Her first glimpse of Gary almost broke Lois Hobson’s heart.  He lay there, unmoving.  The head of his bed was raised slightly, a tube leading from a machine with what looked like an accordion in a jar leading to his mouth.  Another smaller tube led from a bag of fluid hooked up to a pump and into his left arm.  A strip of bandage cut a white swath through his sable hair.  His right hand was firmly clasped in both of Chuck’s, who sat with his head bowed.  The little man was murmuring soft words of encouragement to his friend as he gently massaged the flaccid fingers between his own thumbs and forefingers.

“You have to keep trying, Gar,” he was saying in a strained, weary voice.  “I know you’re tired, and I’ve been riding you since I got here, but you gotta keep trying.  You almost had it last time.  C’mon, pal.  Just one more time and I’ll let you rest.  Please, Gar.  Just . . .”

All the monitors reacted at once.  As Lois watched, the squiggly lines on the one-labeled EEG became sharper and steeper.  The peaked traces of the heart monitor crowded closer together as the beep-beep-beep picked up its pace.  This lasted for several seconds as those precious fingers quivered, twitched, and finally curled just the tiniest bit before relaxing back into immobility once more.  Lois put a trembling hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks at the proof of her son’s struggle to return.  Silently, she stepped the rest of the way into the tiny cubicle, laying a hand on Chuck’s shoulder.

Chuck looked up at her, moisture glistening in his eyes as he gave her a triumphant grin.  “Lois!  You’re here!  Did you see that?  Did you see?  He moved!” he exulted.  “J-just a little, but he really moved!”

“Yes, Chuck,” she whispered in a strained voice.  “Yes.  I saw.  He can hear us?  He’s not . . . not in a coma?”  Her knees buckled and she collapsed into Chuck’s arms, her breath catching in her throat as she fought not to break down entirely.  “I-I’m okay,” she said with a little hiccup.  “It’s just . . . he l-looks . . . he’s so . . . still!”  Instinctively, she reached down to smooth the hair sticking out from under the bandage.  Her fingertips felt the sweat on his brow, and the coolness of his skin.  “You did good, sweetie,” she sniffled.  “I want you to rest a few minutes, then we’ll try again.  Momma’s here now.  Momma’s here!”   With a sob, she gently put her arms around her son, brushing his cheek softly with her lips.  “We’ll get through this, baby.  I promise you.  W-we’ll get you back on your f-feet in no time.”

“You tell him, Mrs. H,” Chuck whispered.  “You tell him.”

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

“Micro-cellular synaptic inhibitors. Neural transmitters,” Jesse murmured. “Electro-nucleic stimulation?  Sounds like something out of Star Trek!  Are you sure this is safe?”

“I’ve run it through thousands of simulations,” Dr. Fraiser replied.  “While a number of the components of this compound can be considered toxic, combined in this fashion, they form a powerful neural stimulant that can break through the barrier that I found.”  She opened a large envelope, pulling out an equally large piece of celluloid.  “This is an enhanced MRI of Gary’s spine.”  She withdrew another sheet of film.  “And this is a micro-cellular scan of the same area.  Now, the MRI shows that the damage to his spine is healed.  But the other reveals this substance, here, which is blocking the neural pathways.  It’s thin.  The thickness of a single molecule. That’s why it never showed up on any of the other tests.”

“These are incredible!” Jesse murmured, gazing intently at the second sheet of images.  “What kind of scanner gets this kind of detail?”

“That’s classified,” was Janet’s quick reply.  “The point is the compound I want to try on Gary is designed exclusively for him.  I doubt that it would work on anyone else; because his case is like no other I’ve ever seen.  Add in the complications brought on by the snakebite, and the failure of the antivenin, his chances are not improving!”

Jesse looked at the images, running the options rapidly through his mind.  “He’s not my patient anymore,” he murmured.  “He’s Mark’s.  These are really . . .Um, the person we should be talking to about this is his mother.  I think that’s the woman that came in with Jade, Mrs. Fishman, just a little while ago.”

“Then let’s go talk to her,” Janet insisted.  “Gary’s already been in that chair for over seven months.  And he could be in that bed even longer if we don’t do something soon.”

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

‘God, Mom,’ Gary tried to say.  ‘It’s so good to hear your voice!  Yes!  Yes, I can hear you!  I love you, Mom.  I know I don’t say that often enough, but I do.  Don’t cry!  Please don’t!  I’ll keep trying, I promise!  Just, please don’t cry!  See?  Watch this, Mom!  Look!  Did you see?  Please tell me you saw it move!  You did?  Thank God, thank God!  Again?  Sure!  Anything, Momma.  Just . . . don’t cry anymore!  Who’s . . . Dr. Fraiser?  What’s that?  Yes!  Tell her yes!  I’ll try anything!  Just get me out of here, Mom!  Please!’

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

“I . . . I don’t know,” Lois stammered.  “It sounds . . . risky.  What if it doesn’t work?  Or worse!  What if it . . . kills . . . I can’t . . .”

“Ask Gary,” Chuck told her.  “It’s his life.  Let him decide.”  He turned to his motionless friend.  “Gar, I know you can hear everything the docs just told us.  Do you want to try this?  If you do, try to move your hand.  If you don’t . . .”

Chuck was interrupted by the respirator alarm and the rapid beeping of the heart monitor as Gary threw everything he had into moving the fingers of his right hand.  Sweat beaded his brow, and a low, breathy moan pushed its way out past the tube in his throat as he strove to answer.

“Y-yes,” Lois stammered tearfully.  “H-he says . . . yes, he wants to take . . . to take the chance.”  She wiped the moisture from her cheeks as she turned to face the major.  “So, when do we do this?”

“Right now,” Dr. Fraiser told her.  She set her black bag on the bed and snapped it open.  She then withdrew a syringe and a vial of a dark amber liquid.  As she filled the syringe, she turned to the other two doctors.  “You might want to strap him down,” she said.  “This is going to hurt.”

“Hurt!” Lois exclaimed fearfully.  “You never said anything about causing him any pain!  I can’t let you . . .”

The alarms sounded again as Gary tried to speak.  Frantic, Lois looked from the monitors to her son, then to the needle in Dr. Fraiser’s hands.  With a grim expression, she took the chair that Chuck had occupied most of the night, clutching Gary’s hand.  “You won’t need any straps,” she said.  “Let’s get this over with.”

With an equally somber nod, the Major swabbed the IV port and jabbed the needle in.  She clamped off the tubing above the port, then slowly pushed the plunger in until the syringe was empty.

At first nothing happened.  Seconds ticked by as every eye in the room flickered from Gary to the monitor above his head and back to the still figure on the bed.  Suddenly, the hand Lois was clutching closed around hers in a painful grip!  Gary’s eyes shot open and his back arched until only his head and heels remained in contact with the mattress!  The tube fell from his mouth as his jaws clenched so tightly that he bit right through it!  Jesse, Mark, and Chuck each jumped in and grabbed a limb, thinking to prevent him from thrashing about.

There was no thrashing.  Gary held that awkward, painful position for several seconds.  The only sounds in the room were the incessant alarm from the heart monitor as his heart rate skyrocketed, and the rasp of his harsh breathing around what remained of the tube in his throat.  Sweat popped out from every pore in his body, every tendon and vein stood out like lines on a relief map!  Finally, he let out a low, whimpering groan and collapsed back on the bed, eyes closed once more and his panting breath whistling in and out through the tube that was now more hindrance than help.  Gradually, all the alarms stopped as Gary’s heart rate and breathing eased to a less frantic rhythm.  His eyelids fluttered a moment, then closed as a long sigh whispered out around the severed tube.

Removing her hand from her son’s limp grip, Lois flexed her fingers with a painful grimace.  She then used that same hand to brush the hair from her only child’s pale, sweat-dampened forehead.  He was truly unconscious this time.  She watched wordlessly as Dr. Sloan took a pair of hemostats, turned Gary’s head up, and pried open his mouth to remove what was left of the ventilation tube.  Gary’s breathing sounded a lot better after that.

“We’ll get him moved to a private room right away,” Dr. Sloan told her.

“Thank you,” Lois sighed.  “H-how long before he . . . he wakes up?”

“I don’t know,” Dr. Fraiser replied honestly.  “This took a lot out of him at a time when he really didn’t have a lot to give.  Keep talking to him.  He’s going to be disoriented when he does wake up, and hearing familiar voices can only help.”

Chuck shot his wife a meaningful gaze before turning to the doctor.  “Don’t worry, he’s not gonna be alone for one minute,” he assured her.  “Not one.”

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

He was so tired.  Standing at the foot of the precipice, with no place to go but up, Gary wondered where he was going to find the strength to make that climb.  Wondered if he had what it took to reach that faint glow which called to him from the lip of the escarpment.  They had never gotten around to his rock climbing lessons, but Andrew had told him over and over again how it was done.  Tentatively, he reached up with his right hand for the nearest handhold, then wedged his left foot into a tiny niche about knee height and pushed up.  In this fashion, the young Guardian began inching his way upwards, out of the darkness.

It wasn’t easy.  His flagging strength threatened to desert him with each effort.  The rock face under a hand or a foot would crumble, causing him to slip several feet before his frantically scrabbling fingers could find purchase again.  Cautiously, he looked down, squeezing his eyes shut as vertigo threatened to overwhelm him.  Grimly, he stiffened his resolve and, keeping his eyes fixed on his goal, reached for the next finger hold.

The tiny, dim speck of light beckoned him like a siren’s call, pulling him upwards.  Inch by painful inch, he drew closer to that unchanging beacon of hope.  It neither grew, nor brightened, but simply hung there, drawing him upwards.

‘Please, God,’ he prayed.  ‘I’m trying my best.  Please help me.  I can’t do this alone.  Please.  Please, just a little more strength.  Just a little more.’

Then he heard the voices.  They were just whispers at first.  Teasing, enticing, cajoling whispers flitting in and out like leaves on the wind.  As he struggled to climb higher, they grew stronger, more insistent, urging him to greater efforts.

‘C’mon!’ they murmured softly.  ‘You can do this.  We’re right here, Gary.  Just keep trying.’

‘We know you can hear us, sweetie,’ a softer voice urged.  ‘You have to keep trying.  Don’t give up!  Please!  Don’t give up!’

He was close now!  So close!  He could see the sharp outline of the edge of the cliff.  It was almost in his reach!  Frantically he looked around for a crack, a crevice, any kind of finger hold!  Even one big enough to wedge a fingernail in!  Anything!  But the rock face was as smooth as glass.  He had gone as far as he could alone.

‘Help me!’ he pleaded.  ‘Please!  God, please!  Help me!’

From the center of the circle of light, a slender hand reached down.  Desperately, like a drowning man clutching at his last chance for salvation, Gary grabbed onto that hand.

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

Lois sat forward as she felt Gary grip her hand.  She held her breath as his eyelids fluttered, then opened in a puzzled, troubled gaze.  She watched as he looked around at the roomful of hopeful, expectant faces.  Finally, as his eyes locked with hers, she let her breath out in a relieved sigh.

“M-m-mom?” he murmured.

“Yes, sweetie,” she replied, biting her lip to keep from laughing out loud with joy.  He knew her!  He was going to be okay!  “How do you feel?”

“T-t-tired,” was his labored response.  “H-hard . . . t-t-to . . . t-talk.”

