Deathtrap

Authors: Badgergater and Dileeca

Email: [email protected] and [email protected]

Rating: PG

Pairing: None

Warnings: Violence

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Those NID guys are still out there…

Sequel: to episode Shades of Gray

Season: Late three or early Four

Disclaimer:Stargate SG-1 and it's characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, SciFi Channel, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; Written for entertainment purposes only, no copyright infringement intended, no money exchanged hands

Authors’ Notes:

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The Stargate deep beneath Cheyenne Mountain came to life unexpectedly, the giant Naquadah wheel lurching into movement, the wheel within a wheel spinning, stopping as the first chevron locked. Pausing brief seconds, it reversed, revolving toward the next symbol.

Gateroom technician M/Sgt. Walter Davis hit the alarms at the first movement. He tabbed the activate button on the intercom system, and informed the base, "Incoming wormhole. Offworld activation."

Davis quickly turned back to watch the computer monitors in front of his workstation. Glyph after glyph locked into place, chevrons glowing, the first, second, third, fourth...

General Hammond appeared at Davis's shoulder. "Who is it?"

"Don't know yet, Sir."

"Well, no one's due back until tomorrow at the earliest," Hammond muttered aloud, worried. A team returning early seldom meant anything good. “Call the security team to the gateroom. Now.”

"Yes, Sir." Davis relayed that order as the fifth and sixth codes locked into place, then the seventh and last. Plasma spewed in a controlled wave into the gateroom before receding to cover the surface of the gate, like a giant bubble.

The SF’s waited nervously, guns pointed at the huge alien artifact.

"No GDO code, Sir." Davis waved at his computer screen where the blank space remained.

"Close the iris," the General nodded.

"Yes, Sir," Davis's fingers flew across the keyboard, activating the shield that blocked incoming visitors. "Still no code, Sir," the technician said needlessly 30 seconds later.

---------------------

The atmosphere in the control room was tense as everyone waited.

Suddenly a sharp noise, like something hitting the barrier.

Down in the gateroom, the SF’s braced themselves, guns pointed at the iris-covered gate.

“Sir?” Davis questioned the General.

“Any idea what that was Sergeant?”

“None, Sir,” the technician answered, silently praying it wasn’t someone hitting the barrier.

The tension grew as another impact shook the iris just seconds before the wormhole snapped and disintegrated.

Hammond looked around at Major Samantha Carter who’d just entered the control room accompanied by Sgt. Siler.

"Visitors, General?" asked Carter.

"We don't know, yet." Hammond turned to look at the SGC’s top scientist and best technician. “Find out what hit the iris, and where it was from,” the SGC commander ordered.

-------------

Twenty minutes later, Carter and Siler reported their findings to the General, who was standing in the control room once more, the gate having mysteriously activated again just moments before.

“Major, report,” Hammond ordered impatiently.

“Sir, the iris was hit by rocks…”

“Rocks, Major?” Hammond asked with a sigh of relief. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, Sir. Just bits of stone…”

“As long as there weren’t any sticks,” said Colonel Jack O’Neill, who’d just arrived to join the discussion. At the questioning looks he added, “Sticks and stones may break your bones, and frankly I’ve had enough of those…”

Carter threw her CO as exasperated look. “They were stones, General, which might have been inadvertently blown into the gate if someone was attacked while dialing…”

“Or tossed in on purpose…” O’Neill suggested.

Carter waved a hand toward the gate. “There’s no way to know that, Sirs. But I can definitely tell you where the material originated,” she added. “P2D-941. There’s a unique mineral we found there, and only there, and the residue on the iris was laced with it.”

“P2D-941?” O’Neill lifted his chin questioningly.

"The natives called it Pendarvis, Sirs," said the Major. "We don't have anyone there, do we, General?"

Hammond shook his head no. "Was there anyone on Pendarvis who might call you, Colonel?"

"Pendarvis? Not that I know of, Sir, but then again, the people were friendly. Maybe they just wanted to invite us back for a barbecue?”

"Do they know how to activate the gate? Or our address?" Hammond inquired.

"Most likely. But Carter explained about the iris, and that they couldn't follow us without becoming bugs on the intergalactic windshield."

"Well, someone from Pendarvis just activated the gate."

As suddenly as the alien device had sprung to life, the wormhole closed with a whoosh.

O'Neill stared at the Stargate, as if by doing so he could figure out what was happening. SG-1 had liked the Pendarvins, friendly, welcoming, people, peaceful farmers. "Sir, they might need assistance. I'd like to suggest SG-1 go and take a look."

"We’ll take this cautiously, Colonel. Let's get a MALP ready, get a picture of what's happening. Then we'll decide if anyone goes to that planet."

Half an hour later, the MALP trundled up the ramp and disappeared into the shimmering wormhole.

Major Carter now sat at one of the control consoles beside Davis. "MALP has arrived. We'll have audio and video in three, two, one..."

The blank monitors flickered, steadied and suddenly showed a picture of a planet light years from Earth. It had been less than a year ago that SG-1 had been to P2D-941, and SG-5 had made a follow-up visit a few months later, O'Neill recalled.

There was nothing unusual in the peaceful scene the MALP showed. No humans, no Goa'uld, no Tok'ra, nothing, just waving greenish grass and, in the distance, the universe's most abundant living thing, trees.

"Looks quiet, Sir," said the Colonel, eyes still scanning the details on the viewscreen. "Nothing looks out of place from what I remember, General."

"The MALP isn't picking up any lifesigns within a one mile radius, Sir." Carter reported.

"Then who activated the gate?" Hammond inquired.

O'Neill shrugged as Carter continued staring at the computer screen.

"Sir, I'd still like SG-1 to go and check it out,” the gray haired officer offered again.

Hammond shook his head. "Your team just got back from a difficult mission, Colonel."

"They're all difficult, Sir. We're at 100% and ready to go."

"No, Colonel, Major Carter has that computer update to finish, and I've promised that Dr. Jackson will be available to help Nyan translate that stone tablet SG-4 found on M3X-587.”

“The Pendarvins did issue us an invitation to return any time,” O’Neill wheedled. “And I’ve actually managed to clear all that paperwork off my desk, Sir.” So okay, he’d cleared it off his desk by stuffing most of it, still unfinished into a drawer, but it *was* the truth. Of sorts.

Hammond looked across at his always ready for action second in command, eyes narrowing. “I take it you would like to go, Colonel?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The General considered for another moment, figuring O’Neill couldn’t really have all his paperwork done, but knowing the statement wasn’t an outright lie. Knowing the Colonel, George figured he had probably dumped his unfinished reports into the trash. Still, O’Neill’s strength wasn’t what he could accomplish behind a desk, but what he could achieve in the field. The young members of SG-8 would benefit from even a brief off-world trip with the leader of SG-1. “You and Teal'c can accompany SG-8 on this mission, then Colonel."

O'Neill was not completely pleased. He'd rather be taking his whole team, but at least the General hadn't made him sit this one out. He knew Daniel and Carter always had extra projects to occupy their down time, more than enough, actually. It was a compromise he could live with, however.

"Right, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"We'll brief as soon as you're ready, Colonel."

--------

Within ten minutes, O'Neill and Teal'c were meeting with SG-8’s Major Lee Trexel and his second, Capt. Gordon Carmody. They hastily reviewed search and rescue protocols and worked out a mission plan.

An hour later, the six were in the briefing room meeting with General Hammond: O'Neill, Teal'c, Trexel, Carmody, Lt. Janine Svanoe, and Lt. Darnel Williams. The pair from SG-1 gave a short briefing based on their previous trip to Pendarvis and the natives they'd encountered there as well as the expected terrain and planetary conditions. Trexel presented their S&R plan, and Svanoe, the team's cultural/first contact expert, reminded everyone of the need to handle the situation delicately, since no one knew who or why they'd been called.

Hammond closed his notebook, signaling the meeting was about to end. "Okay people, you have a go. I expect frequent contact, check in every hour on the hour. Use caution, this is an unknown situation you're walking into."

The teams quickly geared up, packing minimal supplies, although O'Neill insisted they double up on armaments and ammo, and stood ready at the base of the gateramp 15 minutes later.

Jack stood near Teal'c as they watched the Stargate activate, the wormhole form, and waited while Hammond and Carter once more studied fresh MALP data.

"I don't see any changes from the earlier images, Sir," said Carter. “Still no lifesigns nearby.”

Hammond nodded and stepped to the mike, looking down into the gateroom at the six SGC personnel awaiting his orders. "You have a go, Colonel."

"See you soon, General." O'Neill set his sunglasses into place and turned to the members of SG-8, waving them to follow. Side by side, he and Teal'c stepped first through the gate.

Jack stumbled as he emerged onto the planet, caught his footing, brought his gun up as he quickly scanned the horizon to his right. "Clear!" he called.

"I see nothing abnormal," added Teal'c, who'd scanned the scene to his left.

SG-8 had also checked the landscape, Trexel turning now to the Colonel. "Sir?"

O'Neill pointed to a cluster of hills. "The village is that way, about eight klicks. Teal'c will take point."

"Very good, Colonel, I'll take the six..."

Nothing seemed unusual or out of place, O'Neill thought, but something still made him wary. Teal'c paused, looking back to catch his team leader's eye, then, with a silent shrug advanced down the well worn path and into the trees.

They found nothing amiss, nothing out of place on the trail, in the woods or in the village. Tulyn and his people were happy, and surprised, to see Jack and Teal'c. No, they had not dialed the gate. No one had seen or heard anything unusual.

O'Neill and Trexel sent scout teams, accompanied by villagers, to scour the area and found nothing.

--------------------

---------------

Trexel was walking next to O'Neill as the SGC personnel once again neared the Stargate.

"I still don't like this, Sir," said the Major.

"Neither do I, Major," O'Neill agreed, frowning. He was relieved that the peaceful people on the planet were okay, but that little warning itch at the back of his neck hadn't gone away. "But we've found nothing. Colossal waste of time. Maybe Carter will have an explanation when we get back. Gate glitch due to sunspots or stray magnetic blizzards or something."

Trexel nodded, clearly disbelieving the wisdom of those words.

O'Neill slid him a look, then let his gaze return to a continued study of the landscape. "Ah, you don't believe that I take it, huh?"

"No, Colonel, I don't."

"Good. Me either. But..." O'Neill shrugged. "Guess we'll just have to keep a closer eye on things here."

Carmody joined the conversation as they approached the gate. "Major Carter talked about setting up motion activated surveillance cameras that would record automatically whenever a gate was activated. We’d been talking about deploying the system on a couple of the worlds we’re most interested in, or where we think we might find other travelers. This might be a good place to give it a try."

Jack nodded. "Good idea, Captain. We'll suggest it to the General."

