PART ONE

"The Man Divided"

He�d been here before.

The whisper of breath on skin, the warm draft of air as murmured words brushed over his bowed head and lifted his tousled hair. This was familiar, safe, and warm. A place to retreat to as darkness stole over him.

He reached out and felt the trembling in his limbs as he groped blindly, seeking the nameless solace of that presence. Words like puffs of fitful wind caught in his throat and died on his dry lips. No sound could penetrate the darkness. Lingering gauze of nightmare kept his eyes tightly closed, caused his breath to come in ragged gasps.

�Shhhhhh�

A sigh of air against his temple, a flutter of cool fingers across his sweaty brow and down his cheek. More words, alarmingly repetitive as if spoken to a child, encouraged him to lie back, to relax. Assured him that he was safe. The phrases fell slightly out of rhythm as if unfamiliar to the one who voiced them. Words tinged with desperation and fear and something more.

His hands stilled, seemingly of their own accord. He concentrated on moving his parched lips. They cracked and pulled apart with an internal shriek of agony. Why? How? When? Questions voiced in silent shock as he struggled to speak.

Cold penetrated his senses as his back made contact with a hard unyielding surface. The floor? When had he fallen? Confusion swirled in wispy crimson circles with the pounding of his pulse. The words returned, the voice comforting and gentle in his ear. He turned towards it and heard the rough brush of his head against the unyielding stone. Pain shot up his spine and in jagged splinters across the base of his neck. He hissed between his teeth, amazed and terrified at the sound.

Hands touched him. They ran the length and breadth of his tired aching body. Inevitably the fingers touched where they had touched. He wanted to pull away, willed his limbs to react to his strident inner demands. There was no response beyond that initial hiss of air, only agony sharp and paralyzing in its intensity. More often a dull throb that splashed stars and ruby streaks of color across his vision with every beat of his heart.

Who were they?

Who was he?

It was a dream, had to be. Warmth and comfort were a distant memory in this dreary place. He had ceased prowling the confines of his wretched domain some time ago. Was it after the fifth beating or the tenth? Was it because he could no longer stand, or even crawl? Did it matter?

Memory had fled into the blackness behind his eyelids. Dare he open them? Confirm what he was beginning to suspect.

His senses were tormenting him now, as they had on countless occasions. Torn and twisted by the manipulations of his captors. Teasing him with the fantasy of safety, the illusion of tenderness, even his skin had betrayed him. Haunting sensations of gentle hands examining his injuries and soothing him with cold compresses and warm blankets.

He felt his eyelids flutter involuntarily and he squeezed them tightly closed. No, he would not look. There were only walls, high and damp. Blocks of black, brown and gray covered in slick, yellow mold. Somewhere high above him he knew there was a single window. He saw the shadow of the bars when the sun was out, felt the draft of an icy breeze and the chill of the rain, but never did he see the stars.

The world beyond his eyelids was as dull and lifeless as the naked sky he glimpsed through the irregular bars. There was no point in looking.

When he could still think coherently he had determined that he was in a tower of some kind. The only entrance a grated hole in the floor. At first, he had fought like a savage every time someone, something, had dared poke its head out.

They had discouraged that reaction ruthlessly and completely.

Now he sat in a corner, meek and terrified at the first clang of their approach. The grunt of their exertions as they unlocked the grate and shoved it aside caused him to press himself tight against the wall, a futile attempt at merging into the unyielding stone. The waft of their fetid breath a minor precursor to yet another round of pointless interrogation.

What did they want?

He had forgotten long ago what could possibly have interested his captors. Now he simply stood until he could no longer bear the pain and his knees buckled. Then he slid to the floor, too exhausted to move, barely the strength to grunt or twitch as they prodded him.