“Then don’t try, hon,” Lois told her son.  “Not yet, anyway.  Save your strength.”  She looked around at the others, unable to stop the tears as they trickled down her cheeks.  “You have a lot of visitors,” she told him.  “Everyone from the camp is here.  So are Chuck and Jade.  And there’s a Dr. Fraiser around here somewhere who wants to see if her little concoction worked on you.”

“F-F-Frai-ser?  Wh-what’s . . . sh-sh-she . . .?”  He closed his eyes briefly as he tried to swallow down whatever was causing his mouth to stumble like that.  “Wh-why c-can’t I t-t-talk . . .st-straight?”

Lois tried to hide her concern as she watched him struggle to speak.  ‘Oh God, please!’ she thought in despair.  ‘Hasn’t he been through enough?’  “It’s okay, Gary,” she crooned in a soothing tone.  “You’re just tired, as you said.  It’ll get easier as you get your strength back.  Why don’t you let the rest of us talk for a while?”  She shot an anxious glance over at Chuck and Jade.  ‘Help me!’

The couple quickly stepped forward, wiping suspiciously at their own faces.  Even the worldly, cynical ex-thief was having a hard time hiding an almost overwhelming sense of relief.  How did this goody-two-shoes manage to get under her skin so deep?

“Hey, boy scout,” she murmured softly.  “About time you woke up.  We’ve had a hard time keeping these nurses in line.  They’re drawing lots to see who gives you your next sponge bath.”  She was rewarded by a slow flush reddening Gary’s otherwise pallid features.  “Don’t worry,” she added with a throaty chuckle.  “Chuck and Dr. Sloan kept them honest.”

Gary quickly averted his eyes as his flush deepened.  That did not help!

“Don’t let her kid you, Gar,” Chuck spoke up quickly.  A little too quickly, as his own face took on a crimson shade.  “They couldn’t chase your mom out with a stick.  She hasn’t left your side since she got here.  A-and you’ve got all th-these other people waiting to say ‘Hello’ s-so, um, w-we’ll be right outside.  C’mon, Jade!” he hissed.   Chuck took his wife firmly by the elbow and led her outside.  She smiled and tossed Gary a little wave as she calmly let herself be taken out to face her husband’s ire.

Jean was the first to push herself forward.  She took Gary’s left hand in both of hers as she favored him with a tearful smile.  “We thought you were going to sleep forever,” she sniffled.  “Did I ever thank you for saving my life?”

“I-I th-think s-s-so,” Gary murmured, a puzzled look in his muddy green eyes.  “H-hard t-to re-re-m-mem-ber.”

“Dr. Sloan and Dr. Fraiser both said that was to be expected,” Lois spoke up as she caught the teenager’s concerned look.  “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal, sweetie,” she reminded him.  “It’s going to take some time for things to settle back to normal.”

“D-d-d-de-fine . . . n-nor-mal,” Gary responded with a forced smile.  He turned his head back to face the girl on his left.  “Y-you g-g-. . . g-get th-things s-s-settled w-w-with . . . D-Dar-ren?” he asked.

“You bet I did,” she grinned.  “I told him off, then I called and told his fiancée how he’d been talking about her.  I think it’s safe to say the wedding is off.”  She frowned slightly as she studied Gary’s worn features.  “I’m going now.  There wasn’t enough room for all of us to squeeze in here at once, so we’re having to take turns.  They let me go first so I could thank you for saving me from myself.  You’re the best, Gary.”  Jean leaned in to kiss his pale cheek, just as she had that day on the bluff.  She then backed her chair around so that she could leave and make room for the next visitor.

One by one, the others came in to say ‘Hello’ and offer their hopes for his full recovery.  Bill was next to last, gently teasing Gary about getting out of that rock climbing trip ‘the hard way.’  Gary just smiled and shook his head.  It was so difficult to speak, it would take him forever to tell of his latest dream.

Last was Hailey Tisdale.  The reporter eased her chair into the room hesitantly, unsure of her welcome.

“Hi, Gary,” she murmured.  “I, um, I owe you a huge apology.  Not to mention an explanation.”  She took a tiny handheld recorder from her shirt pocket.  The same one she had planted in his room.  “I haven’t played it yet,” she told him, unable to meet his puzzled gaze.  “I’m not going to.  I never should’ve put it there in the first place.  After that . . . that session, I realized how truly important it was for you to . . . to be able to choose when, or if, your story was made public.  That so many choices had been snatched away from you by an uncaring fate, or an unfeeling media.  I was going to destroy the tape without ever listening to it.  Now . . . now, I think I should leave that to you.  You can listen to it, if you like, to be sure it’s the real thing.  Or you can just take it out and burn it, or whatever, if you still trust me enough to take my word for it.”

She placed the tiny device into Gary’s hand.  Wordlessly, he fumbled at it, trying to flip it open and remove the tape.  His trembling hands refused to co-operate, however, so he looked to his mother for help.  She reached over, taking the recorder from his shaky grasp and quickly removed the tape.

“Th-think D-doc-tor S-s-Sloan c-could . . . t-t-toss th-that on th-the . . . gr-ill?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of something,” Lois smiled.  She turned an icy glare on the penitent reporter.  “You said something about an apology?”

“Yes!”  Hailey tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.  “I’m so s-. . .”

“D-don’t s-say y-you’re s-s-s-sorry,” Gary stammered forcefully.  “J-just d-. . . d-don’t d-do . . . a-an-y . . .”  Helplessly, he looked over at his mom.

“I think he’s trying to say, ‘Don’t ever do anything like this again.’  Right, sweetie?”

Gary nodded his head, his meager strength spent.  He gave Hailey’s hand a gentle squeeze, all he could manage by way of forgiveness, but it was enough.  She gave him a grateful smile in return as his eyes drifted shut.  A moment later, she knew he was asleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.  The reporter turned to meet Lois’s steely gaze with one of concern.

“Why is he have so much trouble talking?” she asked.  “Is he . . . is he going to be alright?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Lois murmured as she pulled the blanket up to Gary’s chin.  “They . . . they mentioned . . . the possibility of . . . of brain damage.  But his mind seems as sharp as ever.  It’ll . . . it’ll just take time, and patience.  We have plenty of both.  Now.”

“This is all my fault,” the reporter whispered brokenly.  “If I hadn’t . . .”

“Then something else would’ve driven him to be at that place, at that time,” Lois sighed.  “He was needed there, Hailey.  And nothing can stop him from being where he’s really needed.  No matter what the cost.”

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

Lois was half asleep the next time Gary opened his eyes.  She roused out of a light doze to find him watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hi, sweetie,” she smiled.  “Feeling better?”

His only response was a slow nod.  Wordlessly, he let his eyes wander around the otherwise empty room.  His brow scrunched into a puzzled frown, as if to ask where everyone had gone.

“You just missed Chuck,” she told him.  “He had to take Jade home to look after the babies.  And your friends from the camp left not long after you fell asleep.”  She reached out to press the ‘call’ button on his bedside controls, telling the nurse who answered that Gary was awake.  “Dr. Sloan wanted to know the minute you woke up,” Lois told her son.  “Feel like trying to talk some more?”

“Sh-sure,” Gary stammered.  “Wh-wh-what sh-sh . . .”  He paused to lick dry lips before trying again.  “Wh-what sh-should we t-talk ab-bout?”

“Did you enjoy your stay at that camp?”

Gary shot her a sour look.  Before he could work his mouth around a suitable reply, the door swung open to admit Dr. Sloan, with Janet Fraiser hot on his heels.

“Well, hello!”  The silver-haired physician greeted him with a warm smile.  “So you finally decided to rejoin the living!  How do you feel?”

“W-weak,” Gary replied honestly.  “H-how l-l-long . . . w-w-as . . .”  Frustrated,  he lay his head back and closed his eyes, trying to picture each word he was trying to say.  “H-how . . . l-long w-was . . . I-I . . . out?”  He flashed his mom a triumphant smile as he managed not to stumble over the last word.

“Three days after I first shot you full of my ‘witches brew’,” Dr. Fraiser told him.  “Just two this last time.”  She pulled the covers up from the end of the bed, baring his feet.  “Ready to see if it worked?  Try curling your toes.”

Obediently, Gary concentrated all his will on his left foot.  Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the toes on that foot, tried to see them curling inward.  He had done it once, months ago.  Before the night of that disastrous Halloween party.  Why had he not been able to do it since?  His brow creased with the intensity of his determination to move!  Sweat popped out as he told himself that he would move that damned toe!  He tried to tell himself he felt something.  Some tiny movement.  But he knew he was kidding himself.  Frustrated, he relaxed his will with a weary sigh.

“C-can’t,” he stammered.  “N-no-th-thing.”

“That’s okay, Gary,” Dr. Fraiser smiled as she tucked the covers back under his mattress.  “I really didn’t expect anything this soon.  Your muscles have to get used to making the effort, though, so keep trying.  Have you noticed if you have anymore feeling in your legs?”

“T-ting-ling,” he murmured.  “B-burns.”

Fraiser favored him with a tired smile at the news.  “That’s wonderful,” she told him.  “That’s a very good sign.  I think that, once all the toxins have finally left your system, we can expect to see more rapid improvement.  Would you rather start your therapy here or back home?”

“H-home,” was Gary’s quick reply. “S-soon?”

“I think so,” she told him, concealing her own doubts behind a hopeful smile.  She took one of his hands in each of hers and told him to squeeze as tight as he could.  His response was feeble, at best.  It was as if her concoction had drained all the strength from his body.  “Very good,” she lied.  The open, appraising look he gave her let her know she wasn’t fooling him for a minute.  A quick glance at his mother’s hopeful expression told the doctor why he kept silent.

“Why is he having so much trouble speaking?” Lois asked, knowing how much it was troubling her son.

“I think the venom caused some paralysis to the vocal cords that neither the antivenin nor Dr. Fraiser’s compound could remove entirely,” Dr. Sloan spoke up.  “You’ll need intensive therapy for that, I’m afraid.  There’s also a chance that you suffered some damage to the speech center of your brain.  Again, therapy is the solution.  You won’t suddenly wake up one day and find everything is back to normal, I’m afraid.”

A tiny grin flickered at the corner of Gary’s mouth as he glanced at his mother.  She returned his tentative smile as she shared their little inside joke.

“Define ‘normal’,” she said.

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

With a sigh, General Hammond laid aside yet another proficiency report as his phone rang.  He picked it up on the second ring.  “Hammond.  Dr. Fraiser! How’s . . . ?  Oh.  I see.  What can I do . . .?”  He grabbed a pad and pencil, hurriedly scribbling as she rattled off a list of items.  “Some of these are . . . Calm down!  I just want to be sure . . . Yes,” he sighed.  “You’ll have everything by this evening.  Yes.  Can someone meet . . .?  That’s alright.  They can take a cab if they have to.  Just how serious is his situation?”  He listened a moment, his expression growing grimmer with each second.  “I’ve always cut Dr. Jackson a little slack,” the general sighed, “because of all the tough breaks he’s had to deal with.  I’m beginning to believe that he and Mr. Hobson are in some bizarre competition.  What kind . . .?  Oh, to see which one the universe can dump on the most.”  He smiled as he listened to the doctor’s acidic reply then bid her a good day, repeating his promise to send what she needed as soon as humanly possible.

General Hammond’s smile vanished as he reached for the intercom.  Gary Hobson had saved the Stargate project from disaster twice in one day.  The least they could do was help save his life.