Once the six SGC personnel were all gathered at the gate, Svanoe began dialing and then punched in SG-5's GDO code. They all waited until she nodded. "Okay, Sirs, the iris is open," she said, and started up the steps toward the wormhole.

There was a sudden explosive pop at the DHD, a thin tendril of smoke spiraling upward from the alien device, and the wormhole winked out of existence.

At the explosion, all six hit the ground.

"Stay down," Trexel shouted to his team.

"What the hell?" cursed O'Neill, eyes rapidly scanning the surrounding landscape.

For several long minutes, no one moved, guns still pointing outward at the surrounding terrain.

Finally, SG-8's commander nodded at his second, who was the team's technology expert. Carmody was on his feet, heading for the DHD. A worried frown crossed his face as he pulled the panel open and peered inside. "Ah, we've got a problem, Sirs."

"Oiy," muttered O'Neill as he climbed to his feet and joined the others who were now clustered around the device. "Well?" he asked. Deep down he'd always known these alien doohickies couldn't be trusted. “What did we do, blow a fuse?”

"There was some kind of glitch in the DHD and that's what shut down the wormhole, Sirs," said the captain, still staring into the base of the DHD.

"Now even I could see that," O'Neill's irritation turned into a sudden, fervent wish he had Carter along. How many times had she fixed these damned alien machines? "What glitched? And how are you going to fix it? Huh?" He fixed Carmody with a full Colonel glare, even as he had that awful feeling beginning to curl around in his gut, the one that said something was rotten in Denmark, er, Pendarvis. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing at full attention.

Carmody’s hands were busy inside the DHD. "There, uh, seems to be something in here, a device I've never seen before. Maybe if I remove it, the DHD will function."

"Oh, there's no need to remove anything, folks," called a voice from the brush behind the gate.

O'Neill and the others spun, hitting the ground, swinging their weapons toward the point where the voice originated.

They were too slow.

They were surrounded by five heavily armed humans, dressed in flat black SG type uniforms, guns raised and pointed directly at the team from Earth.

"Drop the weapons!" the voice ordered.

O'Neill stared around for a moment, licking his lips as he quickly assessed their options. Five against six, but the six had weapons up and aimed. He and Teal'c were the only two on his side who had managed to bring their weapons into line.

Five to two, and his people were all out in the open. And, of course, the unknown enemy might have more people back in the brush. Worst of all, he had no line of retreat, with the Stargate not working, most likely due to the actions of these people.

"Drop the weapons!" the unknown man demanded in perfect American English, and with unmistakable authority. Military officer, Jack quickly surmised.

O'Neill looked around at his makeshift team, and, reluctantly, nodded. Slowly, he set the MP-5 on the ground.

"On your knees," the stranger ordered. "Hands on your heads. Keep your eyes fixed forward."

O'Neill and the others could do nothing else.

----------

The Colonel heard footsteps from behind, quiet sounds of movement as the strangers worked their way through the kneeling SGC team. Finally, the unknown person reached him. A hand expertly grabbed his left wrist and swung his arm around and down, behind his back. O'Neill, coiled for action, followed the motion with his whole body, driving upward and pushing back, making a bid for freedom, his right hand coming around to deliver a punch that impacted the unknown man’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

Something crashed into his jaw, and momentarily, the lights went out as O’Neill hit the ground, hard.

"Idiot!" came the contemptuous voice from the trees. "I should have known, Mr. Hero, that you would be the one to try something like that."

Jack shook his head, trying to clear it as he attempted to pick himself up from the ground, only to find a knee wedged into his back. His hands were quickly wrenched roughly behind him and bound tightly into place. O’Neill wiggled his fingers, straining against the tight bonds that were cutting into his skin. Finally, the weight lifted off his back and Jack pushed himself awkwardly to his knees.

Now that all of the SGC contingent was restrained, another black clad figure emerged from the trees. Slowly, the mystery man walked up to the kneeling group, appraising each one. Finally, he strolled forward to stand directly in front of O’Neill. "Well, well, well, isn't this nice?" He laughed. "Just the man I wanted to see. Colonel Jack O'Neill himself."

"And who the hell are you?" O'Neill asked, squinting upward at the stranger.

A blow in the back sent the Colonel sprawling face first into the dust. "You don't talk like that to the Major,” said the man who’d tied O’Neill’s wrists.

Jack craned his neck around to look up at the newcomer as he struggled back to a kneeling position. "He's a Major? Well, I don't see any insignia on his uniform."

"None on yours, either," snapped the angry voice behind him, shoving him down again.

O’Neill pushed himself awkwardly off the ground, back onto his knees, spitting dust out from between his teeth. "That still doesn't tell me who you are," he asked, mind racing as he tried desperately to place the vaguely familiar face in front of him. He’d seen the man once, somewhere, he was sure, but the details of where or when just hadn’t come to him yet.

"I'm Major Russ Davidson."

O'Neill nodded at the near perfect copy of SGC uniforms. "And just what unit *are* you with, Major?" he asked, contempt ringing through the final word because the Colonel was pretty sure he knew exactly who these people were. "Besides the NID, that is?"

"I'm one of the people you left out here to die, Colonel…”

“Your NID friends are the ones who left…” a blow to the side of his head snapped his teeth shut before he could finish the sentence. Shaking his head, he tried to clear away the black spots clouding his vision.

“Three of my team are already dead, thanks to you. But no more. Now you're going to help us get home."

"Ah, that would be a no. Sorry. I don't help traitors."

A gun butt smacked into O'Neill's jaw, the blow driving him to the ground, his vision going gray. Jack coughed, spitting blood from his cut lip, and despite the vertigo, pushed himself defiantly back up to his knees.

"Someone in your position should be more careful about what words come out of his mouth,” Davidson snarled.

After waiting a moment for the ground and sky to stop spinning, O'Neill started to get to his feet. "Look, Davidson..."

"Get down!" the NID man ordered.

"I, ah, don't kneel well. The knees you know."

Even before Davidson could reach him, one of the others shoved the Colonel back down into the dust.

Davidson had walked away and picked up the GDO one of his men had taken from Svanoe.

The Colonel struggled back to his knees, weaving dizzily. "You know you need the code for that," said O'Neill. "And none of us is going to tell you what it is. You've got nowhere to go. You’re just wasting your time."

Davidson grinned, stepping back toward O'Neill, yanking the Colonel's head back by grabbing hold of the short gray hair. "You are a cheeky son of a bitch, aren't you, O'Neill? Think you know it all. Well, we already have the code. It's right here," he took the little box one of his men had removed from inside the DHD. He hefted the small metal device, covered with odd looking protuberances. "Handy little piece of equipment. Records electronic impulses, like radio signals. Codes."

"And which helpless, innocent culture did you steal that from?" O'Neill tilted his gaze upward at Davidson.

Another blow to the jaw drove O'Neill once again to the ground. The Colonel lay still for a long moment, dazed, groaning, before forcing himself upright, ignoring the way the ground and sky were once again doing lazy loop de loops. He closed his eyes, steadying himself, realizing he wasn't going to be eating anything but oatmeal and soup for days, if not weeks. He tried to gingerly work the hinges of his jaw, feeling things pop back into place. It was already swelling.

"I am not a thief," Davidson's denial was laced with anger. "My people aren't either. We're patriots who aren't blinded by empty promises from those damn aliens.".

"Right. Patriots. Ambushing fellow officers..."

A hand slapped stingingly across his cheek. Oh, I am so going to have bruises tomorrow, Jack thought idly, letting his tongue roll around to check the cuts on the inside of his cheek. He spit more sand from his mouth, mixed with blood this time. "Look, Davidson, there's nothing waiting at home for you but a prison cell. So let these people go and we'll work out something."

"Like you work out deals with aliens?" Davidson snorted derisively. "As if I'd trust you, the way Neumann trusted you? No way."

"You'll get nowhere, *Major.* You know a security team will be waiting in the gateroom."

"Nowhere? With you and five others as hostages? Oh, I don't think it's going to be a problem."

"It will be a problem," O'Neill promised, dark eyes flashing. "You know the military's position on hostage negotiations. No one's going to give in to any of your demands."

Davidson slapped O'Neill again, relishing the chance to have the man he so hated at his mercy. "Gag him," the NID man ordered one of his team.

O'Neill clamped his mouth shut, resisting. The burly soldier earlier addressed as Harris simply swung the butt of his rifle into the Colonel's unprotected midsection. He saw it coming, tried to brace himself and roll with the punishing blow. Regardless, the impact drove the air from his lungs, and he went down, involuntarily opening his jaws in a desperate attempt to draw in the oxygen his empty lungs demanded. Harris stuffed a dusty cloth into O'Neill's mouth, tying it tightly into place.

----------------

The NID team quickly made their departure preparations. While two of them stood guard over the kneeling prisoners, two others walked back into the woods and returned carrying a litter bearing another man, obviously ill or hurt. Davidson walked over to stand near O'Neill. "Ross needs medical help. You, Colonel, are going to get it for us." The NID man pointed to Teal’c. “He can carry Ross. And if you drop him, buddy, I’ll shoot O’Neill. And then her,” he pointed at Svanoe.

The Jaffa looked over at his commanding officer who could do nothing but nod in agreement.

It went exactly as Davidson had planned. Each of the surviving NID team members held a gun to the head of one of the SGC rescue team, and walked through the re-opened gate.

Davidson and O'Neill went through first, O'Neill stubbornly balking, but the rogue officer prodded the Colonel forward, shoving him face first into the wormhole.

They emerged onto the ramp, greeted as always by a security team, guns drawn; two medics with a gurney carrying first aid equipment, Daniel Jackson racing into the gateroom alongside Dr. Fraiser as General Hammond and Major Carter looked on from up in the control room.

The first pair of figures stepped out of the shimmering fluid-like surface, a stranger walking next to a stumbling Colonel O'Neill: stumbling because the other man was pushing him, and Jack’s hands were bound behind his back. "What the hell?" uttered Hammond from his vantage point in the control room.

Carter leaped to her feet from her seat at one of the control computers. "Colonel!"

O'Neill's eyes flickered upward, then spied Daniel and the doctor coming in the door. Damn! He needed to warn them!

Just then, Harris came through beside Teal'c who was carrying the ill Ross. As soon as the Jaffa's booted feet hit the ramp, Teal'c, whose hands had been tied in front of him to allow him to carry the ill man, dropped his burden. Bending down, sweeping his knife from his pocket, he slashed it across the rope binding O'Neill's hands, freeing the Colonel and diving toward Davidson.

Jack tore the gag away from his mouth, shouting "Get out!" at everyone in the gateroom.

Panic ensued.

More figures poured through the Stargate.

The medics and half a dozen other gateroom personnel dived out the door to safety, the gurney overturning, medical equipment bouncing and skidding haphazardly across the floor.