They had little imagination but their energy was boundless. His body was slowly giving in to their stamina. Shutting down despite the internal mantra that had played ceaselessly in his brain. The inner voice that encouraged him to hang on, that someone was coming to get him. He had forgotten who that someone was not long before he forgot entirely who he was. The knowledge knocked from his brain by a savage blow that had nearly split his hard skull. He simply existed now, waiting for the nightmare to end behind a final black curtain. Even the voice had finally fallen silent, leaving him alone and abandoned within the gray emptiness of his own mind.

The movement of the hands drew him away from his internal ramblings. They rolled him on his side, running probing fingers down the length of his spine to his waist. More hands, different, rougher in texture, but no less gentle trailed down his legs and across his bare feet. Words trembled close against his ear as he was again laid flat.

The pulsing world behind his eyelids spun sickeningly. He knew he would have retched had there been anything left inside the empty crater that was his stomach. Acid rose in his throat and burned the back of his mouth and he gasped between clenched teeth. The effort to move, even slightly, dimmed the sensations to a mere wisp of memory.

This can�t be real�but if not, then why?

His captors seemed to have forgotten that daily or at least weekly sustenance was a requirement for his species. He could not recall the last time a scrap of rubbery meat rolled inside soggy bread had been thrust through the grate into his grasping fingers. He had taken to holding his mouth against cracks in the walls whenever it rained. Sucking the precious moisture from the moldy stones despite the taste and smell.

Now the voice was closer, right in his ear. Urging him softly and then louder to wake up. Addressing him in a fashion that he could not comprehend, but was nonetheless familiar. The words paused and he felt himself slipping away from them and the hands that rested on his shoulders.

The hands shifted and settled on either side of his face. Pressure firm but gentle, skin slightly moist and warm. The voice that reached him was clear and sharp. The name that fell between them apparently uncomfortable to the speaker, but nonetheless filled with emotion. �Jack, wake up!�

Commanding him to open his eyes, begging him to see�her?

Who was Jack? Vague wisps of memory pulled at him as he struggled to raise his hand from the floor.

His identity had fled into the void long ago. Replaced with silence both inwardly and outwardly. She was calling him again, saying the name over and over.

�Jack, can you hear me? We�re here. You�re safe. Jack, open your eyes. Jack, come back to us.�

A pause so long that he was sure the fantasy had finally ended. It had happened before.

�Jack, you can�t die on me now.�

He succeeded in raising his hand from the cold stone. It hung limply at the end of his wrist before falling against something covered in fabric. His fingers flexed until he gripped the object. The hands against his face trembled slightly, and a rush of air washed over him as she gasped softly.

�Teal�c, I think he�s coming around.�

�O�Neill!�

A deep rumble of a voice, fear shot through him at the unfamiliar title. Who, what? His fingers gripped tighter to the�arm�of the woman.

Save me! Don�t let them take me out of here again!

He knew without doubt that this would be the final nightmare. Secretly he was glad, if he had to finally succumb at least he could do it with a sense of security and warmth, even it if was just another delusion.

�Jack, hang on!�

Something was different.

He had been here before as well. Lying helplessly on his back, a light overhead turning the world behind his eyelids a dull, pulsing orange. Heat spread across his sore body, occasionally dampened by the scant shadows that passed over him. He was moving. Up and down, occasionally jarred sickeningly sideways. His stomach was doing a slow, anxious roll playing with the liquid he had somehow swallowed, though he had forgotten how or when. The grunts and sporadic curses of his carriers flitted through his consciousness, teasing him to open his eyes and study their faces. He resisted the urge with a ragged sigh that seemed to surprise them.

The stretcher beneath him settled to the ground and he heard the shifting of feet against rocks. A shadow fell across him plunging him into deeper darkness and sending an involuntary shiver down his damp back. The hands came again, now dry but still warm against his face. �Colonel?�

�Sam?� The voice was male and hesitant. �His name seemed to work better back in the fortress.�

Sam? Who? Why did the name bring him a sudden sense of peace?

�Indeed.�

The rumbling voice was still present. A shock of fear licked across his raw nerves, banishing the sense of safety he had begun to cultivate. He felt his hands twitch in a vain effort to ward off the unseen foe.