“Get me Colonel O’Neill.”

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

Gary couldn’t understand what was wrong.  Dr. Fraiser’s injection had worked, at least to some extent.  He was no longer trapped in that place where he was aware of his surroundings, but unable to communicate.  He had fought his way back to consciousness!  Why was it so hard, now, just to stay awake?  At first, Gary tried to believe Dr. Fraiser when she told him he was still weak from his ordeal.  If that was the case, why did he find himself drifting off in the middle of a conversation?  Why did he feel weaker today than when he had first dragged himself back to consciousness?

He slowly turned his head in response to a rapid series of taps on the door.  A familiar face smiled at Gary from beneath a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair.  Colonel Jack O’Neill stepped into the room at Gary’s stammered invitation, closely followed by Daniel Jackson and Samantha Carter.  As best he could, Gary introduced them to his mother and Chuck.

“W-we m-m-met . . . c-coupla y-years ag-g-go,” Gary told them in a barely audible voice.  “Th-th-they . . .”  He shot the trio a pleading look.

“We work out of Cheyenne Mountain,” Jack informed them.  “Gary pulled Daniel and me out of a couple of tough spots while we were visiting Chicago a couple of summers ago.”  He turned to face the man on the bed.  “What’s with the ‘Porky Pig’ routine?  Cat got your tongue . . . or . . . something,” he finished lamely as he caught sight of Lois’s fiery glare.

“N-not . . . c-cat,” Gary forced out from his uncooperative mouth.  “Sssnnake.”  He was determined to speak for himself as much as possible.  “Pa-ra-lys-is . . .m-may-be.”

“Bummer,” the Colonel murmured sympathetically.  “General Hammond wants to know if you and Danny boy, here, have some kind of competition going on.  How many times is it, now, that you’ve died?  Six?  Seven?”

“J-j-just ssssix,” Gary replied.  “D-d-d-didn’t . . . d-d-die . . . th-th-this t-t-t-time.”

“Just missed it by a whisker,” Chuck mumbled.  “A cat’s whisker.”

Daniel shot the little man a sharp look.  “So . . . you two know about . . . the cat?” he asked.

“Th-they kn-know m-m-most o-o-of mmmy sssssec-cretss,” Gary stammered, shaking his head slightly.  He didn’t want them probing too deeply.  Chuck and his Mom didn’t know that these guys hadn’t been told about the paper.  The young anthropologist nodded to acknowledge the warning.  “Wh-what b-brrings y-you g-guys . . . hhhere?”

“Janet needed some equipment,” Sam spoke up. “Some of the tests she wants to do are pretty specialized.  The lab here just doesn’t have what she needs.  We decided to play courier as an excuse to see how you were doing.”

“What exactly is it that you do in that mountain?” Lois asked, curious.  “And what did you mean about a ‘competition’?” she added, giving Daniel a significant look.

The young academic had the grace to blush under her scrutiny.  “I, ahm, I’ve been in a few . . . accidents, myself,” he told her.  “M-mostly we do satellite surveys, for weather patterns, geological disturbances, even some reconnaissance.  But my field is anthropology.  I look for evidence of ancient civilizations.  You know, old roads, dried riverbeds, indications of buried structures, that sort of thing.”

“Wow,” Chuck murmured.  “Satellites can see all that?”

“If you eat breakfast on your patio tomorrow,” O’Neill grinned, “I could tell you by tomorrow afternoon, if your eggs were ‘over easy’, or scrambled.”

Lois was keeping a close eye on her son, so she was instantly aware when his eyelids started to droop.  She rose quietly, one finger to her lips, and began herding everyone out.  “I’ll be right back, sweetie,” she promised.  Gary nodded once, then closed his eyes with a sigh of weariness.

“It’s hard to believe,” O’Neill murmured, “that this is the same guy who was leading us over rooftops just a year and a half ago.”

Chuck let out a low whistle.  “You must’ve really been in hot water!” he remarked.  “Heights make Gary nervous.  Honestly, he gets dizzy on a stepladder.”

Samantha Carter glanced quickly at her younger colleague.  “Something else you two have in common,” she whispered.  “Could you have been separated at birth?”

“Ha ha,” Daniel returned sarcastically.  “I checked.  I’m two months older than he is.  You do know that there are a lot of differences between us, also, don’t you?  My hair is blonde, his is dark brown.  I have blue eyes, his are . . . sorta brown, with heavy lids.  His parents are still alive.  So is his ex-wife.  Just because we’ve both risen from the dead more times than Lazarus, and both have a problem with heights, doesn’t make us ‘karmic twins.’  It’s just . . . coincidence.  That’s all.”

O’Neill peeked in on the sleeping man.  The steady rise and fall of his chest, and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor were the only signs of life.  “Janet said he’s getting weaker instead of stronger,” he commented.  “How bad is it?”

“He can barely stay awake five minutes at a time,” Lois sighed.  “You heard him trying to talk, just now.  He can’t get one word out without stuttering.  And it’s getting worse.”  She wiped at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.  “I hope your Dr. Fraiser can help,” she told him with a little sniffle.  “I don’t know what I’m going to do if she can’t.”

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

Gary wasn’t really asleep.  He didn’t actually fall asleep as often as everyone thought.  It was more like his own, personal ‘Twilight Zone.’  The young Guardian could hear most of what was said around him, and often knew whenever someone entered or left the room.  He was just too wiped out to react.  It worried him, this feeling of . . . lethargy.  He was supposed to be getting better!

Andrew.  There was something about Andrew.  Why couldn’t he remember?  Something about a battle.  Against what . . . or whom?  It was important.  What was the ‘battle’ for?  The ‘soul of humanity’?.  Why couldn’t he remember?

Grayness started creeping in around the edges of his mind.  A soft, pervading sense of being . . . disconnected.  Alone, yet not alone.

‘God, please help me,’ he prayed.  ‘I don’t understand any of this, and I’m so scared.  Please tell me what I’m supposed to be doing.  Just a clue, or a direction to start.  I can’t do this alone.  No one can.  Help me.  Please.’

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

Lois eased back into the room and took up her customary place at the head of her son’s bed.  Her hand instantly went to the lock of hair peeking out from under the bandages that still wrapped his poor, abused head.  Tears welled in her eyes as her fingers gently caressed his pale features.  Why did the universe have to keep kicking her only offspring?  What had he ever done to anyone that warranted such punishment?

Chuck and those people from that place in Colorado were on their way to find Dr. Fraiser again.  Maybe she had some good news for them.  Gary could really use a little encouragement right about now.  He stirred fitfully in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded like ‘Help me.’  What was he dreaming, she wondered.  Nothing good if he was asking for help.  Her heart ached to give him the assistance he was begging for.  She felt so powerless!  This was her baby!  She should at least be able to comfort him!  To let him know she was still here for him!  He spent so much of his time sleeping now, she had to wonder if he could even hear her.

“Sweetie,” she murmured softly.  “I think you can hear me.  At least, I hope you can.  A while ago you found out that your father and I weren’t married when we created you.  That you . . . that you weren’t planned.  You called yourself a ‘mistake.’  But you were no mistake, Gary.  We may not have been thinking of starting a family, but you were the best thing that ever happened to us.  God could not have given us a more wonderful sign that our union was meant to be.  If I had a chance to do it all over again, I can think of a lot of things I could’ve done differently, but not if it meant never having you to give my life meaning.  I love you, Gary, and your father loves you.  Someday you’ll find a woman who’s worthy of the special gift of your love.  You just have to live long enough to find her, sweetie!  You have to!”

As if in answer, Gary mumbled something too low for her to make out.  Then he gave a long, soft moan and fell silent.  Lois listened closely, waiting to see if he was about to wake up.  As the silence continued, she became alarmed.  Was he even breathing?  She held a trembling hand close to his mouth.  Oh, God!  He wasn’t !  Quickly, she hit the call button just as the monitor sounded its alarm.  Looking up, she saw that Gary’s heart rate had dropped.  It had gone from what Dr. Sloan had told her was a ‘low normal’ rhythm to just a few beats per minute!  What was going on?  Grasping Gary by both shoulders, Lois shook her son as hard as she could!

“Breathe, baby!” she pleaded.  “Please, Gary!  Wake up and breathe!”

To her relief Gary drew in a long, slow breath just as the nurse rushed in.  The heart monitor quickened slightly, but was still way too slow.  His breathing was labored and slow.  It was as if all his strength was needed just to stay alive!

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

Gary was spiraling down into darkness . . . again.  He could feel his strength fading, like water pouring down a drain.  Soon he would not have enough to fight whatever battle lay ahead.  Did he still have a chance?  Could he still prevail over his faceless enemy?

Suddenly he found himself standing on a grassy plain, a stone-tipped spear clasped tightly in both hands.  He was bleeding from several deep, ugly wounds.  Still he stood his ground against the brutish figure that bore down on him with a stone ax. The primitive weapon carved a bloody arc through the hot, humid air.  The warrior, who Gary had once been ducked under that savage blow to drive his own weapon upward, into the heart of his enemy.  With a cry borne partly of rage, and mostly of sorrow, he thrust deep into that broad chest, praying to his God that the man die quickly, that he would not suffer a lingering, painful death.  As the stone-aged savage dropped at his feet, the man, who bore the soul that would one day belong to Gary Hobson, collapsed beside his dying enemy.  He, too, was badly wounded.  He had, in fact, already received his death wound.  Soon he would join the others who had given their lives in protection of the People.  With a sigh, he gave his spirit over to the God of The People.

He rode the whirlwind once more, tumbling end-over-end along the endless river of time.

He was just one more soldier in a small army.  They crouched shoulder-to-shoulder on the dusty hillside overlooking the enemy camp.  Below, in a separate enclosure, he could see the villagers taken in yesterday’s raid.  Even from here, he could make out the huddled figures of his wife and child, destined to be sold into slavery to the decadent Romans.  They could not allow such a fate to befall their families!

Suddenly, the soldier, who would live many lives, felt that all too familiar wave of awareness.  Danger!  To whom?  From what direction?  There!  An archer hidden in that copse of trees!  He was taking aim on Marcos, their leader.  No!  They needed Marcos!  He was the glue that bound their tiny army together.  Without him to persuade, cajole and inspire them, many would have turned their backs on those stolen from hearth and home.  They would have been content in their own safety and quietly mourned their loses.  Marcos must live!

With an inarticulate cry, the man who would live again threw himself forward, knocking the war leader off his feet.  The arrow meant for Marcos sank itself deep into his chest!  A terrible pain tore through him as the barbed missile pierced his lung, his heart!  Dimly, he was aware of a cry of triumph as the assassin was slain by one of his brethren.  For him, it was too late.  As he lay dying, he begged God to watch over his family . . . to keep them safe.

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

“We’ve had to put him back on the respirator,” Dr. Travis sighed as he faced Lois Hobson.  “He’s just too weak to breathe without help.”

“Wh-what are his chances?” Lois stammered.  “Is he . . . dying?”

“Unless someone can come up with a miracle,” Jesse replied earnestly.  “If you know any good prayers, Mrs. Hobson, I’d get started on them if I were you.  I started mine ten minutes ago.”