The Security Forces team, unable to distinguish friend from foe in the sudden chaos, couldn't fire. One of them, recognizing Carmody, grabbed the stunned Captain and hauled him out of the chaos, out into the hallway.

"Seal the blast doors!" Hammond ordered, not knowing who or what had really come through the gate. One of the SF's shoved Daniel through, another grabbed too late for Dr. Frasier, and they were trapped as the doors slammed shut.

Teal'c was on the floor grappling with Davidson as O’Neill knocked Harris off balance and plunged down the stairs after the gun Davidson had dropped.

Harris fired his weapon, the bullet spanging off concrete, the shot reverberating in the gateroom. "Stop! Now!" He swiveled his weapon to aim at Svanoe's head. "Anyone moves, she dies!"

The gate room went still and silent. O'Neill was standing at the base of the ramp, just one step short of reaching the NID major's gun, lying on the floor.

"Harris, look, " the Colonel started, "no one's died here. Let's..."

Davidson had gotten up, rolling away from Teal'c, wiping blood from his mouth as he picked up his gun. "Shut up, O'Neill," he spat.

The Colonel kept talking. "Let these people go. I'll stay. You want me, you've got me," he spread his hands in offering. "You don't need them. They'll just be in your way."

Davidson laughed. "Oh no, you're not going anywhere, but neither are they." By now, Davidson had grabbed a struggling Dr. Fraiser, dragging the petite physician up the ramp with him.

"Let her go," demanded the Colonel.

Davidson slapped her. O'Neill's eyes met Teal'c's, drifted slightly to the right, telling the Jaffa the move he planned.

“There would be no purpose to harming Dr. Fraiser,” said Teal’c softly, trying to divert the rogue Major’s attention.

For a split second, it worked, the man’s gaze flicking toward the Jaffa. Without hesitation, Jack took a quick step to the side, and dived for Davidson, attempting to throw himself between the madman and the doctor.

Teal'c reached for Harris, pulling the big man down. Williams elbowed the NID man who held him.

It might have worked, except for one of the SFs who hadn't left the room; he'd dived for cover behind a MALP which sat against the room's back wall, and waited, unseen, and still armed.

The SF, seeing an opening, fired his weapon at one of the black clad intruders. Suddenly, the gateroom erupted in gunfire, both sides seeking any available target, no one sure why, neither commander able to stop the unintended battle.

Shouts, screams, the rattle of automatic weapons fire, bullets bouncing and careening off the walls and the Stargate. The main lights went out, no one knowing if the shots were deliberately aimed to darken the room, or random ricochets. The gateroom was bathed in the eerie red blinking light of the emergency lighting system.

The Colonel took advantage of the distraction and lunged at Davidson, swatting the man aside and pulling Fraiser out of the NID man's grasp, wrapping his own lanky form protectively around her, crashing to the floor over the side of the ramp.

It was over in seconds.

The gateroom went silent except for the muttered curses from those watching in the control room, and groans from several of the bodies lying on the gateroom floor. The warning sirens still blared the red alert signal from the speakers high up on the walls.

-------

Doctor Fraiser found herself lying face down, momentarily stunned, the air knocked from her lungs, something, no, someone, lying on top of her. Colonel O'Neill! He'd pushed her out of the line of fire.

"Doc," he mumbled softly into her ear. "You okay?"

Still working on regaining enough air to speak, she nodded and cautiously raised her head to look around, expecting O'Neill to move. He didn't. "Colonel. Hard to breathe with you lying on top of me."

He mumbled something unintelligible.

"Colonel!" she whispered urgently.

"Hmmm..."

Oh no, her heart went suddenly cold with fear.

"Colonel?" Fraiser pushed at the body pinning her to the floor. "Colonel?"

Oblivious to what was going on in the gateroom around them, hidden for the moment from the NID major still waving a gun from where he stood on top of the ramp, Fraiser knew a moment of panic when she realized she could feel something warm and wet against her shoulder.

O'Neill moaned, put his hands on the floor, trying to push himself off the prone doctor, his arms so rubbery he did little more than shift position. Doc scrambled out from underneath him, quickly rolling the Colonel over onto his back.

"Damn."

There was a neat, round hole through the lower left side of O'Neill's black t-shirt, the dark fabric around it rapidly turning darker with blood.

Up in the control room, orders were frantically shouted. Daniel Jackson and the escaped members of SG-8 raced up the stairs and entered the chaotic scene. "Sir?" asked Jackson, trying to see past the cracked glass to check on Jack and Janet. "What happened?"

Hammond's gaze spotted Carmody. "Captain, report!"

"Apparently, the gate activation on Pendarvis was a ruse to lure us there, Sir," Carmody replied hurriedly, still gasping for air. "One of the rogue NID teams was waiting for us. They had an alien device they'd planted in the DHD. It aborted the wormhole after recording our GDO code. They used it to re-open the gate and the iris, then used us as human shields to come through."

"What do they want, Captain?" Hammond demanded.

"I'm not sure, Sir," he stammered, "other than to come home. And revenge on Colonel O'Neill. Their leader, a Major Davidson, blames the Colonel for his team being stranded out there."

"Oh boy," muttered Daniel.

Hammond turned again to the damaged window, cursing at his inability to see what was going on. The surveillance cameras had been hit in the firefight, so they were getting no video, only sporadic audio. It was hard to make out what was happening down there, but they could hear just enough to know there were more SGC personnel trapped, and wounded.

-----------

Crouched beside the Stargate steps, Fraiser ripped the Colonel's shirt open, placing a hand on the wound. O'Neill moaned again, eyelids fluttering, his hands instinctively moving to clutch the injury, his legs drawing up, curling into a fetal position on the cool gateroom floor. Frasier spied the spilled medical kit, reaching out to grab a dressing, ripping it open and hastily stuffing it under his hands. "Hold that, Sir," she ordered, and he nodded.

"You okay, Doc?" he mumbled.

"I'm fine, Colonel." She was trying to reach more of the med-kit, just beyond her outstretched fingertips.

"Good," he had his eyes all the way open now, looking around. He could see several other people down, hurt or just trying to be inconspicuous he couldn't tell; he could hear Davidson up on the ramp shouting frantically. "Where'd they go? Where'd they go?"

"Hey!" Fraiser shouted, as a hand unexpectedly grabbed her arm, jerking her away from O'Neill.

The Colonel looked up to see it was Harris who'd discovered them.

"Found 'em," the NID man reported triumphantly, dragging Doc to her feet.

"Let me go!" she protested. "This man is wounded, he needs help."

"There are more wounded needing your help, lady," sneered Davidson, grabbing Fraiser and pulling her up onto the ramp. He nodded down at O'Neill. "Get him around here where I can see him," he ordered.

Harris reached down, yanking the wounded Colonel up off the floor. O'Neill groaned, staggered, but pushed himself to his feet defiantly, weaving as he fought to control his buckling knees, hunched over, but standing.

O'Neill was trying to see the others, Svanoe seemed unhurt, as did Trexel. Two SFs were over against the wall, one bleeding from a leg wound, the other trying to help him. One of the NID team was down, along with the ill Ross, both lying on the ramp. An NID team member stood with a gun held to Teal'c's head, and the big Jaffa had blood flowing freely down his arm. From the corner of his eye, Jack could see up into the control room, glimpse the worried faces peering down around the crazed glass which had been damaged by the flurry of flying bullets.

The room got suddenly quiet as someone, somewhere, finally shut down the endless blaring of the warning sirens.

Davidson waved the gun at O'Neill, and toward Teal'c. "You, over there. Now."

Jack tried. He took a step, stumbling, took another, doubled over but Harris grabbed his arm again, pulling him across the gateroom and pushing him down against the wall.

O'Neill hit the floor with a graceless thud, his elbow bouncing painfully off the concrete in the split second before his side flared with agony. Harris then went to the SF's, cuffing the two men together with the manacles he'd taken from one. Next, the big NID man went to Teal'c, and tied the Jaffa's wrists tightly together before pushing him to the floor, and fastening the bindings around the axle of the MALP.

Davidson, meanwhile, shoved Doc to the floor beside his own injured men. "Help them," he ordered, fastening the second set of cuffs, one around her wrist, the other to the ramp railing.

She glared up at him. "Those men are wounded, too," she indicated the SF, Teal’c and the Colonel. "How can I help them..."

Davidson grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, forcing her to look up into his eyes. "Get this straight, Doctor Fraiser," he said, reading the nametag off her labcoat. "Your job is to save those two men," he pointed as the downed members of his own team. "If they die, you die. Got that? The rest of them don't matter."

Janet stared up at him defiantly. "I am a doctor. I'll treat anyone and everyone who's injured. Even your people. But..."

He jerked her again. "No but's, doctor. Take care of them. Then I'll think about letting you look at the others."

"I can’t help any of them without my medical kit," she demanded.

He nodded, and one of the NID team brought it to her. Fraiser knelt beside the men, and worked quickly, tearing open a large dressing and applying it to the wounded man’s chest. She checked the ill man’s breathing, pulse and respiration, deciding he was in no immediate danger. Done treating the two downed NID men, she turned back to the rogue officer. "I'm finished here, for now. Now I need to see them," she pointed to the SGC personnel.

Davidson looked at her appraisingly, then took the key from his pocket and unhooked the cuff locked around the railing. "You cause any trouble, do anything without asking me, and I'll shoot him again," he threatened, waving his gun at O'Neill, "through the kneecap this time. Now, go. There," he pointed to the injured SF.

Fraiser hurried to the man, quickly assessing the leg wound, applying a dressing and giving a shot of morphine and antibiotics. Teal’c’s wound was minor, the blood flow nearly stopped as his symbiote was already working to repair the damage.

She looked across at the Colonel who was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, his long legs splayed out across the concrete in front of him. O'Neill's face was gray and beaded with sweat, eyes half closed, pain lines etched across his face, and his hands somehow still clutched the blood stained dressing she'd given him earlier. Fraiser started to climb to her feet, to go to him, and a hand grabbed her arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Colonel O'Neill needs..."

"Colonel O'Neill," Davidson sneered, "doesn't need a damn thing. He's the least of your concerns. Now get back over here and take care of my men."

"No. The Colonel..."

"I said, the Colonel is not your concern. Whatever injuries O'Neill got, he deserves." The NID commander dragged her back to the ramp, and locked the cuff once more around the railing.

O'Neill followed her with his eyes.

Oh, this was so turning out to be a really bad day, he thought grimly.

*********

Dr. Fraiser's mind was as busy as her hands. While she checked on the condition of the wounded and sick NID team members, she was thinking about the others, her own people. She'd only had a moment to look at the wounded SF, but the leg wound, though causing discomfort, was medically minor, as was Teal’c’s injury.