�Jonas�I� She seemed to be addressing the first speaker and he relaxed slightly, unsure why this was good, but too confused to analyze it any further. He felt her shift, though her hands did not leave his face. �Jack, you�re safe. Do you hear me?� The whisper was controlled but could not hide the urgency of the speaker. One hand left his face and trailed down his arm. Grasping his cold fingers in hers she leaned closer. �Squeeze my hand, tell me you hear me, Jack�

From deep within, his former self clawed and fought violently to be heard above the din of delusion.

Are you a dream? A fantasy sent to plague me? A hallucination of the world I was once a part of but now can only dream about in between bouts of painful confusion?

I hear you! The voice howled triumphantly from some disconnected part of his scarred psyche.

Taking his cue from the irrepressible Ego, despite deep reservations, he concentrated all his strength into one single finger. The trembling digit flexed and slowly curled around her grasping hand.

�Thank God.� The rush of her exhalation washed across his face and lifted the hair from his sweaty brow. �Come on, we have to get back to the Gate.�

�Agreed, are you ready JonasQuinn?�

He gripped her hand tighter as the deep voice rolled over him. She did not pull away as he was raised up and they began to move again.

There was something familiar about the voice that had called him O�Neill. A vague sense that this creature was different from his tormentors, that somehow he was safe beneath its watchful gaze. The urge to look rose again but he shoved it back with force. Denying the Ego that sulked and growled in the back of his mind.

No, it�s too soon to break the spell. Lets see where this fantasy is going.

It wasn�t the first trip he had taken to escape the slimy walls of his prison. An internal adventure designed to distract his mind from its determined tumbles of ultimately useless thoughts. But there was something different about it.

The feeling of movement, the timbre of the voices, the steady heat that bathed his face and his sore aching frame� Sunlight? The sensations were different, persistent, unlike his prior fantasies. He strained to hear the warning clank of his returning captors. The muted rush of the wind and the occasional call of a bird greeted his ears.

This was new.

The knowledge sent a wave of paralyzing fear through his inert frame. Had he finally lost it? Was this what the world became when death was merely a breath away? He gasped and twitched stiffly, fighting the inevitable. The hand tightened around his and words were exchanged above him. Fear jumbled them into incoherent syllables.

Jack?

Memories gray and hazy tugged at his thoughts. Was Jack his name? They seemed to think so and on some level so did he.

I hear you!

The voice had returned. His inner dogged demon urging him to reach out. It had heard the woman, knew instinctively that she was safety. The comforting thought rolled around his tired mind, bouncing painfully off the dark walls of his subconscious. Images flashed before his mind�s eye. A woman, different somehow from the person who now held his hand. A child, his shining face graced with a bright, toothy smile and laughing brown eyes. A man with glasses, often somber but filled with the innocence of youth and the passion to know anything and everything. Another man, tall and proud. His broad, dark face set in stone, his brown eyes alive with ghosts and a secret fervor for justice. A smaller man, his face often alit with a smile of pure wonder. An older figure, feelings of paternal pride emanating from his bright blue eyes. Finally, another woman appeared, the same woman who now clung to his icy fingers. He wasn�t sure how he knew it was she only that it was.

The faces held no names. How could he know what drove them? What caused the light and the sadness that hovered in their ghostlike faces? Like the name, his name, they produced little more than a flash. A startling hum across his nerves, that left him weaker with each passing moment.

I hear you, but who am I?

�SG-10, do you read?�

The frantic question drew him back from the chasm of darkness that had enveloped him. The woman, Sam, was yelling. Her voice controlled. but filled with tension. The anxiety settled across him like a blanket and he gasped beneath the weight of it. The hand returned to his shoulder and squeezed briefly before drifting away again, followed by the sound of feet shifting on loose stones.

Open your eyes! Take stock of the situation!