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

Chuck wandered back to Gary’s room, having become bored listening to Drs. Sloan and Fraiser swapping endless strings of medical jargon that sounded like so much Greek to him.  Colonel O’Neill walked with him, telling Chuck how Gary had saved his and Dr. Jackson’s life three times in one day.  Possibly four.

“And you say he’s afraid of heights?” the officer asked in amazement.

“Not afraid, exactly,” Chuck shrugged.  “He gets vertigo.  His head starts swimming like Mark Spitz going for the gold medal.  Usually, when he had to rescue someone off a ledge or something, he’d go right out there, get it done then spend an hour or so getting over the shakes.”

He was looking at O’Neill as they walked into the room, so Chuck didn’t notice the empty bed at first.  When he turned and saw the nurse turning back the sheets on a freshly made, and very empty, bed his heart plummeted all the way to his feet.

“Wh-where’s . . . where’s the guy who was in that bed?” he asked nervously, dreading the answer.

The nurse looked up, noticing the two men for the first time.  “Are you friends of Mr. Hobson?” she asked sympathetically.  As Chuck nodded in stunned silence, she sighed.  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.  He’s . . .”

“He’s dead?” Chuck whispered.  “Gary’s dead?  That . . . that can’t be!  He was . . . he was talkin’ to us just a little while ago!  Right there!  In that very bed!  He can’t be . . .!”

“He’s not!” the nurse was finally able to say.  “But he has taken a turn for the worse.  They had to take him back to ICU and put him on the respirator again.  That’s all I know.”

Chuck flopped down in a chair as his knees gave way.  For a moment, he thought his heart was going to stop!  Gar was alive!  Still alive!  He buried his face in his hands and wept. ‘Thank you, God!’ he prayed.  ‘Thank you for giving him one more day.  One more chance.  Thank you!’

O’Neill calmly stood by, one hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, until Fishman could get himself under control.  How many times had he been forced to stand by in similar circumstances as one or more of his teammates’ lives hung in the balance?

“What say we go check on your friend?” he asked gently.

Chuck wiped the tears from his face and nodded wordlessly.  He couldn’t trust himself to speak, just yet.  Gar was alive.  That was all that mattered.  His best friend in the whole world still lived.  For now.

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

The man, who’s soul would one day call itself Gary Hobson, now dodged in and out among the thick copse of trees, trying to stay just one step ahead of his pursuers.  Why did there have to be so much killing?  Did God really want innocent women and children slain in His name?   Which had more value?  A life taken because they chose a different path?  Or a life turned back to the service of God?  Who had the right to say how God chose to be worshipped.  He had refused to put a defenseless family to the sword.  Now he was being hunted, by his own brethren, as a traitor to the king!  A king in name only, as he had not yet won the throne.  The young man, who had so recently taken on the mantle of a Guardian, found himself doubting the validity of the usurper’s claim.  On the other hand, did he truly wish to serve so blood- handed a monarch that he would murder his own spiritual leaders, his own people out of spite for being refused a divorce?  Were any of the so called ‘nobility’ any better?  They seemed more interested in domination and bloodshed than in actually governing their people.

So now he ran from Protestant and Catholic alike.  Every man’s hand against him because he refused to kill.

The grayness swallowed him again, sending him swirling and diving through the rivers of time and space. Lives past, life present, lives yet to be lived.  All were strung out before him like links on a chain that stretched out into infinity.

He lay, battered and bruised, on another dusty plain.  Dragged there by the man who had saved  him from his enemies, who thought him dead.  He would not die.  Not now, not on this day.  He would find the men behind this.  The men who had robbed him of his way of life.  He had to live. No way in hell would he let those devils have the satisfaction of killing him!

The man known, in this life, as Charles Main, clawed his way back to consciousness.  The devil would not win this round, he vowed silently.  He would live!

The darkness enclosed him as his weary soul was once more whisked from one time and place to another.  How many times had he ridden this maelstrom of pain and suffering?  How far back in time was the beginning of his soul’s journey toward the light?  How many lives lay ahead before his journey was complete?

It was dark; the eerie, silvery darkness which was typical of the hours just before dawn.  He lay on his bunk, half awake, wondering what it was that had disturbed his sleep.

‘Mmmrrr?’

What?  The cat, here?  What would the cat be doing . . .?  Jimmy sat bolt upright as that familiar chill ran up his spine.  There, at the foot of his bunk, was a folded newspaper.  Even in the dim light of the crescent moon he could see the bold banner of the Chicago Phoenix.  The headline story told of a sneak attack in the pre-dawn hours and of the entire base being wiped out to a man!

He flung the paper aside as he quickly roused his bunk mates, actually dumping some of them on the floor in his haste to spread the alarm!   They barely had time to pull on their pants, many of them running out in bare feet as the unmistakable sound of aircraft engines filled the air!  Jimmy was the first to his station, taking aim at the lead plane just as the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon.  Making each shot count, Jimmy took out one plane after another.  He hated the killing; knew that for each plane that went down, a life was given over to whatever God these people believed in.  It also meant that the lives that mattered most to him, at this time, had a chance to continue for just one more day.  One more day that could bring this dreadful war that much closer to being over.  He had to take consolation in that, knowing that he would not have been warned if he were not meant to stop this tragedy.

On the floor of his barracks, the paper he had tossed aside changed.  It still told of the horror and devastation of the pre-dawn attack, but now only listed one casualty.  Jimmy barely had time for a quick prayer before the bullets tore into his chest, knocking him to the ground.  As the life drained from his body, he finished his plea that God watch over Daria and the child he would never see.

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

Dr. Fraiser gave an exultant cry as her new compound attacked and eradicated the foreign substance that was eating away at Gary Hobson’s red blood cells.  It hadn’t been easy.  The tiny physician had never seen anything like this before!  She couldn’t understand how it had gotten into her patient to begin with.  Could it have been when he bit that jaffa’s ear?  She didn’t believe for one minute that it was a result of the snakebite!  Still, she finally had the solution.  Now all she had to do was synthesize enough to give the dying man a fighting chance.  If he could just hang in there a little longer!

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

Gary was once again in that place between light and darkness, a place that was right on the razor’s edge of life and death.  He could feel his mom’s presence, could smell her hand lotion as her gentle fingers caressed his face.  He wanted to speak to her, to tell her . . . what?  That he loved her?  That he was sorry to be causing her so much pain?  Somehow he felt she already knew that and so much more.  He just wanted to talk to her, period.

“You have to keep fighting, Gary.”

Startled, he spun around to see a slender figure surrounded by a soft glow.  Gary was able to make out long, dark auburn hair framing elfin features.  The woman seemed . . . familiar somehow.  “M-Monica?”

“Yes, Gary,” she replied with a radiant smile.  “I’ve been sent to ask you to keep trying.  To tell you that your world, your family still needs you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Gary moaned.  “I’m trying to hang on, I really am.  But it’s hard.  I’m so . . . so weak, and tired.  Just a little more strength.  Please?  Just enough to hang on a little longer?  I can’t do this alone.”

“It’s always been yours for the asking,” the angel told him.  She stepped closer, placing a hand to either side off his face.  Instantly Gary felt an influx of energy that swept away the all-pervading lethargy, which had been sucking the life from him since he had first awakened from the snakebite.  “Better?”

“Y-yes,” Gary stammered, surprised.  “M-much better.  Thank you.”  He looked around at the limbo realm they currently inhabited.  “Can you tell me what this place is?  And what all that other stuff was about?  Was I really all those other people?”

“Those and many more,” Monica responded.  “Your soul was chosen for this task at the beginning of time, Gary Hobson.  You have lived more lifetimes than you could ever imagine.  You have been wise man and warrior, beggar and slave.  You have always been less than you truly deserve.  Many times you have given your life so that others might live.  People whom you placed enough faith in to carry on your battle after you were gone.  You have faith in your family and friends, but the one chosen to carry on the mantle of Guardian is not yet ready for the burden.”

“I know,” Gary sighed.  “She’s just a kid.  It’ll be . . . what?  Another twenty years before she’s ready for this.  God knows, I sure wasn’t.”

“But you were, Gary,” the angel replied with a smile.  “You were born for this task.  And you have carried it throughout the millennia.  As always, you had to . . . how do you mortals say it?  Ah, yes.  You had to ‘come up to speed.’  Right away you saw the good you could do by giving Marissa the money to buy a guide dog.  You stumbled, at first.  But you never stopped trying.  God has given you just a small glimpse of what has gone before.  He did it so that you would know that he has always been with you, and always will be.”

“I still have to work within what’s possible for me to . . . to accomplish,” Gary sighed, “don’t I?  I can’t save everyone, and I can’t bring the dead back to life.”  He paused, looking down at his legs.  Raising his eyes to meet her sympathetic gaze, he asked, “W-will I ever walk again?”

“If you work at it hard enough, yes,” Monica told him.  “To do that,  you must first . . .”

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

“. . . wake up, Gary,” Lois prayed as she watched Dr. Fraiser inject her latest formula into the IV.  “You have to keep fighting, sweetie,” she pleaded.  “We need you.  I need you!  Don’t give up.  Please don’t give up.”

“I’ve included a hefty dose of adrenaline,” Dr. Fraiser told her older colleague.  “That, the serum, and some glucose should give him the strength to fight this.  All we can do now is wait.”

Dr. Sloan was watching the monitors as she spoke.  Was there just a slight rise in the heart rate?  “How long before we see a significant change?” he asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Janet sighed.  “This is uncharted territory, Mark.  I’ve never seen anything like this before.  All any of us can do now is wait . . . and pray.”

Mark Sloan looked over at the bowed heads of Lois Hobson and Chuck Fishman.  “I think those two pretty much have that covered.”

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

“Hello, sweetheart,” Lois Hobson said into the phone.  She had left Chuck to watch over Gary for any sign of recovery so that she could bring her husband up to date.  “No, there’s not been any change, yet.  He’s still depending on that . . . machine to breathe.  How’s everything with the . . . you know.  Oh, Bernie!  You didn’t!  Why didn’t you . . .?  He was where?  Bernard Hobson!  What am I going to do with you?  If I ever hear of you doing anything like that . . . Don’t you give me ‘sorry’, mister!  Your son is hanging on to life by a thread, and you’re out there trying to be ‘Superman’!  Alright!  Alright.  I’m calm.  Yes, dear.  I still love you, But if I dared leave Gary for one day, I’d be on the next plane back!  No!  What makes you think I’d trust you after what you just told me?”  She listened for a moment, tapping her foot impatiently.  “Okay,” she sighed.  “Give Marissa and Crumb my regards, and tell them I’ll call as soon as there’s any change.  And, Bernie, if I ever hear of you jumping off another ledge . . .!  Bernie?  Bernie?  Rats!  He hung up.”

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

The first they knew of any improvement came when the alarm sounded on the respirator.  Lois’s head snapped up at the strident clamor.  What she saw set her heart to pounding like a trip hammer.

Gary’s head was turning from side to side as he tried to force the ventilator tube from his mouth.  He made feeble groaning sounds as his eyelids fluttered.  He was waking up!

Lois tried to calm her restless son, taking his face in both hands as she made soft ‘shushing’ noises.  “It’s okay, sweetie,” she crooned.  “Momma’s here.  Just take it easy.  Chuck, go get Dr. Sloan.  Now!  I’m here, Gary.”  She went from giving instructions to comforting her child without raising her voice or missing a beat.  “Don’t fight the tube, sweetie.  It’s helping you breathe.  That’s it.  Just let the machine do all the work.  Dr. Sloan will be here in a minute to take it out.”