Janet once more glanced worriedly across the room at the Colonel. There was nothing minor about his injury. From the brief look she'd had at the wound, its location and the amount of steady bleeding despite the application of pressure, she was worried. If it had hit the spleen, he was in deadly trouble, and soon. If not, he had more time, depending on shock and blood loss. If he got past that, any abdominal injury was a ready source of sepsis, a complication that was sure to follow such an untreated wound.

She chanced another glance at O'Neill, seeing the sweat beading on his forehead, the pain lines tightening his mouth, the way he sat silently, eyes closed, head back against the wall, a blood streaked hand pressing the saturated dressing to his abdomen. His stillness was a telling clue to his pain level; normally, he was always moving. The fact that he was sitting motionless increased her worry exponentially.

"The Colonel needs a new bandage," Doc insisted, looking Davidson in the face.

"He needs nothing," the NID man sneered.

"Do you want him to die? Without treatment he will, and soon. I thought the idea was to watch him suffer," Janet was desperately searching for a reason the man might let her check on O'Neill. "And a dead man isn't much good as a hostage."

Davidson looked from her to the still silent Colonel. Nodding, he unhooked the cuff. Janet grabbed for the medical kit but the NID commander snatched it back. He handed her a sterile dressing and pushed her toward O'Neill. "That's all he gets."

Janet hurried across the room and knelt on the floor beside him. "Colonel, Sir?"

The brown eyes opened slowly and he nodded slightly.

"How are you doing, Sir?"

"Me? Just fine," he licked his dry lips slowly.

"Lie down, Colonel, you need to lie down. It will help prevent shock." O'Neill followed her instructions, grimacing with each movement. She quickly took his pulse and respiration, not liking what she was finding, and wishing she had a blood pressure reading, too, though the evidence of his injury was obvious to her experienced eye.

"How bad, Doc?" he asked, as she checked the blood soaked dressing before covering it with the new one.

"It's not good, Sir, but I'm hopeful the bullet didn't hit your spleen. It's not a fatal wound..."

"For the moment."

She nodded. He knew enough about gunshot wounds that she couldn't fool him, and he needed to know the truth. "You're all right for now. But the bleeding probably won't stop and the pain will get worse."

"Oh, goody, something to look forward to," he muttered, closing his eyes against the pain.

"Colonel, stay down as much as you can and keep your feet propped up. Keep pressure on this dressing, it will help slow the bleeding. I'll try to get you some water, but so far they've refused to let my have anything else from the medical kit. I'm sorry, Sir." Distress shone from her brown eyes.

"Doctor! That's it." Davidson shouted, starting across the room toward her. "Time's up. Get back over here, where you're needed. Now."

O'Neill opened his eyes to stare straight into hers. "Don't endanger yourself for me, Doc. Do what you can for the others, and keep your head down."

"I'll do my best for all of you, Colonel," she said, patting his arm, and reluctantly turning away.

**********

Back on the ramp, Fraiser checked the injured NID man, who had a bullet through his upper chest near the shoulder. It was a bad wound, and his breathing was harsh and labored. She shook her head in frustration. Help was so near, such a short distance to the elevator and the infirmary, and yet, now, so impossibly far.

"How is he?" Davidson asked.

"It's hard to tell."

"You're a doctor," the man shouted.

"I need my equipment to do an accurate assessment," she answered angrily, glaring at the stranger she'd heard addressed as Major by his own men. "I need to check his blood pressure and listen to his breathing. I can't help him without the tools I need."

The man glared at her, then relented, motioning Harris to carry forward the medical kit. Most of the scattered equipment had been picked up off the floor and tossed back in the container. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Stethoscope," she answered, and the NID man handed it to her. "BP cuff." He looked confused, she pointed, and again, he handed it to her. Quickly, then, she checked the wounded NID man's breathing, respiration and pressure. Turning to Davidson, she reported, "He needs immediate medical help, more than I can give him here."

"Well, here is all you have so make do, doctor," Davidson ordered. "And no tricks. They die, you die. Remember that."

Fraiser returned to the injured man. The truth was, he was dying, probably would even if they took him to surgery, the wound was that bad. There was nothing she could do for him under these conditions except try to ease his suffering. She injected him with a painkiller that soon quieted his painful moans and stilled his restless tossing. The other man, Ross, had low blood pressure and a slow heartbeat, labored breathing indicating he was gravely ill. "What's wrong with this man?" Fraiser demanded of the NID leader.

"You're the doctor. You're the one who's supposed to know!" he shouted at her.

"Sir," she hated to call him that, to use a term of respect to this madman, but hoped it might calm his temper, "I can see he's very sick, but I don't know why. I need some medical history."

"On that planet, where they left us, three others died, from exposure to the spores in the air, that’s what our medic thought before he died. Too much time outside and they'd get weaker and weaker until couldn't hardly breathe and then after a few weeks, they’d just fade away and die. Moreland, Williams, Arracebo, three good men, died because he," Davidson nodded toward O'Neill, "because that SOB betrayed us, left us stranded there."

"He never betrayed anyone," Doc defended the Colonel.

"Right, lady, right. He just helped the aliens rather than helping his own people."

Fraiser's voice turned steely even as her hands continued to check on the sick NID man. "Colonel O'Neill followed his orders to help our allies recover stolen property, actions that maintained our alliances and will help us fight the Goa'uld."

"Sure, lady, sure. And if you believe that, I've got swampland on PX3-222 to sell you and any other sucker who believes those aliens will actually help us." Davidson glared at Fraiser. "You buy the friendly aliens story? Well I don't. No intelligent person would."

Fraiser moved back to the wounded man, her own heart nearly stopping as she realized the airman was no longer breathing. Her fingers searched for a pulse, felt none in either wrist or at the throat.

"Hey, how come he got so quiet all of a sudden?" Davidson demanded.

"I gave him morphine. He's not in any pain now," she said softly, not telling him the rest, remembering the threat. She didn't know how long she could cover up the fact that one of these men had died, but she knew she didn’t want to find out what this madman’s reaction would be. Covering the man again with the blanket they'd taken from the gurney, Fraiser surreptitiously pocketed the bp cuff before returning to the NID man with the mystery illness. "Airman?" she asked.

"Ross, his name is Ross," the Major told her.

"Ross, I'm Doctor Fraiser. Are you in pain?"

"No, just...tired."

The NID leader stood over the doctor and her patient. The man's voice softened as he asked, "How is he?"

"It's hard to tell under these conditions. We could do a lot more for him in the infirmary."

"No, he's not leaving and you're not leaving, not until we get what we want."

"And what would that be, Major?" Fraiser asked.

"A promise of amnesty for my men. What good is it to let you help them if they'll be shot?"

"No one will be shot, Major," the petite doctor insisted.

"Right. Makepeace was convicted of treason."

"Yes, but he wasn't shot, for God's sake. He's in prison."

"Not what I heard. The last communication we got said he was going to be shot."

"Major, I don’t know where you got your information from, or from whom, but no one's been shot, and your men won't be either. As long as no one dies here today."

Davidson shook his head. "You'll say anything to get out of this, Doctor. But it won't work on me. No. What I really need is for someone here to call Colonel Maybourne." Davidson suddenly strode across the room and punched the intercom, staring up at the control room window. "Hey, does this thing work? You, up there! Are you listening? I want you to call Colonel Makepeace, and Colonel Maybourne. I want to talk to them! Now!"

Hammond, in the control room, had obviously been waiting for a chance to intervene. "Major Davidson, the United States Air Force does not negotiate when our personnel are being held under duress. Free my people, and we'll talk."

"We talk now, or people in here start dying."

Hammond had to fight back the urge to order or to shout. He couldn't expect obedience from a traitor and a madman. The General was frustrated. He wanted to act, to do something to free his people, not talk nice to a man who was callously letting innocent people suffer. "Major, you know I cannot do that,” Hammond soothed, fighting to keep his voice calm. “However, perhaps we can help each other out a bit here, make a trade or two, and help the injured as gestures of good will, on both our sides." Hammond paused, counting to ten slowly to contain his anger. "We'll provide medical care for both sides, if you release our people."

Davidson laughed. "Right. Just keep talking, General, while your precious Colonel O'Neill bleeds to death."

From the corner of his eye, Hammond saw Jackson's face go white at the man's words.

Carter finally had one of the video cameras working, and as Hammond talked, he was also watching, grimacing at the scene of carnage in the gateroom: the wounded NID man and the other man who'd been carried through the gate, both lying on the ramp, Doctor Fraiser cuffed to the railing nearby; Teal'c and several SFs sitting on the floor, the Jaffa and at least one of the SFs wounded he could see; and lastly, Colonel O'Neill lying with eyes closed and hands clutching a blood soaked dressing pressed against his stomach.

"I might be able to get one of them on the phone, but I'd need something in return from you, Davidson," bargained Hammond. "We need to make a trade. One of our wounded in return for you talking..."

"No. Not good enough."

"Then I'm afraid I can't let you talk to anyone, Davidson." The General turned off the speaker.

Major Carter turned questioningly to the SGC commander. “Sir?"

"We will not negotiate with terrorists or traitors, Major."

"There are wounded people down there, General," objected Daniel.

"I know that!" Hammond dropped his voice. "I know that. But situations like this require getting something for anything we do for them, no matter how small or how innocent it might seem. We need to keep them talking to us, keep him focused on us, while we figure out a way to get in there and get our people out."

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

Janet Fraiser once again made the rounds of her patients. She went first to the wounded NID man, pretending to be checking him though she knew he'd been dead since minutes after this whole mess started. So far, no one had looked closely enough at the man to notice anything, thank God. Next she checked Ross. A third NID man had a slight arm injury, and Davidson released the cuff that held her to the railing so she could bandage the wound. Next, she checked the SF with the leg wound, who remained in good condition, as did Teal’c. Finally, she made her way to O'Neill.

"How are you doing, Sir?" she asked, prying his hands away from his wound.

"Peachy, Doc."

Pulling the soaked dressing away from his injury, she was pleased to see very little fresh blood. "The bleeding has slowed, maybe even stopped, Colonel."

"That's good."

"Yes, very," she said softly, then whispered, "Sir, we could be in big trouble. The NID guy on the ramp is dead. I've told them he's so quiet because I injected morphine, but I don't know how long before they get suspicious."

O'Neill nodded. "Be careful, Doc. This Davidson guy's out of control."