The internal order seemed foreign and pointless to his confused psyche. What did it matter where his mind had taken him? Ultimately, he was still stuck in the high- walled cell, just as he had been for more days than he could remember. The smells of earth and flowers, the static hiss and heat from some unseen menace, followed by an indecipherable clatter from his position. These were delusions they had to be.

The air crackled and burned as something hot streaked past his ear and impacted the ground. A shower of dirt and debris fell across him and he winced and spat the dirt from his lips.

�Colonel�Jack, are you okay?� The other man�s voice followed by a hand patting his shoulder, �We�re right here with you.�

Here, where is here? He had been alone in the cell since�the beginning? Since a time he could not remember. Lost like the rest of his memory beneath the crushing blows of his captors. But he knew without doubt that he was alone. The voices, the smells and the sounds, had to be a part of his fragile mind. Raising up to bait him into a sense of security.

They weren�t coming for him, whoever they were. No, there were only them now. Tireless in their cruelty, asking questions he did not understand. Pummeling him with fists and clubs when he did not reply. Guttural streams of alien gibberish raining down on him along with their spit and disgust.

Alien?

Was that the word he wanted? Was that why they were so cruel as they sought the answers he could not provide?

The air electrified and a body fell across him, as a loud explosion rocked the earth. He felt the sting of more fine grit and sand. Heard the snap of a tree limb as the whip thin tip lashed across his legs. He moaned and cried out, the first true sound to escape his lips since this latest fantasy began.

Who am I calling out to? There is no one here with me, no one to care. Why not scream in agony? He knew the answer to the last question even as it formed. His lips compressed into a thin line over his clenched teeth. No, they would not have the satisfaction of knowing their latest machinations had given him such a vivid fantasy.

The urge to look down at his emaciated body and survey the damage his mind insisted had just happened, was almost overpowering. He shook his head and bit his tongue at the fresh stabs of agony across his neck. His fingers tingled and the pain vanished abruptly from his legs. He could not feel his toes or his aching knees. The weight of the tree limb disappeared beneath the haze of horror that suddenly gripped his insides. The body that had fallen across him slowly removed itself. It had been Sam. Her voice was gasping and soft with controlled fear as she spoke again. The words drifted at the periphery of his consciousness nearly drowned beneath the weight of his fears.

The pain returned suddenly with explosive force, ripping a gasping sob of agony and relief from his raw throat. Fiery pinpricks raced up his limbs and shot stars across his vision, setting the world behind his eyelids ablaze with color.

This was new.

The random thought caused his lips to upturn in a painful grimace. A chuckle crawled up his throat, emerging as a wracking cough that sucked the air from his lungs.

�MajorCarter, now!�

The deep, rumbling voice came from the direction of his feet. He was lifted with sickening speed and nearly bounced from the stretcher as they rushed forward.

The air hissed and cracked, ash and bits of wood and dirt rained down upon him as they moved over the landscape. Voices raised high with urgency, not panic, sounded sharply from all sides. Some close by, others sounding tin like, mechanical and much further away.

They stopped and his stomach lurched in protest. A dribble of acidic liquid ran from his cracked lips and down his chin, despite his best efforts to breath through the sudden nausea.

Just as abruptly they were moving again. Shouts and more static filled the air accompanied by the chatter of�weapons�from their position as they ran.

�Jonas, send the signal!�

The order barked clearly in the confusion by the woman who ran panting by his side.

�Sent!� the man replied. They moved upwards and suddenly they were in the coldest place he had ever been. He opened his mouth and screamed.

The world returned in a painful cacophony of sound, assaulting his hypersensitive ears and drowning out the last dregs of his terrified exclamation. A high-pitched mechanical shriek filled the air and a myriad of voices talked over and around him. Low, soothing tones were interrupted by sharply barked commands that made little sense to him. The stretcher was carried at a slightly downward angle and then lifted and placed on a softer surface.