She was still crooning encouragements to him when the team of physicians arrived with Chuck hot on their heels.  Dr. Sloan hurriedly checked the monitors.  He then bent over to do a quick visual check of his patient.  What he saw brought a huge smile to his careworn features.

“Absolutely amazing,” he murmured.  “Gary, I want you to hold very still,” he told the
feebly struggling man.  “I’m going to remove this tube from your throat.”  He nodded at Dr. Fraiser to shut off the ventilator.  “Now, when I tell you to, I want you to cough.  It’ll help the tube to slide out easier.  Now, one . . . two . . . three!  Cough!”

Gary responded with a loud, hacking cough that almost expelled the tube without assistance.  He continued to cough for several seconds after the obstruction was gone.  When he could finally get his breath, Gary lay back, content simply to be breathing under his own power.  Finally, he opened his eyes to see five anxious faces staring down at him.

“S-some-th-thing . . . w-wrong?” he asked, puzzled by their relieved smiles.  “Wh-wh-what . . . hhhap-pened?”

“Nothing, hon,” Lois said with a tearful smile.  “You just took a little nap is all.  How do you feel?”

“W-weird,” he murmured.  “H-head . . . sswim-ming.”  He met his mother’s tired, red-rimmed eyes.  “Y-you . . .‘k-kay?  L-look . . . t-t-tired.”

“One of these days,” Lois chuckled, “you’re going to wake up from one of these little naps and forget to ask how everyone else is.  Then I’ll be really worried.”

Gary gave her a hurt, puzzled look before closing his eyes once more.  They shot open an instant later with a frightened, haunted look as vague memories of death flitted across his mind.  He tried to sit up, only to have both Drs. Sloan and Fraiser place restraining hands on his shoulders.

“Just relax,” Janet crooned softly.  “You’re a lot stronger than you were an hour ago, but you’re nowhere near strong enough to be moving around much.  Now, we’re going to keep you in here for one more day, then you get a private room.  Until then, don’t exert yourself any more than you absolutely have to.  Understand?”

“Sh-sure,” Gary murmured drowsily.  “S-slee-py a-any-w-way.”  His eyes drifted closed as he spoke, staying closed this time. His chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm.

“I, ahm, I’ll go tell the others he’s okay,” Chuck said in a thick voice, wiping tears from his face.  “Excuse me.”

“Hurry back,” Lois whispered.  “I’ll need to call Bernie and I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Got it,” Chuck nodded.  “Back in five.”  The little man quickly ducked out, a wide grin splitting his lean features.

Janet watched him go, failing to repress her own smile of relief as she made notes on Gary’s chart.  For a time, she had been uncertain if she could find a cure in time.  She still had no clue as to what that alien substance was, or how it had gotten into Hobson’s system.  It was miracle enough that she was able to find the right formula to counteract it.  It was things like this which reminded her that, sometimes, science couldn’t provide all the answers.  Sometimes you just had to go on faith.

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

Something was . . . not right.  Gary had grown used to the sounds of the monitor and the murmur of voices in the background.  There were always at least two or three nurses at the desk, with one always keeping a sharp eye on the bank of monitors.  Their voices provided a soft counterpoint to the beeping of the machines.  How he knew all this was a puzzle that Gary was in no hurry to solve.  What did bother him, at this time, was the total absence of sound!  Looking around, he saw his mother leaning back in her seat, apparently sound asleep.  Through the window behind her, he could see one of the nurses.  She was standing next to the corner of the desk, frozen in the act of talking to someone.  One hand was half raised in an expansive gesture, while her mouth was pursed as if she were in the midst of speaking when the paralysis hit her.

Gary had a feeling that, if he could see the others, he would see them frozen in place as well.  His mom was probably under a similar enchantment.

“Bout time you woke up, sugah.”

Gary turned his head to find a slender young black woman staring at him.  Her elfin features reminded him somewhat of Monica, while her accent was soft and very southern.  The look in her almond eyes, however, was pure malice.

“Wh-who . . .?”

“They call me Kathleen,” she purred.  “Not that it matters.  You have this nasty habit of messin’ up my plans, darlin’.  That’s got to stop.  Ya heah?”

“Wh-what . . . p-plans?” Gary asked, genuinely puzzled.

“That dear man, Mr. Marley,” she told him as she sauntered up to his bed.  “He was supposed to ruin that Snow character’s name.  Keep him from savin’ you from that truck.  That was his last wish before having to face my Master.  His ‘second chance,’ as it were.  The same for poor Mr. Savalas.  I was so sure he’d get the job done. That he would either kill you or drive you to kill yourself.  But you are one remarkably hard man to kill.  Then there was that young man on the pier.  I’ve been working on him for years!”  She stopped at the edge of Gary’s bed, reaching her right hand out to caress his cheek.  “You’re oh-so-noble actions made him take a closer look at himself, and I lost him.”

Gary cringed from her chill touch, trying to move as far to the other side of the bed as he could.  Which wasn’t very far.  “H-how . . . d-d-do . . .y-you . . .?”

“How do you think?”  Kathleen favored him with a smoldering, seductive smile.  “Did you think all yoah good deeds would only attract one kind of attention?”  She turned her gaze toward his mother.  “Lovely woman.  Be a shame if something ‘happened’ to her.”

A chill ran down Gary’s spine at the casual way she delivered her threat.

“Then there was that little incident at the hotel,” she continued.  “If that child had died, his father would have been driven into a sordid, pathetic life of drink and drugs.  The mother would have taken her own life.  Both would have been mine for the takin’.  Then you had to go and save the little brat,” she snapped, her ire beginning to show.  “And that plane!  Do you have any idea how hard it was to time that storm just right and to foul up the landin’ geah at the same time?  That bit with the Stargate was just luck, and you managed to mess that up, too.  I thought I had you with those aliens, but I guess you can’t depend on foreigners to do anything right.”  She perched on the side of the bed, amused by the fear she saw in Gary’s eyes.

“W-w-were y-you be-hind th-the sssnake a-a-at . . . d-d-doc-tor Ssssloan’s?” he stammered defiantly.

“Nnnoo,” Kathleen replied, mockingly, with a tiny smile and a shake of her head.  “That was just a young man looking to add to his collection.  But it put such a wonderful idea in my head.  You see, that snake on the bluff?  That was me.  I had to do something, you see?  You were screwin’ up my plans again!  That young woman needed to die right then!  And you still saved her!”  She slapped the mattress with both hands and sprang to her feet.  “You have messed up everything!” she snapped, turning a fiery glare on the hapless man.  “Yoah interference must be stopped!”

Gary flinched as he saw real fire in her eyes!  He could feel the heat of her anger even from where he lay.  He tried to push himself up in the bed, only to find that he was still too weak from his recent illness.

“Y-you g-go t-t-t-to hhhhhell!” he stammered defiantly.  “I-I’m . . . nnnot . . . g-g-gonna ssstop hhelp-ing p-p-peo-ple j-j-just ss-ss-so y-you c-c-can mmeet sssome qu-quota!”

Kathleen’s eyes flashed even hotter as she took a step back towards the bed.  “You insignificant, stuttering little . . . mortal!” she hissed.

“That’s enough, Kathleen.”

Gary jerked his head around to see Monica walk out of the clear glass partition, bathed in a soft glow.  The same as she had been in his ’dream.’  The auburn-haired angel wore an expression of barely suppressed anger.

“Direct interference is forbidden!” she told the dark skinned entity.  “You may influence mortals to harm each other.  You may not harm them directly!”

“Yoah only sayin’ that ‘cause he’s one of yoah’s!” Kathleen sneered.  “Because he’s one of yoah precious ‘Guardians Of The Light!’  He’s mortal!  I can snuff him out like a candle!”

“And we can bring him back just as easily,” Monica retorted.  “Did you not wonder that none of your attempts on his life had succeeded?  Gary cannot die before his designated time, unless he so chooses!  That is how it has been.  That is how it will always be, until the end of time.  Only God has the power to change that decree.  And I don’t believe he will do so just to please your master.”  She said that last word with an uncharacteristic note of contempt.  As she stepped further into the room, Monica’s expression softened.  “Come back to us, Kathleen,” she pleaded, holding her hands out to the other entity.  “You can’t be happy serving such a dark purpose.  Come back into the light of God’s love.  He will forgive anything,” she added.  “All you have to do is ask.”

For a moment, Gary thought he saw a flicker of sadness cross those darkly elfin features.  No.  Not just sadness.  He also saw honest regret.  Then it was gone, to be replaced by a cold look of pure hatred.

“You know better than that, Monica,” she spat.  “Once he wraps his hand around yoah heart, theah’s no turnin’ back.”  She turned that baleful gaze on the man in the bed.  “Watch yourself, sugah.  I’m not done with you yet.”  Then she was gone.  She didn’t fade out, walk out through the wall, or vanish in a puff of smoke.  She simply was no longer . . . there.

Puzzled, Gary turned to the figure that still stood at his right hand.  Reaching for the controls, he raised the head of the bed until he could look her in the eye.  “Wh-wh-whhat jj-just hhhap-pened?” he asked.

“You have just met the one behind most of your recent trials,” Monica sighed.  “She was once one of us, an angel in the service of God.  Then, she let ambition blind her to her mission, turning to a less benevolent master in her quest for recognition.”

“A-and sshhee’s b-be-hhind . . .?”  He gestured down at his legs.

“No,” the angel sighed.  “That was done by the powers behind your paper,” she told him.  “As we told you before, you could not have been there for Jean otherwise.  It was also done to save your life.  If you had not been pulled back through time, Lucius Snow would not have been able to escape Marley’s evil scheme.  And you would have died thirteen years later.  Also, all the people that you and Snow have saved over the years would have died.”

Gary took a moment to digest this information.  In a weird sort of way, it all made sense now.  He was caught in an endless battle between the forces of light and darkness, with the fate of everything, and everyone, he loved hanging in the balance.  It seemed a little unfair to have so much of the burden resting on him alone, yet he couldn’t think of anyone else whom he could trust with such a huge responsibility.  He looked over at his mother’s face.  She wore such a calm, peaceful expression.  He knew, without a single doubt, that it was because she knew he was going to be alright.  How could he turn his back on such love?  How could he even think of abandoning her, or anyone else to face the forces of darkness alone?

With renewed determination and a weary sigh, he turned to face the angel once more, his eyes full of sadness.  “Ssssoo,” he murmured.  “Wh-what hhap-pens . . . nnow?”

“You go back to sleep, Gary Hobson,” Monica told him with a sad little smile.  She brushed soft fingertips through his dark hair as she bent down to place a gentle kiss on the birthmark just below his right sideburn.  “You will remember none of this when you awake,” she whispered.  “Such knowledge is not meant for mortals to deal with.  You will recall only that you must be strong and vigilant, and that you must not give up.  Sleep, now, and be well.”

She kissed him once more as his eyes drifted shut, fluttered open, then slid down as he slipped into a deep, restful sleep.  Monica lowered the head of the bed until it was in its former position.  Reaching out to lay a gentle finger on Gary’s upper lip, she whispered,  “Don’t tell what you know.”

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

When Gary next opened his eyes, it was to see his mother stretching languorously before meeting his puzzled gaze.

“Hi, sweetie,” she murmured softly.  “How are you feeling?”