"You just stay quiet, Colonel. We don't want this to start bleeding again. Stay down, and keep the pressure on." She brushed a hand across his warm forehead, pushing back the sweat-dampened hair. "Hang in there, Colonel."

~~~~~~~~

Davidson was pacing, and went back to the intercom. "General, where's my phone call, huh?"

"We're working on it, Major."

The NID man snorted. "Why, can't find two Colonels locked up in Leavenworth? Poor excuse, General, get them on the phone," he shouted, and slammed the off switch on the intercom. Walking back past O’Neill’s prone form, Davidson kicked at the Colonel’s feet. “Hey, hotshot, not feeling so tough now, are you? Huh?”

O’Neill managed to force his heavy eyelids to open, peering up at the madman above him. “Go to hell, Davidson,” he muttered.

Angrily, the NID man bent down, twisting his fingers in the damp gray hair, and jerking roughly at the injured man. “Only after you, O’Neill.”

Jack bit his lip to hold back the cry of pain that threatened to spill from his lips as the movement sent agonizing spasms through his stomach. He was not going to give this bastard the satisfaction of hearing so much as a whimper out of him, he pledged himself grimly. “Traitor,” he tried to put the loathing and contempt into his words that he felt for anyone that word applied to. That was the worst betrayal O’Neill could imagine.

Davidson shoved the Colonel down toward the floor, hearing the satisfying sound of his enemy’s head bouncing off the floor with bone jarring force. “I’m so going to enjoy watching you die slow and ugly, O’Neill,” Davidson sneered.

Filled with nervous energy, he strode across the Gateroom, looking down at Teal'c and the SF's, then walking over to exchange whispered words with Harris and Lindauer.

Fraiser was back checking Ross when Davidson suddenly loomed over her shoulder. "Doc, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just checking."

"Why didn't you check Nolan, then?"

'Oh, damn,' Fraiser thought. "I will, in a minute, as long as he's quiet, that's good news."

"Check him. Now." The NID major nodded at the blanket covered man.

Fraiser moved carefully, her brain racing to find a way to conceal the fact the man was no longer breathing. She reached for his wrist as though taking a pulse, and raising her eyes, met the half-lidded glance of O'Neill.

"How is he?" Davidson demanded.

"The same. His wounds are very, very serious," she answered, 'deadly in fact,' she thought, but didn't say.

"He doesn't look so good," said the NID man as he stepped closer, grabbing Doc's arm.

"Let her go!" O'Neill pushed himself toward his feet, shakily, needing to lean against the wall, the movement distracting both Davidson and Harris, just as the Colonel had hoped.

"Hey you, what do you think you're doing?" Davidson shouted, stepping toward the SG-1 commander, Harris quickly at his shoulder.

"Leave the Doc alone!" O'Neill was mostly upright now, though the wall was holding him up more than his wobbling legs were.

"Sir, stay down!" Doc pleaded, at the same time the NID major pushed the Colonel.

O'Neill's already white face went even whiter, biting his lip to fight the dizziness to stay on his feet, to keep the men distracted from Doc and the dead man on the ramp. "Leave her alone!" he demanded.

"What, you sweet on her?" Davidson looked quickly from the doctor to the Colonel. "That's it, isn't it? You're sweet on the little Doc here."

"No, I'm her commanding officer and no one messes with *any* of my people," O'Neill knew it sounded lame, and his voice was weak, but it kept the attention of the NID men.

"Bullshit!" the Major snorted, and shoved O'Neill to his knees, pulling back his leg to kick at the ribcage of the defenseless man.

The Colonel went down, a sharp cry of pain escaping his lips as he hit the floor.

Doc jumped to her feet, fighting against the cuff that held her on the ramp. "Stop! Damn you stop!"

~~~~~~~~

In the control room, Hammond cursed under his breath, and did what he didn't want to do, his voice reverberating through the gateroom speakers. "Major Davidson! I have your phone call, Colonel Makepeace, for you!"

Davidson turned away from the downed man rolling in pain on the floor. "I'll deal with you later, O'Neill," he said, and strode away to the intercom.

Up in the control room, Hammond whispered into the phone line, "Makepeace, you were once an officer I respected. You can make up for a few things here."

The voice on the other end of the line was much quieter and less cocky than the General remembered. "Yes, General. I'll tell them to release their hostages."

"You'll be on a speaker phone. Follow through, Makepeace."

"Yes, Sir."

The line was connected. "Colonel Makepeace?" Davidson asked.

"Just Makepeace now, Russ. What are you doing there?"

"We were cut off, Colonel," said the NID man, ignoring the former Marine's request. "My people are getting sick, dying. We couldn’t stay out there without medical help."

"Surrender your people, Russ."

"I can't do that, Sir."

"I'm ordering you to turn yourself and your team in."

"Sorry, Sir, but you're not my commanding officer anymore, if you ever were. I, I don't know what to do. I need options," he pleaded.

"Keep your people alive, Major," said Makepeace wearily. "That's your most important job. That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Then don't mess it up. At least let the wounded have a chance."

"To spend the rest of their lives in prison? What kind of chance is that?"

"Their only chance. At least they'll be alive."

The NID major stood silent.

Hammond spoke up. "Davidson, send out all the wounded, yours and ours, and we'll send in food and water, for all of you. That's a fair trade. Your people get help, as do ours."

"We've got a doctor here already. That's all we need."

"Major, the wounded in that room need more assistance than what can be provided by just one doctor with only limited medical equipment. You can see that. Even I can see that your man is seriously injured."

"No!" shouted the NID man.

"Sir?" Harris spoke up.

"What?" Davidson spun toward his second in command.

"Major, maybe we should. At least let them take those two to the infirmary," he pointed to his two teammates lying unmoving on the ramp. The man whispered so the hostages couldn't hear. "We brought Ross here for medical help, Sir. Isn't that why we came?"

The NID team leader paused, thinking. "I'm not letting O'Neill go."

"Right, Major. Okay. Send them the others, then, the SFs and our wounded. We keep O'Neill and the alien as hostages. They're too important for Hammond to take any chances, that's half of *the* SG-1, and their doctor."

Davidson stood staring at the floor, fingers drumming nervously on his sidearm. Finally, inspiration coming to him, he nodded, and walked back to the intercom.

Davidson looked around at the two men lying quietly on the ramp and again toggled the intercom switch. "Okay, Colonel Makepeace, that order I can follow. I'll let the wounded go, if I get a promise of amnesty for them."

"Give yourself up, too, Russ. You're trapped there. It's hopeless."

Davidson shook his head. "No Sir, not hopeless yet. I'll surrender the wounded. But that's all."

The NID man turned his gaze toward the SGC commander in the control room above. "General Hammond. The deal is my wounded go to your infirmary, with no penalty for what happened in here, and I'll send out your people with them. There's four of us left, so we keep four as hostages."

"The wounded will be released?" Hammond asked.

"Yes," nodded the NID man.

At least it's something, thought Hammond. At least I've bought time, by getting the wounded out of there. The General didn't want to make a deal, any deal, with this madman, instinct told him not to trust the man. But there were injured men down there, four of his own people, including O'Neill, who appeared to be the most seriously hurt, plus the NID people who were not to be blamed for what their commander had done this morning. Damn. He didn't want to, but he had to agree. At least most of his people would be safe, and the NID team would still be trapped in the gateroom. Reluctantly, the Texan drawled, "Deal, Major." With a sigh, he turned off the intercom.

Major Carter was staring at her CO, a shocked expression on her face. "General, Sir, much as I want the Colonel and the wounded out of there, is it wise to negotiate with these people? Can they be trusted?"

"Major, negotiating with people like this is always unpleasant. No, I don't trust them. But we need to help the wounded, and we will simply hold out until the others surrender. They can't *go* anywhere. Even if they have fellow conspirators out there somewhere, an incoming wormhole won't help them. There's no escape. With the injured getting medical care, all we have to do is outlast the bastards."

~~~~~~~~~

Within minutes, one of the large crash doors rolled slowly open. A team of SFs, weapons raised stood beside stretchers and gurneys. Ross, the dead NID man and the wounded SF were all lifted onto stretchers and hurried out to the hallway. Fraiser went to O'Neill, who was once again lying quietly, eyes closed, deathly pale.

“Colonel?”

His eyes opened slowly when her hand touched his arm. "Doc?" he asked, vaguely.

"Colonel, come on, they're sending the wounded out."

"It's over?"

"For you, Sir. We'll get you down to the infirmary and get you patched up in no time," she added.

O'Neill sighed in relief. "Sounds good, Doc," he mumbled.

Davidson suddenly appearing beside the doctor, looking over her shoulder and down at the SG-1 team leader. "Ah, no sorry, not him. Not O'Neill. He still owes me. The others go, but not O'Neill, the alien, or you, Doc. And the other woman stays, too."

The NID team pushed the others back out through the door.

Hammond was livid. "Major Davidson, we had a deal!"

"Yes, we did, General, but then, you're O'Neill's commanding officer. You were part of his little undercover scheme, so you both know all about lying to get what you want. So I lied." With a smile, Davidson shrugged and walked away from the intercom. Turning to Harris, he said, "Okay, Captain, let's go."

"Sir?" Harris asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Go, Harris, we're going. Out of here. Now."

"But Sir, this is *home*..."

"Not any more, Harris. It didn't work, and it won't work, not here. Stay if you want. You and the others, you'll end up in a cell with Maybourne and Makepeace, or in front of a firing squad. I'm going back out there. With the Doctor, we can go back, we'll find our own cure."

Harris looked from his CO to the SGC's medical officer. Making up his mind, he nodded. "Yes, Sir," he said. "Lindauer!" Another one of the NID men responded, pulling another unknown device from his pocket. Not much larger than a cell phone, the unit had key pads covered with glyphs instead of numbers. The man began to tap in a series of seven keystrokes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Major Carter, seated at one of the dialing computer consoles, nearly jumped out of her chair at the familiar sound of the gate's inner ring turning.

"Major?" Hammond asked in a warning voice. "What's happening?"

Carter turned to the computer, worry on her face, fingers dancing rapidly across the keyboard. "I don't know, Sir. The gate is dialing and it's not incoming."

"That can't be, can it, Major?" The General asked.

"No, Sir, it's not possible," Carter was still trying to get the computer to respond.

"Shut it down!" Hammond ordered.

"I'm trying, Sir," said Carter, her words echoed by the staff sergeant at the second keyboard.

“Close the iris!” the General ordered.

“I’m trying, Sir. Something’s interfering with the signal, General. It's not responding, it's as if someone else had a DHD and it’s overriding our computer system."

Daniel Jackson was standing next to the window, staring down into the control room through a small area of clear glass. "Something like a handheld DHD perhaps?" he asked softly.

"There is no such thing," Carter answered confidently.

"Oh, I don't think so, Sam," he said, pointing.

Below them, one of the NID team was punching the keys on a small device, the Stargate responding to every command. Within moments, the Stargate burst into life, the wormhole sending a clear wave pouring from its center before receding to shimmer like water across the opening.

"Go," Davidson shouted.

"Stop them," Hammond ordered, sending the SFs into the gateroom.

~~~~~~~~

Harris grabbed O'Neill, the Colonel gasping as he was dragged, stumbling to his feet.

"Leave him alone!" shouted Doc, turning to the NID major angrily. "You made a deal, a deal that the wounded would be sent to the infirmary."

