Stargate SG1: Suffer the Little Children (18/19)

[brihana25]

All disclaimers, notes, warnings and summary are in the Master post: Suffer the Little Children


Chapter Eighteen

It only took them five minutes to get ready to leave, and Jack was glad he'd left his uniform on. It was mostly dry now - just a little dampness remained at the seams - and though he hadn't completely managed to shake the chill from his bones, he was much warmer than he had been. He and Teal'c ran out to the SUV that Sam had driven up the mountain, opened the hatch and laid the back seat flat, then ran back inside.

They lifted Daniel from the bed gently and carried him out of the cabin exactly as they'd carried him in, excepting that this time he wrapped in a half dozen heavy blankets with hot water bottles resting against all of his major pulse points. Janet climbed in ahead of them, guiding them as they lifted Daniel up into the vehicle. They laid him across the seat, propping his chest and head up with the pillows that they had grabbed from the bed, and Janet settled an oxygen mask into place over his mouth and nose. Jack and Teal'c slammed the hatch shut together, and jogged around to the front.

Sam and Cassie were climbing into the middle seat, and Sam tossed Jack the keys as he ran past her. Teal'c climbed into the passenger seat; Jack jumped behind the wheel, turned the ignition, and stepped on the gas.

The rush back down the mountain was even more frantic than the rush up it, if such a thing were possible. Jack mentally crossed his fingers and prayed that there would be no more avalanches as he pushed down on the accelerator, sending the SUV flying down the twisted mountain roads at speeds that he was prepared to admit weren't exactly safe. Fraiser had said that they had to descend at least 1000 feet before they could even think about stopping. By Carter's calculations, that would put them just north of Balltown, and Janet said the hospital there would be a perfect place to stop.

Jack glanced in the rearview mirror, at Daniel's far too pale and far too bruised face beneath the oxygen mask, and he had to agree. Any hospital would be a perfect place to stop. Portable oxygen tanks in the back seat of a speeding SUV was better than nothing, and Jack knew that Janet was doing everything she possibly could to keep Daniel stable until they reached their destination, but he knew that he couldn't even think about breathing easily until they had Daniel safely tucked away in a hospital bed, surrounded by doctors and nurses and way more machines than Jack really wanted to think about.

He also knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep until they had Daniel - awake and coherent and healing - back at the SGC.

Cassie hadn't been able to wait that long for sleep. When they'd started out, she'd been sitting up in her seat next to Sam, staring out the window at the scenery she couldn't see as they flew past it. But after about ten minutes, the adrenaline finally ran out, and her body shut down. She was curled up against Sam on the bench seat, the blanket Jack had shed tucked up against her chin, her head resting on Sam's lap while Sam absently stroked her hair.

Teal'c sat straight and stiff in the seat next to Jack, again pretending that his entire focus was on the road ahead, but Jack had seen him shoot more than one glance in the rearview mirror. Jack was dealing with what had happened by ignoring it, because he knew that there were far too many unanswered questions for him to dwell on while he was driving.

For Teal'c, the events of the morning were easier. Michael Phillips had killed children, had been the monster in Daniel's nightmares for two decades, had tortured Daniel - and to a lesser extent Cassie - for hours, and had tried to kill him twice. Michael Phillips had deserved to die, and that Daniel had been the one to mete out that punishment was simply poetic justice.

The more Jack thought about it, the more he realized that maybe it really was just that easy. Michael Phillips had deserved to die, and he had. How it had happened, and who had done it, really didn't matter.

As they turned from the county road back on to the highway, Jack glanced in the mirror again. Janet was on her knees at Daniel's side, tenderly wiping Daniel's face with a damp, sterile wash cloth. She'd gotten most of the blood cleaned off of his face and neck and was moving on to trying to remove the gory mess that had caked and crusted in his hair. True to her word at the cabin, she hadn't asked exactly whose blood Daniel was covered in, or how it had gotten there. Jack guessed that she probably never would.

She was talking to Daniel, Jack knew. He couldn't hear every word she said, because she was keeping her voice low and comforting, but he could hear enough to know that she was both soothing him and explaining what she was doing. Jack was pretty sure that he heard her say, "Thank you," at least once, and he smiled.

Daniel really was the hero in all of this. He'd kept Cassie, and himself, alive against impossible odds. He'd willingly sacrificed himself to make certain that Cassie survived. And he had taken full responsibility for ridding the world of Michael Phillips' particular brand of evil forever.

Jack smiled once more and turned his full attention back to the road. Yes, Daniel was the hero of this story. And that's exactly how it would be written into history.