“B-bet-ter,” he stammered.  “Wh-why’m I b-back . . .?”

“You don’t remember?”  When he shook his head ‘no’, Lois quickly explained about his relapse.  “It scared me to death when you stopped breathing, Gary.  No pun intended.  I thought I’d lost you for good.  I mean, how many times can you keep coming back from the dead?”

“N-n-not a qu-ques-tion I-I’m rrready t’ a-a-ans-wer,” he replied haltingly.  “C-can wwe, sh-sh-shelve . . . it . . .f-f-for llllat-er?”

“Gladly!” Lois chuckled.  “Much, much later!”

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

“CT, MRI, EEG,” Dr. Sloan sighed.  “All normal.  That leaves us with residual paralysis from the snakebite.”  He turned to face the man on the bed, and his mother.  “This is rare, but not completely unheard of.  The effects, meaning the stiffness of the vocal cords and the difficulty in shaping your mouth to fit what you’re trying to say, should diminish in time.  Meanwhile, you need to keep trying to force the muscles to remember how it’s done.  The speech therapist, who spoke with you this morning, assures me that repetition is the key, in this case.  Repeating a phrase over and over, or a particular word that you’re having difficulty with, should help.  Also, she gave me a list of simple exercises you can do.  They‘re similar to what actors use to learn a certain accent, or voice training for singers.  Mel Tillis, a famous country music singer, stutters.  Yet, he has a marvelous singing voice.”

“Ya hear that, Gar?” Chuck spoke up from his seat by the door.  “Maybe we can get you on the ‘Grand Ol’ Opry’?”

Gary shot his friend a sour look, ignoring the chuckles from O’Neill, as well as the snickers from Carter and his mother.  Jackson, at least, had the grace to look away to hide his grin.  Turning back to the two doctors, he asked the question uppermost in his mind.  “Wh-what a-about . . . lllegs?”

“Have you tried moving them, like I told you?” Fraiser asked.

“Everyday,” Chuck replied, sparing his friend the strain and embarrassment.  “Fifteen, twenty times before lunch, even.  Nada.  Zilch.”

“You have to keep trying,” the diminutive physician sighed.  “All our tests show that, whatever that substance was, it’s gone.  You just have to remind your muscles of what they have to do.  That will take every ounce of determination, and patience that you have, Gary.  But if you ever want to walk again, you can’t give up.”

Laying his head back with a sigh, Gary wondered why that last phrase rang so loud in his mind.

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

It had taken hours of persuasion, pleading, begging, reasoning, and finally outright threats to get Lois Hobson to finally agree to lie down in a real bed and get some much needed sleep.  Gary had been getting worried about her.  Her increasingly haggard appearance only fed his own feelings of guilt that he was the cause of her exhaustion.  It was this, more than anything else, which finally swayed her.  She did not want to be the cause of any more pain for her son.

After Lois had been ‘tucked in’ a few doors down the hall, Chuck appeared with an object in a large brown shopping bag.

“You remember that John Wayne movie where he fell down some stairs and was paralyzed?” he asked his friend.  “‘Wings Of Eagles’, I think it was called.”

Gary nodded hesitantly.  He did recall bits and pieces.  The Duke had been away from home so much, he had been unfamiliar with the layout of his own home.  So, when he got up in the middle of the night to check on one of his daughters, he had fallen down the stairs.  But other than the stairs and the paralysis, he couldn’t see the connection.

“Okay!” Chuck continued enthusiastically.  “Now, you remember how his buddy, Jughead, got him back on his feet?”  He revealed the contents of the bag with a flourish.  “Tadaaa!  He used a ukulele!  He kept playing on one of these gizmo’s and singing until the Duke moved his foot just to shut him up!  And that’s what we’re gonna do!  I’ll play, and you’re gonna keep repeating that thing he was saying over and over.  It’ll be like, you know, speech therapy, too.”

“Y-y-y-you’re c-c-c-ra-zy!” Gary stammered.  “C-can’t c-c-con-cen-t-t-trate . . . o-on b-b-both!”

“Sure you can!” his buddy urged.  “Just repeat after me.  ‘I’m gonna move that toe. Oh!  I’m gonna move that toe. Oh!’  Like that.  C’mon!”

With a resigned sigh, Gary lay his head back.  Chuck was not going to let it rest.  “C-c-can yyou ev-en puh-lay th-that th-thing?”

“What’s to play?” he shrugged.  “You just bang your fingers on the strings.  A five-year-old can do it.”

“Th-then g-go ff-ff-find a ff-ffive y-year o-o-old, ‘c-cause y-y-you c-c-can’t c-c-car-ry t-tune.”

“Skeptic!” the young producer snorted.  “Let’s get to work, you slacker!  ‘I’m gonna move that toe! Oh! I’m gonna move . . .’  C’mon, Gar!  Work with me on this!  We can do it!  Now, repeat after me!”

As Chuck banged away at the hapless ukulele, Gary haltingly repeated that stupid phrase.  Dear God!  Anything to stop that racket!  At the same time, he tried to visualize his right toe.  Tried to see it moving.  For once, he actually hoped Chuck was on to something.

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

“G-gon-na m-m-moove t-t-toe,” Gary repeated for about the five hundredth time.  He had his head back, and his eyes closed.  His voice was harsh and raspy from repeated use.  Plus, by this time, the third day of Chuck’s ‘therapy’, they had gathered quite an audience.  It hadn’t helped at all when O’Neill had gone out and gotten a banjo so he could join in the chorus.  Sam Carter, Gary’s mom, and two of the nurses would start clapping ‘time’ occasionally.  Even the other patients would get in on the act, when possible.  Gary was beginning to get that awful ‘freak show’ feeling again.  ‘Please, God!’ he prayed.  ‘Something, anything to shut him up!’  “M-mm-oove t-t-toe!” he rasped.  “M-mm-oove . . . t-t-toe!”

“You can do better than that, Hobson!” O’Neill snorted.  “You’re startin’ to sound like a cow!”

Gary had closed his eyes to concentrate on the image of that right toe moving, and to shut out O‘Neill‘s laconic grin.  Just a twitch.  Anything!  He was putting so much of himself into visualizing that simple act, he couldn’t say, later, when all the noise stopped.

“Oh, my God!” he heard someone whisper.  “Look!”  He thought it was Chuck, but his voice sounded funny.  “Gary!  Open your eyes and look!”

Fighting back a feeling of annoyance, Gary raised the head of his bed halfway and did as he was told, looking first at Chuck’s shocked features, then at the spot on the bed his amazed friend was pointing to.  It was his toe.  He gave Chuck a look that said, ‘So?’

“Do it again!” O’Neill murmured, his banjo dangling from slack fingers.  “C’mon, Gary!  Do it one more time!”

“D-d-do wh-what?” he grumbled.  Annoyed, he shifted uncomfortably in the bed . . . and froze.  Did he just . . .?  Had it really . . .?  Experimentally, he concentrated once more, keeping his eyes on that foot.  Slowly, almost as if they were just waking up, the first three toes on his right foot curled inward.  Stunned, he tried again.  It hurt, but he had been hurting almost continuously since that last session in the unit.  That had just been pain.  This . . . this was salvation!

“Try the other one,” Daniel urged.  “Th-the left one, Gary!  Move the left one!”

Biting his lip in concentration, Gary focused his attention where Jackson had fixed his.  At first, it appeared that one miracle was all he was going to get today.  Then . . . it twitched.  Just a tiny, almost imperceptible, motion.  Gary was afraid he had imagined it.  Holding his breath, he tried again.  The big toe twitched, then slowly moved back and forth.

Gary looked up at the crowd of smiling faces and found that he couldn’t speak at all!  His breath caught in his throat as his emotions scattered to the four winds.  He felt . . . elated, scared, hopeful, eager, terrified . . .!  A choked laugh escaped as he stared down at those slowly wiggling digits.  Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he looked up to meet his mom’s glistening eyes.

“You did it!” she said in a choked whisper.  “You really did it!”

Then Lois crossed the room in a single step, flinging her arms around her son so tight, he couldn’t breathe!  When Gary started wheezing, she eased her grip just enough for him to get a breath in.  She was still pressed against him so firmly that he could feel her rapid heartbeat, the wetness of her tears soaking into his hospital gown.

“Ssss’okay, Mmmom,” he whispered, his own tears running down to mingle with hers as he returned her embrace.  “Ssss’okay.  W-w-we kn . . . kn-new . . . h-h-had t-t-to g-g-get . . . b-break . . . sssomed-d-day.”

“I know,” she sniffed.  “I know.  It’s just . . . I was beginning to lose hope!”

O’Neill and Chuck started quietly herding everyone else out the door.  Their job was done.  What the Hobson’s needed, now, was a little privacy.  Gary nodded at his friends, flashing them a tearful smile of gratitude and mouthing the words ‘Thank you’ as they waved a cheerful ‘farewell.’  As the door closed behind them, Chuck saw his best friend bury his face in his mother’s hair.  Gary’s shoulders were shaking slightly as he gave in to his own tumultuous emotions.

***********

The next few days were very hectic for the Hobsons.  Gary spent every morning in either physical, or speech, therapy.  The latter was mentally and emotionally taxing, but could be done in his room.  The former required a trip to the therapy department, and opened up a whole new world of torment.

“Th-they hhave . . . mmmee c-c-crawl-ing lllike . . . b-bab-y,” Gary stammered, giving vent to a sigh of patient suffering.  “Ssssaid it’ssss t-t-to im-p-prove c-co-or-din-a-tion.”

Lois looked up from the large book she was leafing through to favor him with a sympathetic smile.  “I know it’s hard, Gary,” she told him, “and a little embarrassing.  That’s why I quit going with you.  But you have to stick with it.”  She turned her attention back to the book.

“I w-w-will,” he promised.  Gary cocked his head to get a better look at the object that took up most of his mother’s lap.  “I-i-isn’t th-that . . . ff-ff-fam-ly . . . al-b-bum?”

“Hmm?” She shot him a puzzled look, then glanced down at the huge tome of pictures and newspaper clippings.  “Oh!  Yes, it is.  When you were unconscious, before we were sure there was no brain damage, the doctors were concerned that you might have a loss of memory.  So, I called your dad and told him to pack this up and send it by Fed-Ex .  So, of course it just got here this morning.  As it turned out we didn’t need it, anyway.  Your memory is fine.”

Lois carried the overstuffed album over and laid it out on Gary’s lap.  “Remember this one?” she smiled.  “You and Joe in your first Little League uniforms.  You were both so cute!”  Turning a few pages, she pointed at a newspaper clipping.  “And this . . . this was when you two were chosen for the ‘All stars.’  Your father and I were so proud!”

Gary smiled as she flipped the pages, pointing out more childhood scenes and triumphs.  His eyes widened as he put a shaky finger on an all too familiar picture.  “Wh-what’s th-that?” he whispered.

Puzzled, Lois peered more closely at the scene that had so obviously upset her son.  “That?” she mused.  “That was taken the first day we got the ‘Gray Ghost.’  Don’t you remember?  That picture sat on the mantel for years, then we decided to put it in here to make room for your wedding pic . . .”

“N-n-no!” Gary stammered.  “Th-th-this!”  He reached over and slowly pulled a faded lavender envelope, with a floral pattern, from behind the 8x10 photo.  Scrawled across the front, in his own handwriting were the words ‘Mom and Dad.’  Stunned, he stared at the aged paper as if afraid it would bite him.