"I'm just following in O'Neill's footsteps, Doc," Davidson answered, grabbing Frasier by the arm and propelling her forward toward the wormhole. "A little white lie here, a little white lie there. No harm no foul, isn't that what they say?"

Davidson paused, watching as Lindauer stepped into the wormhole with SG-8's Svanoe, followed by Delaney pushing Teal’c, and Harris half carrying the staggering O'Neill. Finally, once the others had disappeared into the shimmering gate, he turned, threw a half salute at Hammond, and, dragging the doctor with him, stepped from the SGC and across the galaxy.

Back in the SGC, Daniel Jackson was frantically memorizing each of the seven glyphs.

---------------

They emerged onto a dark and cold planet.

"Dial us out of here, Harris," Davidson ordered. The rogue officer pulled the doctor away from the Stargate, holding her head so she couldn't see the DHD or the gate's own symbols. "Don't let them see, either," Davidson ordered. "We don't want them knowing how to get home." He jerked savagely on Fraiser's hair as she struggled to get a look at the symbols. Svanoe and Teal'c were also both held firmly by their captors.

Harris dragged the SG-1 CO with him, the wounded man hanging heavily on the NID man's shoulder. Using one arm to brace the weak-kneed O'Neill, Harris began dialing out, unconcerned whether the wounded Colonel saw the symbols he chose. The man was so out of it he wouldn't remember a thing, thought Harris.

Harris was wrong.

O'Neill watched through glazed eyes. Hanging on to consciousness by the slimmest of threads, he knew he had to leave some clue for the rescue team he was confident Hammond would be sending after them. The universe was one damn big place to go looking for four missing officers held by four rogue NID men. They'd never be found if he didn't do something. Jack watched Harris touch four panels, and then the ground and sky started to spin, and O'Neill slid to his knees.

"Shit!" Harris complained as one armed he couldn't hold onto the reeling Colonel.

O'Neill sagged to the ground, watching the gate revolve to the final two chevrons, then pushed toward his feet, using his bloodied hand to grip the side of the DHD. With a groan of effort, and a none too gentle yank from Harris, Jack found himself on his feet, head hanging over the DHD. He fumbled to stay upright and, hoping it looked innocent, he touched the panels he'd seen Harris touch. Before he could finish, though, Harris again yanked at O'Neill, dragging the wounded man toward the Stargate.

O'Neill's face would have gone paler, if it could. He hadn't had time to finish. He'd only had time to mark the first six panels. He hoped that was enough. They'd just have to pray that Carter and Daniel were smart enough to realize what he'd done, and figure out the rest of the address.

Once again, the wormhole activated and the hostages and their captors stepped out onto a strange planet. The light was a pallid yellow, the landscape rocky and barren.

"Ah, home sweet home. This is it, Doc," Davidson sneered at the doctor as he watched the other members of his team drag their hostages through the gate. Svanoe was wiggling in the NID team leader's grasp, Teal'c was grimly solemn with Lindauer's gun pressed firmly against his neck, and, to Doc's dismay, Harris appeared to be all but carrying O'Neill.

Fraiser ignored Davidson, wrenching her arm away from his grasp, and falling to her knees beside O'Neill, who had collapsed to the ground the moment Harris released him. "Colonel?"

He blinked slowly. "Hi Doc," O'Neill's brown eyes were clouded.

"Sir," she pulled his hands away from his abdomen, appalled by the fresh blood.

He tried to grin, failed, looked hard at her. "I'm okay."

"Right, Sir," she answered softly, her heart in her throat.

"Get going." Davidson's harsh voice ordered.

A hand grabbed her forearm, pulling Fraiser to her feet and away from her patient.

"Let me go!" she tried to pull away, but Harris had locked his hand around her wrist.

The former Major shook her, hard. "Doc, you're coming with us. Now. He'll make it or he won't."

Davidson shoved O'Neill, letting the Colonel lean against Teal'c.

"I will assist you, O'Neill," the alien promised softly.

"Thanks." It was all the energy O'Neill had to speak. It took every bit of concentration, every ounce of strength to walk, to put one foot in front of the other. He was feeling weaker by the moment, now that he could feel the blood leaking from his wound again, dripping from the saturated bandages and soaking his shirt and trousers. The pain was coming in waves, bearable at it's best, excruciating at its worst, doubling him over and forcing him to his knees again and again. But somehow, with Teal'c's help, he managed to get back on his feet and stagger on until they reached the NID team's hideout, a pair of portable metal buildings.

The rogue teammates pushed their hostages into the smaller shed's dim interior, and walked away.

Once inside, O'Neill stumbled, sliding gracelessly to his knees and collapsing to the floor with a groan. “Home, eh?” he mumbled. “Think… room service…has any… aspirin?”

Fraiser hurried to him, easing him to the floor, gratefully taking Teal’c’s jacket to cushion his head. Her hands moved to feel his warm forehead, and reached for his wrist, noting the fast pulse, counting the rapid respiration, and knowing the Colonel was deteriorating rapidly.

Svanoe was peering around the dark confines of the shed, even as Teal'c tried the door and found it locked.

"We are prisoners, Dr. Fraiser," he intoned softly. "What is O'Neill's condition?"

Fraiser just shook her head. "Not good," she answered as her hands kept working, applying pressure to the wound.

Grimacing, O'Neill flinched away from the contact, his hands pushing feebly at hers, moaning. "Ah, stop, Doc, ah. Ah. That hurts."

"Easy, Colonel, easy," she soothed. "I know this is painful, but I need to apply pressure to slow the bleeding." Looking around their dim prison, Fraiser's worried gaze found no comfort. They were in a small metal shed, perhaps 15 feet by 20 feet, with no lights, no bunks, no blankets, no water. "Damn. I need something to put under his feet, to raise his legs to prevent shock. And something to keep him warm. Find something," she ordered the other two as she took off her once white lab coat, folding it carefully into a makeshift pillow.

Svanoe came back with a piece of heavy canvas cloth which Fraiser used to form a covering over her patient. It was the only useful thing they found. An empty box served to prop up his legs, but that was all they could do for the wounded man. Exhausted and worried, the three uninjured hostages finally sat, leaning against the hard cold wall, next to the dozing O'Neill.

Fraiser sat beside her patient, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the labored rise and fall of O’Neill’s chest. She felt helpless, unable to do even the simplest thing to help or comfort her patient. Gently, she reached out to feel the pulse in his wrist. His long fingers reached out to curl around hers, and so she left her hand there, on his. The brown eyes flickered, and found hers.

“We’ll… get… out of... this…” he mumbled.

She swallowed. He was trying to comfort and encourage her, that was O’Neill’s way. “Yes, Sir, we will,” she agreed, hoping he believed her because she was finding it very hard to believe herself.

-------------

It had taken more than half an hour to get a rescue team geared up and ready, and Hammond had turned away dozens of volunteers. The General was worried. He knew Davidson and his team wouldn't have been crazy enough to go straight back to their hideout, they would have dialed up an intermediate location. Once the rescue team got there, Hammond knew the odds weren't good that they'd find anything, except maybe O'Neill's body.

'Don't think like that, George,' he chided himself. 'Jack's pulled off some miraculous escapes before, and he's got Teal'c and Dr. Fraiser with him. They’ll take care of him. He’s a survivor. He'll make it.'

Pasting an optimistic expression on his face, Hammond hurried down to the control room where Major Carter stood impatiently, waiting for the last stragglers from SG-2, SG-4 and the medical team to join her. Hammond was surprised to find Daniel Jackson geared up and standing beside Carter. "Dr. Jackson? What are you doing here?"

The archaeologist waved a hand at the gate. "I've volunteered, Sir."

"This is a military rescue mission, Dr. Jackson..." he started kindly.

"General, Sir, those are my teammates and friends out there, Jack and Teal'c and Dr. Fraiser. I may be able to help. I've got to...." his voice faded away, a hopeful expression on his face.

Hammond couldn't deny that hope. "Okay, son." Turning to SG-1's 2IC, he nodded. "Major Carter, you've got a go. Find those people. And be careful."

"Yes, Sir," she saluted, and turned to the others, waving them forward the moment the wormhole stabilized.

~~~~~~~~~

They jumped through the gate, guns drawn, stumbling out of the wormhole into pitch darkness.

"Damn!" muttered Major Coburn. "Nothing."

"It's what we expected, Major," Carter reminded him. "Be careful. They could have left booby traps."

"Or our people might have left clues," Daniel suggested.

"Right. The rest of you wait here," said Carter, waving the other major forward to join her. A bomb detection squad was clearing the ground from the gateramp to the DHD.

Finally, the Sergeant turned back to the Majors. "Sir, nothing here. It's safe."

Carter and Coburn hurried forward, flashlights swinging uneasily from side to side, Daniel hurrying to join them.

Carter pried the cover off the DHD, having heard of the rogue team's trick to lure SG personnel. She searched the alien artifact carefully, but found nothing unusual.

"Major," said Coburn, returning to where she worked to report. "There were only a few footprints, right around the gate and here by the DHD. We found nothing away from the gate, no sign that they stayed here."

"Damn!" Carter swore, rubbing a hand across her face in frustration. "I know they would have tried to leave us a sign, a clue of some kind."

"Can't we just try other gate addresses?" one of the rescue party asked.

"Sure, if we had weeks or months to attempt every combination."

Daniel had walked around the side of the DHD, looking for something, anything that might help. He reached out a hand to touch the device, as if the cold metal could tell him what he needed to know. His hand made contact with the slick metal, and something more, something wet and sticky. He swung his flashlight, and recoiled at the rust red stains. "Oh, God," he moaned, staring from his red fingers to the DHD.

"What? Daniel?" Carter leaped to his side, playing her light across the surface of the DHD. She swallowed hard, her heart in her throat.

Blood, there was blood, way too much blood, smeared across the surface of the DHD. She didn't need a lab test to know it was O'Neill’s. Taking a deep breath, Carter forced her dread away, forced herself to think logically and scientifically, exactly the sort of thing the Colonel would make her do if he was here, she thought. She could almost hear him say the words, 'put your emotions aside and do your job, Major.' She nearly answered 'Yes, Sir,' his voice was so clear in her head.

"This is, this is..." Daniel started, choking back the urge to throw up. And then he made the connection. "This is our clue!"

"The Colonel could barely stand upright, how could this… how could his blood be a clue?" Carter wondered.

"Because it's not random, Sam. Look. Here and here, there's blood on two panels far apart. He was trying to show us the address." Jackson looked at her hopefully, certain he was right.

"If he was trying to show the address, Daniel, why aren’t there enough panels marked?" Sam still wasn't convinced. "If he fell against the DHD..." she tried not to let her mind picture the rest.

Daniel had his camera out, filming the DHD's gruesome surface as he mentally memorized each marked formation. "Maybe he ran out of time, or he didn't see them all."

"Daniel, *if* this is a message left by the Colonel, we've only got six marked panels."

"There's one here I've never seen before. I think this is the point of origin. So we've got them all."

"Okay, seven of seven, but we don't know the order, either. That leaves us a lot of combinations to try. Hundreds, actually."

Daniel stared at her earnestly. "I know, Sam, I know it's slim, but it's all we have. It's better than looking for them anywhere out there," he waved a hand at the star-filled sky above them.

"Okay,” Sam agreed, not as hopeful as Daniel, but with nowhere else to turn. “Then let's get this data back to the SGC and see what the computers can tell us. Major Coburn, your team will stay here."

"Yes, ma'am," he saluted, pulling his team back to watch as Jackson and Carter returned through the wormhole.