The SUV tore into the hospital parking lot with a screech of tires and the slamming of doors. Sam ran into the emergency room in search of a gurney while Jack and Teal'c ran to the back hatch again, threw it open, and reached for Daniel. The gurney, accompanied by a doctor and two nurses, appeared in the parking lot behind them before Janet had finished removing the oxygen mask.

Jack and Teal'c lifted Daniel out of the truck and laid him on the gurney as carefully as they could. While the nurses secured Daniel to it, Jack had time to rest his hand on the top of Daniel's head one last time, to whisper to him, "You stay alive, Danny. Don't you dare let him win."

And then he was gone, whisked through the doors of the emergency room by the nurses.

Jack ran after them, with Teal'c, Sam and Cassie right on his heels. Janet was at Daniel's side, yelling about core temperatures and blood pressures, respirations and pulmonary something-or-others, oxygen levels, blood tests, and something called ICP. They disappeared into one of the rooms, and Jack followed them. He was just in time to watch them move Daniel from the gurney onto the bed. He saw one of Daniel's hands fall out of the blankets to dangle at his side, saw the deep, scabbed over wounds that circled his wrist, and he froze where he was. Then the door was closed in his face.

There was nothing he could do now but wait.

Jack hated waiting.

Two hours earlier, when he'd pulled the SUV to a stop outside the emergency room, it had seemed like the world was running in fast-forward. Everything had been hectic, frantic, barely controlled chaos ... but at least he'd had something to do. The second that door had closed in his face, it felt like someone had pushed the pause button and he'd become a less than necessary character in the story, standing in the wings, not even allowed to watch the truly pivotal scene, and he hated it.

So he was pacing.

Sam was sitting on the couch under the large window, her legs stretched out across it and a sleeping Cassie Fraiser in her lap. Sam's head was laid down against the back of the couch, and he could see that she'd finally drifted off. He wasn't going to begrudge her any rest she managed to get. They'd all been up for more than twenty-four hours, and the last fourteen of them had been completely and totally draining, to say the very least.

Teal'c sat on the floor in front of that same couch, not far from Sam's feet, with his legs crossed and his arms folded in his lap. He was meditating again, and Jack almost wished he could join him. The expression on Teal'c's face, which had been hard and dark since they'd first discovered Daniel and Cassie were missing, had relaxed considerably.

As for himself, Jack knew that he was at least as tired as the rest of them, but just too stubborn to go sleep. He didn't want to run the risk of missing anything that might happen. He didn't realize exactly how tired he was until someone managed to walk up behind him without him knowing anyone was there. The first he knew of the person's presence was the soft voice right behind his ear.

"How's our boy, Jack?"

Jack spun around quickly, trying to hide his surprise. "General!" he exclaimed softly. "What brings you up here?"

General Hammond didn't answer the question, simply gave Jack one of those looks that made it perfectly clear that he wasn't in the mood for levity.

"Sorry, sir," Jack said softly. He stepped out into the hallway, not wanting to disturb Carter and Cassie. Teal'c was probably already very aware that the general was there - actually, he'd probably known about him before Jack did. But he'd made no move to approach them, so Jack took that to mean that he was perfectly fine staying where he was.

"Seriously, Jack, how are they?"

"Cassie's fine, sir," he answered with a gesture toward the waiting room.

"Are we absolutely positive of that, Colonel?" Hammond looked worried; Jack didn't blame him. He imagined he looked rather worried himself.

Jack nodded his head. "Yeah. Fraiser checked her out at the cabin, and Carter had the doctors here take a look at her, too. She's upset and exhausted, but she doesn't have a scratch on her."

Hammond allowed himself a small smile of relief at the good news. "And Dr. Jackson?"

Jack sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. "Last I knew? Unconscious, unresponsive, sick as a dog and beaten all to hell. Sir."

"Are those medical terms, Colonel?"

"No, sir," Jack answered with a shake of his head. "But they're my terms for it. I can't think of any other words that would be any more accurate."

"And we don't know his current status?"

"Other than that he's still alive? No. But the second I know more than that, you'll be the first to know."

Hammond took a second to process the information before asking his next question. "Agent Phillips?"

"Dead."

That had been all the answer that Jack had wanted to give, but Hammond's expression made it clear that he expected more. Jack had to be careful with that he said, though. If lying to Daniel about what happened might be difficult, lying to the general about it was absolutely impossible.

"I don't know exactly what happened, sir. The FBI is out there, and I'm sure Doug'll come up with an answer. All I really know is that Phillips is dead, and Daniel isn't. However that might have happened, sir ... I can't say that I have a problem with it."

"Neither can I, Colonel."