He squeezed his eyes tightly closed slowly raising a feeble hand to rest across his forehead. Blotting out the intrusive overhead light that made his eyeballs throb beneath their bruised lids. Someone touched him and attempted to lay his arm across his chest.

NO!

The internal denial was thunderous, ricocheting through the void of his subconscious. The blood roared in his ears, and his formerly limp appendage became steel hard and immobile across his suddenly sweaty brow.

This was getting too real! The smells: oil and sweat, disinfectant and fear. The steady thrum of alarms and the chatter of voices close by and far away. The light that poured down on him, unnaturally bright, seeking to assail his starved eyeballs with its insistent glow. The hands that eventually forced his arm aside, despite his determined struggle.

�Colonel, I need to see your eyes. I need to see if you have a concussion.� Another female voice traded words with one of his companions.

�He isn�t responding to his rank, Doctor. We�ve been calling him by name, it�s the only thing that seems to reach him.�

�Jack.�

The male voice slowly connected with one of the random images tossed out by his fevered mind. Jonas Quinn, the rumbling voice had used the name earlier before they entered the wormhole�

Wormhole?

The term meant nothing but somehow it fit with the rush of nothingness and the bone chilling cold that had drawn the frantic scream from his lips.

He felt a body lean closer and heard Jonas� soft voice in his ear. He struggled against the restraining hands of his unseen assailants, blocking out the murmured words of encouragement until the voice rose sharply. �Jack, stop! Doctor Fraiser is trying to help you.�

Jack, the man he was/is, recognized the words for the command that they were meant to be. He relaxed into a trembling mass, steeling himself for the visual onslaught as cool fingers peeled back one quivering eyelid.

As they proceeded down a narrow corridor, she�Doctor Fraiser�Janet, looked briefly in each eye. Murmuring words beneath her breath and receiving an answering mumble from other voices, male and female that surrounded him.

He heard a soft chime and the rumble of something distinctly mechanical. The pit of his stomach dropped into his toes and he moaned softly as vertigo drove bile up into his aching throat. Hands rested on his shoulder and clutched his wrist. He felt a sharp pin prick on the back of his hand and heard a ripping sound. Pressure was applied and he felt a cool coil of�plastic? Come to rest along the length of his arm and nestle in the slight crook of his elbow.

More words rolled over him. Orders he was certain, issued from Janet to the bodies that pressed close by his sides. He felt the platform beneath him resume its forward progress. Eased around a corner and then maneuvered gently sideways.

�On three. One�two��

He braced himself, knowing instinctively what was coming.

�Three!�

He was lifted and placed on an even softer surface�

A bed?

What is this place? When had his captors felt the necessity to provide him any sort of comfort? What could this possibly mean? Was it another precursor to a new, more inventive torture?

In another time and place, blessedly forgotten for the most part, there had been a more imaginative adversary. A manipulative creature who�s deep voice mocked his dreams for months. His cruel twisted games sending him spiraling through previously unknown avenues of pain and suffering. A Being who defied understanding, despised logic, and reveled in his agony.

But the tormentors that housed him in the stone cell were not as patient. They wanted their questions answered immediately. They had no interest in the process and no imagination to their rigors. Since he could remember, they had simply settled for beating him bloody. Clueless to the effect their blows were having on his slowly weakening body and deteriorating mind.

Now, there was a bed.

There were people, beings like himself, swarming around him. Inflicting minor discomforts that seemed to be leading to greater comfort. The steady drone of equipment and voices lulled him. As he slipped into the darkness again he felt a hand come to rest in his, gently stroking his palm.

�Jack, its okay, sleep.�

A hand smoothing the blankets across his chest jolted him awake. His eyes moved beneath their lids as his mind began to slowly churn. Memory returned and he was reminded of the fantasy�reality�of his current situation.