~~~~~~~~~

Hammond was waiting for them. "What did you find, Major?"

"We may have something..." she started.

"Jack left us a clue," Daniel corrected.

"What? How?" Hammond demanded.

"Daniel thinks the..." she stumbled over the word..."the blood we found on the DHD was Colonel O'Neill's attempt to mark the coordinates. He may be right, Sir. We've got six coordinates and Daniel thinks he knows the point of origin. I need a computer to try the possible combinations."

Hammond felt a sudden surge of hope. "Major, if we’ve got the coordinates, how many options can that leave..."

"Hundreds of combinations, Sir. And we don’t even know for sure that they’re accurate, or that the Colonel left them as clues at all,” she shook her head. “Even if they’re right, there’s just too many to check them all out in the time…” she started to say, ‘the time O’Neill has left’, but changed, “in the time we have. But it's all we've got to go on."

And better than nothing, Hammond silently acknowledged. "Okay, Major, get to work."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Sam was trotting for the control room, Daniel on her heels.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, Carter swept a hand through her short cropped hair. They'd come up with 42 strong possibilities. Needing to make hard and fast determinations, they'd dialed up each set of coordinates, knowing it was a risk that the activations would be detected. But not knowing what else to try and not being able to wait, they'd gone ahead, and eliminated more than a dozen more that failed to connect.

Twenty three possibles left. They didn't have enough MALPs to try them all, they didn't have time to send a MALP and a follow-up team to retrieve it.

Carter sighed, trying not to let her mind wander to her missing friend and teammates, especially the Colonel. She couldn't forget his gray face, the blood stained BDUs nor the painful hunched up way he'd moved when they’d dragged him through the gate. "Damn them!" she slapped her hand across her desk in frustration.

"Ditto," Daniel muttered from behind her.

She spun around. "Sorry. Didn’t see you there." He offered her a cup of coffee from the two he'd just brought from the commissary, and she took it gratefully. "It's just..." she rolled her stiff shoulders.

"I know. I'm worried, too," he said softly.

"I just don't know what to do. He'd know. He always knows, he makes it look so damn easy, deciding what to do and when to do it." Sam swung her head back and forth, easing the strain from her neck and back. She’d spent far too many hours tensely hunched over her computers today.

Daniel nodded. "Yes, he does. But Jack's not here, and he's counting on us. They all are."

Sam nodded. "Right. So there's got to be an answer..." An idea was rolling around in the back of her head as she sipped the steaming coffee. "Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. Assuming these guys went back to their base..."

"Probably, but they could have taken another detour," Daniel suggested, playing devil’s advocate.

"They could have, but I don't think so, Daniel. I think they were pretty confident. And they *were* dragging four hostages along with them. So I think they'd go straight home." Sam paced in front of the board on which she'd listed the numbers. "But where's home?"

"The planet they've been living on," Daniel offered.

"Yes. The planet where the NID sent them." Her eyes lit up. "That’s it! When the NID sent them out there, they needed an address, an address they knew was safe, and one they could be confident we wouldn't go to…"

"Which would be someplace we'd rejected..." Daniel suggested.

"Or someplace we'd already been!"

Carter was back at the computer console, fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed in commands, cross-referencing their 28 possibles against the list of planets visited by SG teams. This time, only three addresses popped up on her screen. "There. Three planets one of the SG teams visited and crossed off our lists, *before* the second gate was discovered. They all have breathable atmospheres, adequate temperatures, and no inhabitants. The perfect hideouts!" She read off the list. "Hey, we went to that one, I don't think they'd have gone there. It was nearly all underwater."

"So," said Daniel, "we're left with two."

Sam nodded. "Let's get the General."

----------

O'Neill knew someone was talking to him, but it required too much effort to answer. It was taking every ounce of willpower and strength he had to keep breathing. 'Don't distract me,' he thought, and tried to say.

"Distract you? Colonel? Distract you from what?" Doc's voice was filled with worry.

"Thirsty," he mumbled.

Janet cursed the men who'd locked them in here and left them. They had no water. "I'm sorry, Sir," she said gently. "We don't have any water right now."

Weakly, he waved a hand, moving it bare inches above the floor. "Ssss okay, Doc."

"Good, Colonel, you know me," she breathed a sigh of relief. "Just rest."

"Rescue?"

"Not yet, Sir," she didn't want to tell him how hopeless it was.

"They'll find...us," he muttered. "Sam's smart, Daniel, too."

He had so much faith in his team, Janet thought. She knew how often they’d managed to beat the odds and save themselves from impossible situations. "I know they'll try, Colonel, but it's a big universe."

He grinned weakly, licking dry lips. "Clues, Doc. Left 'em clues."

She was clueless as to what he meant. "You need to rest, now, Sir. Save your strength."

"Hmmm," he let himself drift away, away from the pain and the numbness and the cold, from the darkness that was waiting, right there at the edge of his vision, waiting to swallow him and never let go. He wasn't afraid of the dark, never had been, but this darkness scared him. This wasn't just darkness, it was death, and he knew it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The brown eyes drifted shut. Fraiser used the strip of cloth she’d ripped from hem of her shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, unable to do anything else to help her patient.

"Doctor?" Svanoe asked, arms wrapped around her bent knees. "How is he?"

Fraiser shook her head. "Not good, Lieutenant. Not good at all...."

"Then we must escape," Teal'c insisted, getting up to pace once more around the confines of their prison. Though he had only a basic knowledge of human medicine, the Jaffa knew that, without the healing abilities of a symbiote, the human body was a frail thing. O’Neill was strong of heart, determined and stubborn, but he was, as the Colonel would say, ‘only human.’

Teal’c checked their prison once more. As he'd done a dozen times already, he found nothing useful, not even a loose fitting joint or gap in the metal walls he could exploit. The building had been well constructed to both keep alien creatures out and anything inside safely locked in.

-------------------------------

The rescue team charged out of the gate, adrenaline and hope flowing through their veins, and found nothing on the first planet they tried, nothing at all, no sign of anyone or anything. Barely waiting for the wormhole to reform, Carter punched in the GDO code and, the moment it was acknowledged, trotted through for home.

The instant her feet hit the ramp, she turned to find Hammond. "Nothing, Sir. We're ready to go on to the next location."

"Yes, Major."

At Hammond's nod, the MALP was turned around and sent once more into the wormhole. It exited onto a planet, sending back pictures.

"There. Footprints!" Daniel shouted in triumph, pointing at the screen.

"Right you are, Dr. Jackson." Hammond turned to the personnel. "Go, people!"

Once more the rescue team ran through the gate, guns raised, meeting no opposition. The planet was quiet, the landscape lit only by the dim, yellowish light of a distant sun.

“Major?” Coburn, kneeling a few feet away from the gate, called out to Carter. She hurried forward and looked where he was pointing… footsteps, some large like Teal’c’s, some small like Janet’s, some wavering, dragging, and rust red spots nearby… obviously the Colonel’s. The trail of footprints and blood drops led clearly away from the gate, following a plainly worn path toward a small hill. "Okay, let's go. Stay alert, people, they’re probably waiting for us. I'll take point, Daniel you're with me, and Major Coburn you've got our six. Remember, it's likely they heard the gate open and will be waiting."

"Yes, ma'am.

~~~~~~~~~

“The gate’s been activated!” shouted Harris, hearing the warning system activate.

“Get the hostages!” Davidson snarled, grabbing his MP-5.

Sprinting out of their quarters, Harris and Delaney ran for the shed, tearing open the door. Only the big alien was standing, the two women were huddled on the floor next to the quiet form of Colonel O’Neill.

“You, out here,” he shouted to the women as Lindauer grabbed Teal’c. “Help him up,” he ordered, nodding at the motionless form of the Colonel.

“He’s dead,” said the petite doctor defiantly.

“Damn!” Harris cursed. Davidson would be furious he’d been denied his revenge.

“Sorry you were deprived of the fun of watching him die…” the doctor continued bitterly.

“Shut up!” Harris screamed at her, grabbing her arm, fingers digging viciously into soft flesh as he dragged her out of the building, Lindauer following with the Jaffa and the other woman.

Davidson stared at his subordinates. “Where’s O’Neill?”

“Dead,” said Harris.

“Dead?” The angry NID man strode forward, grabbed Fraiser by her hair, jerking her head back to glare into her face. “Wonder doctor of the SGC? You let him die?”

“You didn’t give him a chance. You didn’t let me bring the medical supplies, you didn’t even leave us any water.” she gasped. “How was I supposed to help him?”

“They’re coming!” Lindauer shouted, ending the discussion.

Davidson knew they had nowhere to retreat, their only hope was to bluff their way past the SGC rescue team. Even as he watched, eight, nine, ten heavily armed soldiers crested the small hill at a trot, guns leveled at what was left of the renegade team.

“Come any closer and she dies!” he commanded, holding a gun to Fraiser’s temple.

The rescue team dropped to their knees, guns pointed at the NID squad.

“There’s no need to harm anyone,” Daniel Jackson spoke calmly, though his heart was racing as he peered desperately around for a glimpse of Jack and seeing no sign. “Let the doctor go.”

“I’m letting no one go. You back off, let us pass, back to the ‘gate, and we’ll leave…” Davidson demanded.

“We can’t let you do that, Davidson,” spoke up Major Carter.

“Do it or she dies first,” the renegade jerked savagely on Fraiser’s hair, all but yanking the doctor off her feet. “The others will follow.”

“Killing them won’t help you,” Jackson added reasonably.

“Better dead than locked up in some cell, like what you did to the others…”

“Davidson,” Carter started softly, trying to appeal to the man, “we can talk about this. No one’s died yet.”

The rogue officer smiled viciously. “That’s where you’re wrong. Your precious Colonel O’Neill bled to death like the dog he is…or was.”

Carter blanched. The Colonel couldn’t be dead, not after all they’d been through, all SG-1 had endured. He couldn’t be gone. But there’d been so much blood, back in the gateroom, on the DHD, and there, on Janet’s once white shirt.

“Lay down your weapons, Davidson,” Carter ordered.

The former Major shook his head. “Never. See, we have a standoff here, and the solution is simple. I’ve got your people, and they die if you don’t let me and my people leave. If you try to stop us, we shoot them…”

“And then we’ll shoot you, and what will that accomplish?” Daniel was still trying to reason with the man.

“It’ll prove that your people can die,” Davidson’s eyes were deadly. “We’ve got nothing to lose. We can die here, or die back on Earth, but none of us are going to give up our guns.” The rogue officer took a step back, back towards the shed, his eyes flicking over to look at his second in command. “Harris…”

From the corner of his eye, Daniel saw something, in the darkness of the small shed, a movement. Keeping his eyes on Davidson, knowing he couldn’t afford to give anything away, he saw something more, a gray haired head emerging slowly from the building, then an arm, ever so slowly, a man’s form crawling stealthily out of the shed.

It was all Jackson could do to keep his eyes front and center, not give away the movement he could just see from the corner of his vision, his heart pumping wildly as he realized Jack O’Neill wasn't dead.

Yet.