“That’s odd,” Lois murmured, taking the envelope from his trembling fingers.  “I don’t recall putting that in there.  You know, my sister, your Aunt Jennifer, gave me this for Christmas one year.  I loved the pattern so much I almost never used it except for special occasions.  I ran out a few weeks after we got back from that horrid essay contest.  You must’ve written this then, but I don’t remember ever reading it.”

“Sss’okay,” Gary mumbled, reaching to take the envelope back before she could open it.  He wasn’t quick enough, however.  “R-r-real-ly, Mmm-mom,” he pleaded.  “I-if . . . w-was im-p-por-tant, w-w-we . . .w-w-ould hhhave r-r-re-mem-bered.”

Holding the stationery just out of his reach, Lois favored her son with a curious look.  “Why don’t you want me to see this?” she asked, even as she was sliding the single piece of paper out of its container.

Defeated, Gary lay back, watching the play of emotions on his mother’s face as she read his brief note.  Saw her eyes widen in shock and disbelief.  Her lips moved, shaping words without sound as her mind took in all the implications of the note’s existence.

“I-I th-th-thought I w-w-was . . . der-ream-ing,” he told his mother as she slowly lowered the paper to stare at him.  “Ha-luc-cin-a-tion.”

“This is impossible,” Lois said, shaking her head.  “I mean . . . this can’t . . . It never happened, Gary!  How can I be holding a note you never wrote?”

A sad, tired smile flickered across Gary’s features as he gave his mother a sidelong look.  “W-wel-c-ome t-to ‘Tw-twi-l-light Zzzone,” he told her.

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

Lois waited until Gary was asleep before calling home again.  Bernie would insist on talking to him and she just didn’t feel that Gary was up to that, yet.

“Hi, sweetie,” Lois greeted him, smiling.  “He’s fine.  Therapy is going well, but he hasn’t tried to stand, yet.  No, his speech therapy is . . . well, he’s having problems with that.  He’s always had a little stutter when he’s nervous or excited.  Well, all the attention makes him really nervous.  That’s right, so we can’t tell if the therapy is working or not.  Um.  Are you having any problems with, um, the cat?  Oh, good!  No more little ‘adventures’?  Th-that’s good,” she said with a relieved sigh.  “So things have been pretty quiet?  Well, Gary will want to know when he wakes up.  Sure, hon, I’ll give him your love.  Oh!  I almost forgot.  Did you happen to put an envelope behind the picture of us with the ‘Gray Ghost’?  Oh.  No reason.  Bye, dear.”  She hung up the phone, grateful that she was already sitting down.  She never knew what kind of trouble Bernie might get into with the paper.  As much as she loved and admired her husband, he was just not as responsible a person as their son.

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

O’Neill and Jackson came by, one day, while he was in Physical Therapy.  They found Gary pushing himself forward along the floor by inches, using only his legs and elbows.  A task made harder by the lingering weakness in his extremities.  When he caught sight of his visitors, Gary hung his head to hide his embarrassment.   He wondered what kind of wisecrack O’Neill would come up with for this predicament.

“I’m not saying a word,” the colonel promised.  “Not about something this serious.”

“Th-thank yyyou,” Gary murmured.  He turned himself over until he was sitting propped on his elbows.  As his visitors stood by, he slid back until he could lever himself into his chair.  Once he was properly seated, he thanked the young lady who had been overseeing his session, and turned his attention to the two men.  “Thh-oughtt yyyyou’dd mmbe ggg-on hhhomme nnnow,” he said.

“The general wants us to stick around until you’re ready to go home,” Daniel replied.  “Actually, he wants us to escort you back to the mountain so Dr. Fraiser can run a few more tests.  She thinks she may have a few tricks that’ll speed up your recovery.”

Gary eyed the two men suspiciously.  O’Neill was trying just a little too hard to look innocent.  “Whhat’ss zzzthe ca-catch?”

“Why does there have to be a catch?” O’Neill asked.  “Can’t we just do you a favor or two?”

“I-it’s nnev-er zzzat eeas-y wa-ith yyyyou . . .ga-uys,” Gary stammered.  “T-t-tell mmme whwhwhat yyooou wwwant.”

“Wwwell,” Daniel spoke up hesitantly.  “The, um, the cure is not . . . here, so to speak.  It’s . . . elsewhere.”

A feeling of dread crawled up and down Gary’s spine as the young archaeologist’s meaning sank in.  He would never forget that wild ride as long as he lived!

“Nnno th-thank kew,” Gary stammered hurriedly.  “Nnnev-ver a-g-gain!  D’rrath-ther ca-crawl fffor-ev-er!”

“We told him you’d say that,” Jack remarked with an expressive gesture.  “But he told us to make the offer.”

“Wwwelll, yyyoou did,” Gary replied.  “Ssssthanks, mmbut nnno sssthanks.”

“So, how’s the therapy going?” Daniel asked, gesturing at the now empty room.

“Ssslow,” Gary sighed.  “Vvvery sssslllow.  Wawon‘t mmmbe wwwalk-ing whhhen . . . g-go hhhome.”

“Bummer,” O’Neill sighed.  “Sure you don’t wanna take us up on our offer?”

The look Gary gave him said more than his mouth ever could.

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

The day finally came when Gary was well enough to leave the hospital.  He still had a long way to go with both kinds of therapy, but his strength had returned and he was able to get around as well, now, as he had before his recent illness.  In fact, he had even managed to stand for a few minutes, with the aid of crutches, although he had yet to take his first step.  ‘Soon,’ he thought to himself as he was wheeled out to Chuck’s car.  ‘Real soon, now.’

Arriving home, Chuck pulled up into his driveway and helped Gary from the car and into his chair.  Puzzled, Gary looked around at several other cars and a couple of vans that crowded the long, brick path to the garage.  ‘Oh, God!’ he sighed.  ‘Please don’t let it be another ‘Surprise’ party!’

To his relief, no one jumped out and yelled anything, but Gary was surprised nonetheless.  The house was pretty crowded with people he knew, several he didn’t, and two he had not expected to see.

“G-gen-ral?” he stammered.  “T-t-teal’ck?  Wh-when . . . wh-wh-what?”

“We couldn’t let you fly back home without a proper sendoff, son,” the officer grinned.  “Dr. Fraiser said it was touch and go there for a while.  How do you feel?”

“N-n-nervous,” Gary admitted truthfully.  “L-lllastt fflight w-w-was . . . e-ventt-ful.”

“A classic understatement,” Teal’c intoned.  He had a California Angels’ cap pulled down low enough to cover his ‘tattoo.’  “Would you prefer an escort on your journey home?”

“Th-th-thank yyou, T-t-teal’ck,” Gary smiled, “mmmbbbut . . . nnoo.  Mmmomm ‘n’ Ch-uck g-g-go-ing wwwith mmme.”  He looked around at the other partygoers, picking out people he knew from the ones who were total strangers.  He gestured at several people in wheelchairs who were laughing and talking with the people he knew from the camp.  “Whhoo aarre th-ey?”

Hammond looked at the group and shrugged his shoulders.  “They’re from your camp,” he said.  “I haven’t been introduced to any of them, yet.”

“Gary!  It’s about time!”

Gary pivoted his chair to see Crystal bearing down on him with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.  The pretty blonde actress smiled as she held the tray out to the three men.

“You look so much better than the last time I saw you,” Crystal told the young restaurateur.   “I came to see you when you were still in the unit.  I meant to go back, but my agent called and I had to audition for this commercial deal.”  Her smile faded as she bit her lip in an expression of mild uncertainty.  “Are you still angry at me?” she asked.  “About that thing at dinner that night, I mean.”

“Nn-nnoo,” Gary shook his head, flashing her a bemused grin.  “Sshhould I mmbe?”

“I guess not,” she replied with a relieved smile.

“Did you get the part?” Hammond asked as he helped himself to a few appetizers.

“No,” Crystal sighed.  “My agent suggested I try getting a little more experience,” she told them dejectedly.  “Now, how am I supposed to get experience without a job?”

“A-aama-teur p-plays?” was Gary’s tentative suggestion.

“Excuse me?”

“Ffind a-am . . .”  Frustrated by his halting speech, Gary looked to the general for help.

“I think he means you should look for amateur productions,” the officer smiled.  “Little Theater, actor’s workshop, summer stock, that sort of thing.  There’s always something like that going on somewhere.”

The young actress got a thoughtful look on her face as she considered the suggestion.  Before she could say anything, Gary found himself surrounded by a double ring of wheelchairs.  Bill and Doug quickly introduced him to the ‘seniors’ who had finally returned from their camping trip.  They had been curious to meet the ‘hero’ who had saved Jean.  One of them, a ten-year old boy, gave him a derisive sneer.

“You don’t look like a hero,” he grumbled.  “And you talk funny.”

Gary just shrugged and looked down at his hands.  It was difficult to talk and it was very embarrassing.

“That wasn’t nice,” a young Hispanic male said from behind the boy.  “Apologize, David.”

“Why?” David asked petulantly.  “He does talk funny.”

“David,” the young man said in a warning tone.

“Sssokay,” Gary spoke up with a lopsided grin.  “Hhheess . . . rrright.  I-I-I’ve mmbeen . . . ill,” he told the boy.  Looking up at the stranger, he added, “Dddon’t . . . knnoww . . . yyyoou.”

“I’m Raphael,” the young man replied, extending his hand.  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Gary.  Andrew and Monica say you’ve got ‘heart.’”

“Mmmay-be,” the young Guardian sighed.  “Llluck . . . ssstinks . . . zzztho.”

Even David got a chuckle out of that.  After a few more minutes of ‘small talk,’ during which Gary spoke as little as possible, he turned at a hail from across the room.  Dr. Sloan and his son waved at him as they wound their way through the crowded room.

“You look a little tired,” Dr. Sloan observed.  “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oook-ay,” Gary replied.  “Jjjjuust . . . hhhaard t-t-to . . . t-talk.”

“No progress with the therapy, hmm?” the physician shook his head sadly.  “Give it time, Gary.  With everything you’ve been through, it may take a lot of time.”

“I’ve been in touch with a Detective Armstrong,” Steve spoke up before Gary could formulate an answer.  “He curious to know if we found out how you do . . . whatever it is you do.  Care to elaborate?”

“Nn-nn-noo,” Gary replied haltingly.  “Tt-tt-take . . . tt-ttoo . . . llllong,” he added with a shake of his head.

“Um, you’re probably right,” Steve admitted.  “Have you considered sign language?”

“Steve!”

“Just a suggestion, Dad,” the detective grinned.  “It has to be less painful than what he’s going through now.”

No one noticed Crystal’s reaction as she paused nearby with another tray of appetizers.  The pretty blonde actress turned her head to eye Gary with a speculative gaze.  An idea was forming in her head that could prove beneficial to both of them.  She knew American Sign Language and there were Little Theater groups in Chicago, weren’t there?

Dr. Sloan shot his son a withering look before turning back to his former patient.  “Don’t listen to him, Gary,” he advised the red-faced younger man.  “You stick with that therapy.  You will talk normally again.  Just . . . don’t give up.”

Again, that phrase set bells to ringing in the vaults of Gary’s subconscious.  Why did it seem . . . so important?

“Hobson!”

