Jack is floating, hanging in a fuzzy medicated haze somewhere just short of consciousness. Because he’s been here so many times, he knows he is in the infirmary well before he registers the sound of beeping machines.

It takes him a while to force his eyes open, and he blinks against the sudden bright light. There’s a dull ache in his chest, the kind of ache that promises to blossom into agony if he’s not careful.

There’s someone nearby - he can hear the cadence of soft breathing, and another sound he can’t readily identify. Forcing his muscles to respond, he slowly turns his head to see Carter perched precariously in one of those uncomfortable plastic chairs.

She is crying. Carter is sobbing.

He knows he isn’t hurt badly enough to merit such an emotional response from his 2IC, so that leaves only one possibility: Carter’s crying over someone else.

The persistent ache in his chest is forgotten as his stomach ties itself into a painful knot. He has to know what happened. He has to know why Carter’s crying.

He doesn’t have on an oxygen mask, which is a nice change, but he can’t quite get his voice to work either. Carter hasn’t noticed him yet, so he pushes up with his elbows, trying to sit up.

Alarms sound and Carter jumps to her feet, wiping frantically at her face. Guiltily, Jack slides back down into a reclining position and waits for Doc to storm through the door, five feet of intensity in high heels, berating him for trying to move.

Only she doesn’t.

“Sir, you’re awake,” Carter says, her voice breaking on the last word. Her voice is clogged with tears, and her nose is running. She looks awful.

A nurse with red-rimmed eyes enters the room, her lips pressed tightly together as if she’s trying to keep from crying herself. “Don’t try to move, sir,” she says, then mechanically checks a few readings. Then a look passes between the two women, and the nurse turns and leaves.

Jack doesn’t think he wants to hear what will be said next. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can make it all go away, as if he can float back into oblivion where nothing matters.

It doesn’t work. He didn’t really expect it to.

“Sir?” Carter whispers, moving closer until he can feel her breath on his cheek. “Sir, I know you’re awake.” Silence. “Sir - ” Her voice chokes off in a sob.

Slowly, feeling very old, he opens clouded brown eyes again. “Carter?” He croaks weakly. With one word, he has managed to ask the million-dollar question.

“It’s Janet,” she says, confirming what he already suspected. Her next words aren’t really necessary, but she says them anyway. “She didn’t make it, sir. She was hit by a staff blast and by the time they got her home - oh God - ”

“Carter.” His hand reaches out to touch hers. “Carter ... ”

She pulls away, swiping almost angrily at the moisture on her face. “I have to - to - ” In her current state, she can’t even think of a good excuse. “Work on something,” she finally finishes, turning on her heel and leaving the room before she loses it completely.

Jack stares at the doorway for a moment, still half expecting to see a feisty redhead in a long white coat come charging through. A single tear tracks its way down his face, and he turns his head quickly, wiping it away on the pillow.

No one sees Jack O’Neill cry.