.

Are you dreaming, Dixon? I hope so. Big, fat, juicy bad dreams. Last night is your fault. Stirring things up…

He hadn’t dreamed of Iraq for nearly eight months. Before Frank died it’d been years. Then SG-10’s mission had gone to hell in a handbasket and before he’d had a chance to catch his breath there was Frank on his doorstep. In his face. Just the same. Big and bluff and taking charge, pushing and prodding and making him say things… pain and compassion, sorrow and guilt. Chris, the look on Frank’s face as the wormhole swallowed him…

The physics was crazy. Was Frank still alive, still dying, one micron at a time? Did he know it? Was he conscious? Could he feel his slow death? How much did it hurt?

Screw you, Frank. Get out of my head.

The others slept on, oblivious. Even Teal’c. He kicked back his sleeping bag, helped himself to more painkillers from the medkit, and left them to it.

Outside the retreat it was yet another beautiful morning on planet Adjo. A soft warm breeze teased at his stubbled face, carrying on it the rich scents of spring. The vista before him was silently serene. No villagers stirred. Not even the ubiquitous birds were singing. Was he the only living thing awake in Mennufer? And was it his imagination, or were there more flowers blooming now than there’d been this time yesterday?

He chewed the Tylenol, grimaced, swallowed… and sneezed. Sneezed again. Something warm and wet tickled his nose. Rubbing it, he stared as his fingers came away red. What the hell? A nosebleed? Not having a tissue on him he sniffed, hard, and tasted iron in the back of his throat.

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