Gary turned to see Jack O’Neill and Samantha Carter bearing down on him.  Sam was giggling at something the colonel whispered in her ear.  Judging by how red her face turned, Gary had an idea the subject had nothing to do with military protocol.

“Where you off to next, hotshot?” O’Neill asked as he sauntered up to the tiny group.  “Back home to the Windy City?”

“O-on . . . nnnnext . . . p-p-plllane . . . out,” Gary stammered.  “To-to-to-mor-row nnnight.”

“So soon?” Sam asked, surprised.  “According to Jade, all you’ve seen are marine parks.  What about Disneyland, or Palisades Park?  Or the studio tours.  There’s so much to see out here.”

“Sam’s right,” Jack agreed.  “What’s the rush to get back?  Homesick?”

“V-v-v-ve-ry,” Gary replied.  “G-got . . . re-sssponss-si-mmbil-i-ties.  Mmmbeenn . . . gggone . . . t-too . . . lllong-g.”

“Well, we just wanted you to know that, if you ever need our help,” General Hammond spoke up from behind him, “we still owe you a favor or two.  Feel free to call on us if the occasion ever arises.”  The senior officer held out his hand.  “Good luck, son.”

Gary took the hand in a firm grasp.  “Thththankss,” Gary smiled.  “Aaah’mm . . . g-g-gonna . . . nnnneed . . . it.”

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

The next evening, Jade and Crystal were saying their farewells to the departing trio in the airport concourse.  Chuck had decided to accompany his friend back home.  Their bags were already being loaded on the plane.  All they had to do now was convince Gary to turn lose of his namesake.

Gary jiggled the baby in his arms as he made faces at the softly cooing infant. His mom had baby Alex giggling in her stroller just a few feet away.  Gazing into that chubby, smiling face, Gary was, again, struck by a feeling of envy at his friend’s good fortune.  Who could ever have figured Chuck would one day have everything that Gary had ever wished for?

Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair.

“We really have to go now, Gary,” his mom said as she straightened up.  With a wistful sigh, she gazed at the closest she would probably ever come to a granddaughter.  “They just announced our flight a second ago.”

“Shhhure, Mmmmom,” Gary sighed.  He looked up to see a flight attendant headed their way.  Reluctantly, he handed the baby to Jade.  “Lllooks llike . . . esss-cortt.”

“Mr. Hobson?” the pretty redhead asked.

“G-guil-ty,” he replied.

“I’ve been asked to tell you that your party has been upgraded to ‘first-class.’  If you’ll allow me,” she added, “I’ll take you to your seats.”

Puzzled, Gary let her take the handlebars of his chair.  As she wheeled him away, he turned his head for one more look at the two women and their tiny charges.  He was already missing his godchildren.

“Whh-why zzzthe sssspe-sssial . . . trrreat-mmmentt?” Gary asked.

“Yeah,” Chuck wondered.  “I didn’t think the airlines did things like that anymore.”

The attendant just smiled.  “I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” she replied.  “Perhaps the captain will have a chance to explain.”

The trio was soon made comfortable in the first-class lounge at Gary’s stammered request.  He still didn’t feel very comfortable among other people, especially strangers.  His mom and Chuck made small talk, trying to draw him into talking.  They met with limited success as he mostly responded in mumbled monosyllables.

After they had been airborne for a half-hour or so, the attendant returned to see if they needed anything.  She was closely followed by another uniformed figure.

“Captain Bailey!” Lois exclaimed.  “How nice to see you!  Are you the pilot?”

“No, Ma’am,” he replied, smiling as he took a seat near Gary.  “I’m ‘deadheading’ home for my vacation.  When I heard you were aboard,” he added, addressing Gary, “I decided to come up and see how you were doing?”

“Fffine,” Gary murmured.  “Sssoo, yyyou . . . ?”  He waved a hand in a questioning gesture which encompassed the lounge.

“Not me,” the pilot admitted.  “Not this time.”

“Then who did?” Lois asked, puzzled.

“The owner and president of the airline,” was the surprising answer.  “His sister is married to a guy name Phillips,” Bailey continued, grinning.

“H-har-old . . . Phhhil-llipss?” Gary stammered.  “Jj-Jean . . . isss . . . nnniece?”

Bailey gave the stuttering man a puzzled look.

“I think what Gary is trying to ask,” Lois spoke up for her son, “is Jean Phillips’ uncle the owner of this airline?”

“Yes, and he loves her to death,” Bailey nodded.  “He found out I know you, so he asked me to pass on the message that you will never fly anything less than first-class on this airline.  That includes anyone who is flying with you at the time.”

“Wow, Gar!” Chuck exclaimed in a hushed whisper.  “Even the President doesn’t rate that kinda treatment!”

“The President didn’t hang off the side of a two-hundred foot cliff,” Bailey commented dryly, “with a vein full of rattlesnake venom, to save the life of a girl he knew less than a week.  Or stay by the side of a child he didn’t know at all, to make sure the doctors didn’t overlook a life threatening injury.  The President puts his career on the line to run the country and make decisions that affect the way the world runs.  You save lives, Gary.  One life or a hundred.  It’s all the same to you.  That’s what sets you apart from everyone else.  What makes you special.”

“Dddon’t fffeeell . . . ssspesh-shal,” Gary murmured, his face taking on a brilliant shade of scarlet.  “Ffffeeelll . . .uuunnn-llluck-ky.”

“I can only hope that the rewards waiting for you in heaven are worth what you’ve gone through on earth,” Lois told her son.

“Amen to that,” Bailey sighed, rising to his feet.  “Well, I have friends waiting for me down below, but I’ll probably see you before we land.  Good-day, and good-luck.”

They bid him a good flight as he exited the lounge. They never knew that the moment ‘Captain Bailey’ descended the stairway he changed, becoming another person entirely.  It was the camp counselor, Andrew, who reached the bottom step.  Shaking his head sadly, he wondered if Gary Hobson would ever feel good about himself again.

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

“Nervous, hon?” Lois asked her fidgety son.  The two of them were seated in the first-class lounge of the jet liner that was flying them home.  She looked over at Gary who was tapping the right arm of his chair in a rapid tattoo.

“Llit-tle,” Gary admitted.  “Ah ww-wan-ted . . . t-t-to . . . wwalk o-off . . . p-p-pllanne.”

“I know you did, dear,” Lois sighed.  “But your legs just aren’t strong enough yet.  You were barely able to stand in your last therapy session.  That nice young lady said you’re trying to rush things.  You have to learn to crawl before you can walk.  Just like a baby.”

“Nnnnott mmba-by, Mmmom,” Gary protested.  “T-t-tired ovvvv c-c-craw-ling.  Wwwwant . . . tttoo . . . wwwalk.  Jjjust . . . tttwoo ssstt-epss!”

At that moment Chuck returned from the washroom.  He sat down next to Lois just as the ‘Fasten Seatbelts’ sign came on.

“The flight attendant said we got in just before the flight of some political bigwig,” he told his friends.  “We’ll be touching down in just a few minutes.  You doing okay, pal?”

“D-d-dan-d-dy,” Gary grumbled.

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

Miguel Diaz was among the crowd of reporters waiting at the gate for the senator’s plane to land.  He was idly snapping a few ‘background’ shots when he spotted a familiar face from across the concourse.

“Mr. Hobson?”  He took a few steps closer.  Sure enough, it was Gary’s father.  ‘Who was he here to greet?’ he wondered.  ‘And there was Marissa Clark, Zeke Crumb, and . . . OhmiGod!’  Brigatti, Winslow, and even Armstrong had just joined the little group!  What was going on?

Then he saw three equally familiar faces in the crowd coming off the flight that had just landed.  With a big grin, he turned to one of the TV reporters.

“Hey,” he hissed.  “You want a story with a little more local color to go with this fluff piece on some politician?”

“Whatcha got in mind, Diaz?” the woman asked.

“Remember the guy who saved the kid from freezing last Christmas?” he asked, pointing toward the loading/unloading area.  “The same guy who was up to his neck in that ‘Scanlon’ mess.”

She most certainly did remember, hurriedly telling her cameraman to focus in on the wheelchair bound man rolling into the gate area.  She was already preparing a quick comment on the return of a local hero, when she saw a uniformed figure step up next to the handsome young man.  To her bewilderment, he offered the man in the wheelchair a pair of wooden crutches.  At first, the young man, whom she belatedly recalled was named Hobson, seemed as confused as she felt.  Then a slow smile spread across his face.

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

Gary looked up into the face that he expected to belong to Captain Bailey.  Instead, he found himself staring into the smiling face and hazel eyes of the enigmatic man he had come to know as Andrew.  The sandy haired man was holding out a pair of wooden crutches.  The name and emblem of ‘Hickory General Hospital’ was clearly emblazoned down each side.  Stunned, Gary recognized them as the same pair that had followed him on his trip back in time.  The pair that he had used to foil Marley’s attempt to kill and discredit Lucius Snow during that fateful day in Dallas, in 1963.

Dazed, Gary had no idea, at first, what Andrew expected him to do with them.  Then a slow smile spread across his weary features as he understood.  Reaching down, he quickly engaged the brakes on his wheelchair.  He then grasped each leg, one at a time, and moved them off the pedals before flipping them out of his way.  With the aid of his mom and best friend, Chuck, he pushed himself to his feet and positioned the props under his arms.  Mindful of his dad and several of his friends, especially Marissa, standing less then ten feet away, he concentrated on his right leg.  At first it seemed as if nothing was going to happen.  Taking his lower lip between his even white teeth, Gary poured all his will into the simple act of moving that one foot just a few inches.  Sweat beaded his brow as he felt that leg tremble slightly.  Then, to his overwhelming joy and relief, it slowly inched forward!

Almost dizzy with a sense of elation, Gary nonetheless kept his mind focused on his Herculean task.  His job was only half done.  Keeping most of his weight on the crutches, he began to slide the left foot forward with just as much effort as it had taken for the right.  It hurt!  Oh, God, it hurt!  Muscles that had only recently relearned to move of their own accord protested at being forced to exert themselves.  Knees that had not had to bear weight for more than seven months threatened to buckle as he forced them to support him for just two more awkward steps!
 

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

‘This is incredible!’ the reporter thought.  ‘Things like this don’t happen in real-life!’

She watched as, propping himself on the crutches, Hobson bit down on his lower lip with an expression of hope and determination.  Her breath caught in her throat as his right leg trembled slightly then, with excruciating slowness, inched forward.  Even from where she stood, the newscaster could see the sweat standing out on his forehead as he put just as much effort into shifting the other leg.  He reminded her of nothing so much as a newborn colt trying out its legs for the first time.  Her coming interview with the dignitary, who’s plane was disembarking at that very moment, was suddenly paled by comparison to this incredible scene.  As they all watched with bated breath, the young man took two more laborious steps before, exhausted, he had to be helped into the wheelchair the woman slid up behind him.

Her carefully planned speech flew right out the window as she watched Gary Hobson’s family and friends gather around him in tearful exuberance.  They began pummeling his shoulders and hugging his neck as he settled back with a weary sigh.  She gazed into his smiling face and said the only thing that could fit this occasion.  The very same thing that every other newsperson present was preparing to say at that exact moment.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she murmured into her microphone, “we have just witnessed a miracle!”

**fin…… for now**

Return to Installment 8

Email the authors: Polgana54@cs.com
 

Back Home to McGinty's

Stories by Title

Stories by Author