The permanence of the sensations that assaulted him was reinforcing the previously unacceptable notion that he was indeed out of the cell. The odor of disinfectant was sharp in his nostrils. The blankets beneath his raw fingers felt soft and free of grit, unlike the ragged scrap they had tossed him after a particularly heavy downpour. The muted beep of a monitor and the steady burble of an IV pump were constant undertones to the quiet conversation happening somewhere beyond the end of the bed.

The latent knowledge of what these machines were and what they were doing for him flitted at the back of his brain. A moving picture show, choppy and off color, filled with splices and gaps that left him frantically groping for more.

The who of Jack was still a mystery.

He found himself wishing desperately that the hushed conversation hovering just within earshot would rise in timbre. Clues to who and where he was lay with these people, he was positive of this knowledge, though oblivious to its source.

You have to open your eyes.

Jack, the Ego, was whispering again. Urging the now dominate Id to take the plunge, signal to these people that he was aware of his surroundings.

He resisted the voice, arguing stridently. His inner turmoil was fueled by fear of retribution. The last time he had opened his eyes, they had been there. Several of the lanky creatures armed with a variety of weapons, including something he could only describe as a cattle prod. No, he couldn�t look.

What if it were only a dream?

He fingered the cloth beneath his hands and felt the pull of the IV on his arm as he moved.

No, there was something more here!

The Ego was louder now, more insistent. Dammit! Take a chance!

He cracked one eyelid.

The room around him was a dull gray in color. The walls were smooth, without the rainbow streaks of mold that had coated his cell. Tables hugged the walls, most of them held monitors that flickered restlessly. Trays of instruments, medical supplies and drugs were arranged neatly within easy reach of his bedside. He opened both eyes and let his gaze travel the length of the bed and slowly climb up the opposite wall until they encountered a broad window.

The conversation had ceased, and the speakers were quietly watching him. People he recognized from the kaleidoscope of images that had spun through his minds eye a lifetime ago. Sam�Jonas�Daniel�General Hammond� The persistent, internal voice trailed into silence for a brief moment before erupting joyfully as it found the last name. Teal�c! The rumbling bass voice had a name and he was filled briefly with hope. These were his rescuers�

Jack�s rescuers.

Who am I?

He is me I am him.

The fractured nature of his mind forced a weak moan from his lips. These are my friends, Jack�s friends. They have brought him, me, home.

We are one in the same!

But no, it wasn�t true. A part of him lay in the cell. In agony, bleeding his life onto the filth encrusted floor while the creatures bark their twisted laughter and toss crumbs of stale bread across his pitiful form. He was still there, and yet he was here. Listening to the comforting hum of the infirmary and gazing blankly at the worried faces in the observation window.

More latent terms swirled through his head drawing the voice of Jack, of reason, ever closer to the surface. He struggled, but was forced to retreat behind the overwhelming veil of images. Memories old and relatively new, each person�s face drew him until he fell headlong into their anxious gaze. He reached out to them, watching his hand rise trembling from the bed and stretch splayed fingers towards them. They moved when he did, fleeing the window and leaving him bewildered by their disappearance.

Rapid footsteps closed in and he winced and turned stiffly away as they flooded into the room.

�One at a time,� Janet cautioned from somewhere near his head.

A flurry of comments washed over him as she checked his pulse and adjusted the dressings that covered various parts of his body.

�Everyone needs to remember that the Colonel has been deprived of anything remotely resembling companionship or comfort for a considerable length of time. I�m sure this is a bit overwhelming for his senses.� Janet�s gentle words cut through the voices and he repressed sigh of gratitude for the merciful silence.

�Lets clear the room people.�

�Sir?�

�Major?�

�I�d like to stay a moment, if that�s okay?�

�Doctor?�

Cautious words. �For a couple minutes that�s all.�

There were mutterings of good-natured discontent and fleeting words that passed over and through him as the small crowd dissipated into the corridor. He kept his eyes tightly closed as Janet resumed her poking and prodding. After a few whispered oaths and another quick forced look with her penlight, he heard, and felt her step back from the bed.