Jack took heart from Hammond's response. The reality was that the FBI was investigating, and the truth of what had happened in that clearing just might come out. Jack thought it best to at least lay the groundwork for that possibility. He ran his hand through his hair once more and leaned closer to Hammond, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard by anyone.

"General, there's a chance - a really, really small one, but it's there - that Daniel ..."

"Colonel O'Neill," Hammond interrupted calmly. "Any measures that Dr. Jackson may or may not have taken in the process of defending himself and protecting that little girl, I would consider to be appropriate. Though I have a feeling that the doctors at this fine facility, once Dr. Fraiser has explained the situation to them, will find that Dr. Jackson would have been lucky to even be able to stand up under his power in his current condition, let alone injure anyone else."

Jack stared at the general in open amazement. That speech had been practiced, every word carefully chosen to give exactly the right answers to questions that Jack hadn't even had to ask. That meant that Hammond had known Phillips' fate, and Daniel's condition, before he'd even walked through those doors. Hell, he'd probably known before he'd even left the SGC.

Hammond knew exactly what Daniel had done on that mountain, and he was making it perfectly clear that it made no difference to him at all.

"Yes, sir," Jack said softly, and he gave the general a smile that was quickly returned.

"Jack."

Jack turned around, both surprised and not to see Doug walking toward him through the doors. Jack took one step toward him and raised his finger in the air; he wasn't going to allow Doug to go any further until he answered one question.

"You'd better not have brought his body here, Doug. If you did, and if Cassie or Daniel sees him, I swear to God ..."

Doug shook his head. "No, Jack. Mike's ... Mike's body is already on the way back to Washington. Everything we need to do, we can do there. I'm just here to see how your friend and Cassie are."

"Colonel O'Neill," Hammond said from behind him. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go check on Cassie for myself."

"Of course, sir." Jack nodded at the general as he walked back into the waiting room, leaving Jack and Doug alone in the hallway.

"Cassie's fine," Jack said, turning back to face the agent. "Daniel, we still don't know."

A few moments of silence passed between the two men, each lost in thoughts of fallen friends. The only real difference between them was that one was mourning a man who'd turned into a monster, and the other was praying he wouldn't have to mourn the man who'd stopped it.

It was Jack who broke the silence first.

"You find anything ... up there? Anything that tells you what happened?"

Doug shrugged. "Not much, no. Mike's throat was cut, but you already knew that."

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, Daniel's was, too, just not as much."

Doug looked down at his feet, almost as though he was afraid to look Jack in the eye. "If I could change it, Jack, go back in time and make it so none of this had ever happened, I would. And I wish I could give you an answer to exactly what happened out there this morning, but I've got orders from the top to stop the investigation."

Jack took a step forward, surprised at the news. "What?"

Doug shook his head and finally looked up. "No one wants to admit what he was, Jack. Not me, not anyone who ever worked with him, and definitely not the higher ups. They've already decided how it's going to be reported in the news, in all the official reports, everything. No one cares how he died, and I think they're actually happy that no one knows."

Jack swallowed, almost afraid to ask the next question. If they were going to cover this up, like Phillips had covered up Daniel's true role in what had happened in Albany twenty years ago, then it was going to be designed from the ground up to spare the agency any embarrassment. He was so certain of what was coming next that a sick feeling was already forming in the pit of his stomach.

"What are they going to say, Doug?"

Doug sighed and leaned back against the wall. "Agent Michael Phillips was killed in the pursuit of a serial child killer that he'd been tracking for twenty years." He took a deep breath; he didn't like what he was about to say either. "And his death not only brought about the death of the killer, but saved the lives of his next intended victim and an archeologist whose presence and involvement are unexplained at this time."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Jack, I ..."

"No!" Jack hissed. He grabbed Doug by the arm and dragged him out the doors and into the parking lot. "Damn it, Doug, it cannot go down like that!"

Doug only had time to shrug before Jack was yelling again.

"Let's ignore the fact that it completely negates the fact that he was the serial killer he'd been tracking, because I guess that's to be expected. And let's even ignore the fact that the way that is worded comes really damned close to making it sound like it was Daniel. But to make him a hero? To make it out that he saved Cassie and Daniel's lives? No way in hell!"

"Jack, please ..."

"God damn it, Doug, he didn't save their lives. He is the reason Cassie could have died, and he is the reason why Daniel still might!"

"I don't like it either, Jack, believe me. I can't stand it. But I have my orders, and besides ... is any of it not true? Isn't Mike's death the reason your friend survived at all?"

"Yes!" Jack agreed vehemently. "Yes, of course it is. But you damn well know the explanation for Daniel's presence and involvement. You’re turning the bad guy into the hero, and turning the real hero into a footnote!"