�He�s stable for now. Stay, talk to him. Sam, he needs you here.�

�Can he hear me, does he even know who I am?� A deep, rattling sigh escaped her lips and sent a shudder through his body. Her voice was thick and sluggish when she continued. �On the planet it was like he wasn�t even there anymore. Like they beat what made him Jack O�Neill into the ground along with the rest of his body. I can�t believe he�s going through something like this again��

�It�s over Sam, don�t dwell on it. You got him back, just like we all knew you would.�

�Is it really over? How many times can he go through this and still come out whole on the other side?�

�I don�t know. Only time will have those answers I�m afraid.�

He flinched as she grazed his shoulder with one soft hand. �Talk to him, Sam. Make him hear you�the person who loves him.�

She gasped and he felt his stomach do a slow sickening roll. Who did she love, surely not the splintered being that lay before her? He felt like an icicle, cold and delicate. Suspended by a glimmering bead of moisture high above the ground. Janet�s retreating footsteps were like the first rays of the rising sun, setting him loose. He plummeted towards the harsh stone floor of the cell. It rushed up to meet his wildly gyrating subconscious, faster and faster�

�Jack?�

The force of the single word slammed into him and he flinched and curled into a tight ball in the center of the bed.

Jack�Jack O�Neill, the man who was him.

The knowledge seemed to emanate from a distant clouded place in his soul. Little by little, it rose and enveloped the Id that had spoken loud and clear for longer than he could recall. He melded and merged into its murky depths with a sickening rush that left him dizzy and weak.

Jack blinked and felt his body slowly unclench. Sam was running gentle, hesitant fingers up the length of his arm and across his shoulder. He took a deep, shaky breath. He could not face her, not now, not yet.

The angry defiant Id that had protected him from an eternity of physical and psychological abuse growled and pouted in the depths of his subconscious. Resentful of his reemerging self, fearful of losing its hold and consequently its� necessity of existence. He suppressed it with a tremulous sigh, fighting for control of his racing heart. His pulse thundered in his ears and warning buzzers sounded from the equipment that surrounded the bed.

Above the din, Jack heard the sharp sounds of approaching footsteps. Sam shifted behind him removing her hand as Janet slipped into view. He could still feel her presence close and comforting as the med staff swirled around his bed. Orders were snapped and he was urged onto his back where he lay unblinking for a long moment. He fought the confusion that clouded his mind, groped for the elusive details of why and how he had become incapacitated.

The gray walls that surrounded them were all too familiar. As the nurses worked to make him more comfortable, details of the multiple visits he had made to the infirmary over the last seven years blended together. Faces of aliens who had caused him grief flashed through his mind, each familiar in their own painful way. As he catalogued them, Jack struggled to identify in some fashion his latest tormentors.

Only the barest outline of lanky figures with deep guttural voices and harsh barking laughter, rewarded his efforts. Eyes like emeralds that gleamed menacingly from beneath horny brow ridges covered in mottled black and gray skin. Nameless and indistinguishable from one another, they came to his cell in twos and threes and dragged him down the stone steps beneath the floor. They carried him as easily as he might carry a child and they laughed when he fought and when he lay still. Fury or submission were equally amusing it seemed. They spoke to him in their language, mocking his attempts to reply. They poked and prodded him until he fought wildly. Years of special operations training had not prepared him for the utter pointlessness of their interrogations. The isolation and the pain, gradually wore him down. Always he searched for reason, for logic, behind their actions.

There had been no point.

Jack swallowed hard and licked his dry lips.

The med staff retreated, leaving only an anxious Doctor Fraiser and a silent Sam by his bedside. Janet rested a hand on his arm and squeezed it gently. �You�re safe here. Colonel, do you know where you are now?�

A single word crawled slowly up his dry throat and hissed out between his bruised lips. �Yes.�

Janet smiled, her brown eyes lighting the room. �Good, do you know who I am?�

�The Napoleonic power monger who runs this little purgatory,� he quipped weakly. Where had that come from? The Id nibbled at the fringe of his thoughts, questioning his words, shaking his sense of equilibrium to the core.

Sam laughed softly beneath her breath and he offered them both a tentative smile. He/I made them happy. I/He couldn�t do that for them.

�I would say you are on your way back to us, Colonel.� Janet reassured him with another squeeze. �Try to relax, you�re giving my staff and equipment enough of a work out already.� She held his wrist and looked at her watch as she checked his pulse. �Are you thirsty?�

He settled for a stiff nod, ignoring the stabbing pain that blossomed across the back of his neck. Where have I been? I�m still there, aren�t I?

Janet disappeared for a moment and then returned with a glass of water. She brought the straw to his lips and watched him swallow the tepid liquid, counting beneath her breath. �That�s enough, lets see if it settles,� she cautioned as she set the glass on a nearby table. �I do have other patients, I�ll be back. Try not to go to far, okay?�

Suddenly exhausted, Jack blinked and watched her walk out of the room through bleary eyes. His lids drifted closed and he heard the scrape of boots as Sam shifted beside him.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and slid gradually down to his upturned palm. Hesitantly, she grasped his sweaty fingers.

He returned her grip. The drugs coursing through his system were drawing him inexorably back towards the darkness. Jack felt himself slipping into the void and he fought it. Fresh terror welled from deep within and he tightened his grasp, knowing he was hurting her by the way she gasped softly in his ear. He willed himself to release her but his body was caught up in the renewed horror of the cell.

He was falling�back into that hell hole!

You never left, the Id assured him with a resigned inner sigh. Don�t you see that?

No, I�m free! Safe and warm, they came for me!

It couldn�t be true. Anxiety twisted his stomach into painful cramps. He bit his tongue, tasting the fresh iron tang of blood. Was it possible that if he slipped beneath the cloying veil of slumber that he would wake up to the feel of the rain on his face and the chill in his bones? That he would never be warm again, inwardly or outwardly? The roiling in his empty gut would return, fresh nausea welling the acid into his throat till his mouth filled with blood. The taste of the mold as he sucked the moisture from the walls�

�Jack, come back to us.� Sam urged softly, her voice reaching through the haze. �You�re safe, in the Infirmary�with me.�

�Sam�� he breathed in confusion. What are you doing here, in this awful place? You�re not here He/I kept you safe. I shot the alien who was outflanking us. The horror with long, flowing green robes and a face like death. You can�t be here now�

�I�m here and so are you, in the Infirmary at the SGC. It�s over, Jack.� Her free hand touched his face, stroking lightly across the bruised flesh. �We got you out.�

The words did not fit the slide show playing in techno color behind his clamped eyelids. The Darkness was coming again. Full and suffocating as it rolled up from the depths of his battered psyche. His eyes snapped open and he stared at her comforting features. �Home?� he whispered in bewilderment, hating the weakness of his voice, longing for reassurance.

�Home,� she affirmed quietly. A small, sweet smile touched her lips and lightened her eyes. She continued to stroke his cheek and he slowly relaxed his grip. �You�re safe, we got you out.�

The world seemed to tilt and dim and Jack closed his eyes against the bout of dizziness that washed over him. Where? The Id was insistent as it rode the waves of fear that coursed through his body. Cold sweat bathed his face and he gasped softly, unable to suppress the emotions in his weakened state. Sam tightened her grip as the beat of the monitors abruptly increased.

�Shhhhh,�

He sucked in a tremulous breath at the soothing sound. Nodding carefully, he felt his mind and body slowly settling towards sleep. The nightmare was displacing reality, or perhaps it had all been an illusion after all. He was resigned to the chill of the cell and the loneliness and futility that painted his existence there. �Will you be here?� he murmured. Unclear as to why he was speaking to the shade that teased his skin with her feather touch and replied to his musing with a quiet peaceful voice.

�Yes, sleep.�

Continued in Part Two The Journey

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