"They don't know what else to do, Jack. They're never going to admit that we had a serial killer on the payroll for twenty years. They're never going to admit that the great and mighty FBI was so taken in by this guy that no one ever suspected what he really was. He had a wife, Jack, and a son ..."

"How old?" Jack interrupted.

"What?"

"How old is his son?"

"He's nineteen."

"What's his name?" Jack knew what the answer was going to be even before he asked it. When Doug shook his head and turned away, his suspicions were confirmed. "What's his name, Doug? Tell me!"

"Daniel," Doug whispered. "Mike named his son Daniel."

Jack shook his head, too angry to speak, and stormed back into the hospital. He heard the doors open behind him a few seconds later and knew that Doug had followed him. Jack was beyond angry, and he knew that he might very well be taking it out on the wrong person, but he really didn't care. Doug might have been well and truly in denial for twenty years, but Jack would never believe that no one in the entire agency had ever suspected Phillips' secret.

He'd named his son - who'd been born after Jenny Miller's murder - Daniel.

Daniel had been right about him; Michael Phillips had been one truly sick son of a bitch.

Jack's steps quickened when he saw Janet walking down the hallway toward him, wearing a set of scrubs she'd obviously borrowed from someone at least six inches taller than her. She wasn't exactly smiling, but she wasn't upset either, and that had to be a good sign.

"Doc?" he asked as he neared her, picking up his pace to almost a jog. "Daniel?"

"Stable and responding to treatment, Colonel." Now she smiled.

"Yes!" Jack closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and took his first easy breath in more than twenty-four hours. "When can we take him home?"

"If everything goes well, and if he keeps responding the way he has been, I'd say we can probably fly him out in the morning. I'm ready to give a full briefing, Colonel, if you'd ..."

"Um ... yeah. Hammond's in the ... the waiting room there, with everybody else. But if you don't mind, Doc, I think I'd like to ... can I ...?" He was motioning down the hallway in the direction she'd come from, and the meaning behind his half-sentences was perfectly clear to her.

"Yes, Colonel, you can. He's not conscious and he won't be for quite a while yet, but yes, you can see him."

"Thank you," Jack said sincerely.

Janet smiled and moved toward the waiting room quickly. Jack thought that she was probably even more anxious to see Cassie than he was to see Daniel. The sound of a throat clearing behind him pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to see Doug still standing there, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Jack, tell your friend ... tell Daniel that I'm sorry."

Jack nodded slowly, and watched as Doug turned away. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he called after the agent.

"You'll be notifying the victims' families?"

Doug looked back across his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. We'll start just as soon as we get back to Washington."

Jack hesitated for a moment before speaking his request out loud, worried that he might be interfering but at the same time wanting something positive to come from all of this.

"I want Roland Miller's phone number."

Doug shook his head. "I thought we agreed that we were square, Jack."

"Oh, you don't owe me any more. But you do owe Daniel - big time. I want Roland Miller's phone number, and I want your word that no one from the FBI will ever call him about this. Are we clear?"

Doug nodded slowly. "Crystal. You'll have it by the end of the day."

"Thank you."

Jack turned and started back down the hallway toward the room he'd seen them wheel Daniel into when they'd arrived. He heard the sound of Doug's footsteps fading away in the opposite direction behind him; he heard soft sounds of relief coming from the waiting room. He kept walking until he found himself standing directly in front of the now-open door to Daniel's room. He entered the room slowly, giving himself time to absorb Daniel's appearance before he got close to him.

Daniel's left arm was in a sling, and there were three strips of material holding his upper arm immobilized against the side of his chest. He had bandages wrapped around his left bicep, circling both wrists, and taped to both the side of his neck and the left side of his forehead. Jack couldn't see the stitches under those bandages, but he knew they were there. His face was almost a solid mass of bruising, as was his bare chest - including one rather spectacular large black one right in the center. He had one IV running into his right arm and another under his collarbone, cardiac leads taped to his chest, and a large tube coming out from between his ribs that seemed to be draining a rather alarming amount of what looked like blood. An oxygen mask covered his mouth and nose, fogging up slightly every time he exhaled.

But the machines were beeping in perfect rhythm with the lines that scrolled across them, and no alarms were going off anywhere. Daniel's skin, where it wasn't hidden by bruises, was a healthy looking pink rather than bluish grey, and when Jack brushed his fingers against Daniel's forehead he felt warm, but not feverish, to the touch.

Jack smiled.

He picked up the chair that he was absolutely certain Janet had asked the staff to put in the room for him and moved it closer to the bed. Before he sat down in it, he leaned forward slightly and placed his hand against the right side of Daniel's face.

"You beat him, Danny," he whispered. "You won."