~~~~~~~~~~

O’Neill had played opossum when the NID team led the others away. Weak as he was, he knew he couldn’t have done anything to stop them. As soon as they’d gone outside, he’d pushed himself up off the floor, stifling a groan at the effort, fighting to hold onto consciousness as the room swirled and swam before his eyes. He couldn’t get up on his knees, but propelling himself with his elbows, he crawled across the floor to the open doorway, hanging back in the shadows.

He had to blink again and again, unable to believe what was happening. Davidson and the NID team had Fraiser, Teal’c and Svanoe as hostages, guns to their heads, facing Carter, Daniel, Major Coburn and a handful of other familiar SGC faces.

Guns drawn on both sides, hostages in the middle. Mexican standoff.

For a moment, O’Neill let his head sink down onto his hands, too exhausted to move, too exhausted to think, barely able to hold on to consciousness, listening to the argument, knowing Davidson was desperate enough and crazy enough to kill.

Help. He could help them. He had to help them.

Move slow. Oh, that one’s easy, O’Neill, he told himself. Move quiet, umm, not so easy, not when every movement sent bolts of agony raging through his bpdy, made him want to gasp with the pain. He bit down on his lip, summoning up the last of his energy, and crawled out the doorway.

There, over there were the packs the NID team had grabbed as they’d started out of their hut. Stacked on top were extra weapons, the familiar dark shape of a P-90 sticking out of one of the packs. O’Neill reached forward with his hand, dragging himself forward, inches at a time. He could hear the others talking, knew the rescue team was trying to negotiate, prayed no one would inadvertently give him away because he was absolutely a sitting duck out here in the open without a bit of cover, unable to move at more than a snail’s pace, weaponless until he reached the prize. God, it seemed impossibly far away, a hundred miles, a thousand. Darkness wavered at the edges of his vision, the roaring in his ears crowding out the sound of the debate and the frantic voices of the rescuers as they realized they had to keep the NID team's attention.

Daniel watched O’Neill’s agonizing progress, willing the Colonel to keep moving, despairing when the gray head dropped unto the outstretched hands. ‘No, Jack,’ he silently pleaded. ‘Keep moving, keep moving. Davidson would kill O’Neill if he saw him, when he saw him. God, Jack, don’t stop. Move. Please. ‘

The Colonel raised his head once more, forcing his eyes to focus. Close, so close. He reached out a hand, realized he had farther to go. Afraid the harsh sound of his ragged breathing would give him away, he was near now, close to the packs, close to the NID people, half sheltered from their sight behind a pair of rough boulders. His vision wavered, and fiercely he clung to his tenuous spark of consciousness. Pushing back the darkness, mouth tight with determination, O’Neill forced himself forward.

~~~~~~~

“Drop your weapons now!” Davidson demanded. “Enough talk.”

“You know I can’t do that, Mister,” said Carter, trying to buy time as she watched O’Neill’s slow progress. “How about we all take a moment to think about this?”

“No! No more time. Now. Move or I start shooting!”

“Okay, okay,” Carter raised her left hand in a placating gesture. “How about we all calm down…”

~~~~~~~~

O’Neill reached the packs, his shaking hand moving forward, grasping the familiar slick metal surface of the weapon. Hands moving of their own accord, not needing to think about the actions he’d performed thousands of times, he smoothly pulled the weapon into firing position, resting it on the pack to steady it. In one practiced movement, he flicked off the safety and chambered a round.

The metallic click-click was startlingly loud in the tense stillness.

Davidson spun to face the heart-stopping sound, his eyes wild, taking in the prone form cradling the weapon, pointed directly at him. “Son of a bitch! You’re dead!”

“Reports of my… demise… have been... greatly… exaggerated,” O’Neill found the breath to say. “Now… drop it.”

Suddenly time seemed to shift into slow motion.

O’Neill’s gaze was locked on the eyes of the man before him, a man the Colonel realized was beyond reason.

The rogue officer was staring into O’Neill’s gray face, gauging his chances, calculating how weakened and slowed the ex-Special Forces officer would be.

The Colonel knew the moment the man made his choice, the desperate eyes narrowing suddenly.

Doc must have felt it, too, the sudden tension, or perhaps she saw it mirrored in O’Neill’s eyes. Knowing the moment had come, she threw an elbow into the ribs of the man behind her, dropping to her knees.

Davidson’s gun went off, the bullet whistling millimeters from Fraiser’s head.

The gunshots echoed eerily across the alien landscape.

Silence descended for long seconds.

Daniel and Carter raced forward, Jackson sinking to his knees beside Janet and the Colonel.

O’Neill was fighting to focus his heavy lidded eyes, his face was gray and sweat streaked. He’d dropped the weapon, too exhausted to hold it a second longer, his last reserves of energy gone. “Doc?” he mumbled, shaking suddenly. “Cold…why?…Cold.”

“Colonel, you hold on,” Fraiser told him, then raised her face to his teammates. The doctor’s pale face looked worried. “He’s in shock. I need…”

Before she could finish, a medic was kneeling beside her, handing her an abdominal dressing which Fraiser slipped into place.

“Dr. Warner anticipated you might need this, too, Doctor,” the medic said, holding up the bag of IV fluids. Fraiser hastily inserted the line into O’Neill’s hand.

Without waiting for the medical team or the stretcher, Teal’c simply bent down and picked up the Colonel, a gasp and moan emanating from the limp form as the Jaffa began striding for the gate, Fraiser trotting at his heels, still holding the saline bag aloft.

Daniel ran for the gate, heart pumping, disappearing over the hill, racing ahead to the DHD. Dialing up Earth, nervous fingers tapping out the iris code, shaving seconds off the time it would take to get Jack home. Where were they? Why were they so slow? Finally, the others came over the crest of the little hill, Teal’c striding forward quickly, Jack cradled in his arms and looking far too still.

~~~~~~~

Jackson was first to emerge from the wormhole, shouting “medical team!” even as he saw General Hammond standing at the base of the ramp beside Dr. Warner, a crowd of anxious medical personnel and a gurney.

Teal’c was just steps behind the archaeologist, never slowing as he hurried down the ramp, placing O’Neill’s bloodstained body on the gurney. Janet was almost jogging to keep pace beside the huge Jaffa.

" He's shocky... was slightly responsive to voice until about ten minutes ago, now he's only responsive to deep pain,” Fraiser updated Warner breathlessly as they hurried out of the gateroom and toward the infirmary, the two doctors issuing orders in tandem as they raced for the medical center. “There is one abdominal entry wound left upper quadrant, no exit wound. Large blood loss, pulse 124, weak and thready, respiration 80 and shallow, BP 60 palp. Skin's diaphoretic, cold and clammy… ”

Nearly to the infirmary door, Hammond reached out to place a hand on her arm. “Dr. Fraiser!”

Distracted, she turned to face him. “Sir, I’ve got to go with the Colonel…”

“Dr. Warner is taking over from here…”

“But Sir…” Fraiser was staring into the room where they’d taken O’Neill.

“Doctor, you know Dr. Warner is competent to handle things from here. We’ve been ready and waiting to treat the Colonel for hours. You, on the other hand, are exhausted and in need of a medical check yourself, Major,” he pointedly used her rank.

“Sir…” she looked past the General once more, then back at his face. She knew he cared about the Colonel, too. “Yes, Sir.”

His voice was soft. “Doctor, get checked over yourself. Colonel O’Neill needs you at your best.”

“Yes, Sir,” she acknowledged, going with one of the nurses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hammond turned to peer into the treatment room. Warner and his team were bustling around O’Neill, the Colonel already stripped of his bloodstained clothes, an oxygen mask and IV lines in place, the dark red blood and clear saline bags feeding into his veins. The General didn’t know all that they were doing in that room, but he knew these people were doing everything that could possibly be done to save O’Neill’s life. Of that he was certain.

Beside him, three more worried faces suddenly appeared.

“Teal’c, are you all right?” Hammond inquired.

“My symbiote is at work healing my wounds, which were only minor, General.”

“You still need to be checked out, son.” Hammond turned to the others. “Major Carter, Dr. Jackson, what happened out there?”

“How is he?” Daniel asked.

“He’s alive, that’s all we know for now. Dr. Warner will update us when he knows more. So, I’d like to know what happened.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment Janet had cleared her medical check and been treated for the bruises and abrasions she’d sustained, the petite doctor headed straight for the OR observation area. Two hours had now passed since they’d returned and O’Neill was still in surgery.

Grabbing the microphone, “Dr. Warner?” she asked.

“We’re just closing, Doctor. He was very, very lucky. I’ve removed the bullet, it nicked his spleen, that accounts for the massive bleeding, but I believe I was able to effectively repair the damage. We'll have to watch him very closely to make sure there is no further bleeding. I really don't want to remove the spleen unless we have no other choice. Then there is, of course, the likelihood of infection.”

Janet sighed with relief as her fellow doctor updated her on the Colonel’s status. He had made it through the surgery, and he'd be okay. It was a miracle he’d made it this far, and those complications they could handle. Once again, the Colonel looked to have cheated death.

--------------

Jack O’Neill was far too familiar with this eerie feeling, sensations coming back in bits and pieces. First, just awareness of being alive, of his body feeling heavy and languid, of discomfort, not real pain but something far from his usual vibrant being. His mind was sluggish too, and he knew he was drugged, and knew enough to realize that for the moment it was probably a damn good thing. He could hear familiar sounds, a soft beep beep beep that he recognized, a steady comforting rhythm that lulled him back to sleep.

O’Neill drifted and slept and healed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Voices. Voices he knew, comforting familiar sounds. Hands touching him gently. He drifted again.

Once more his consciousness floated toward the surface. He still felt heavy and odd, but the sensations were more vivid now. He could smell the familiar antiseptic scents of the infirmary as well as hear the voices and sounds he knew. He could feel the softness of sheets sliding underneath him, the uncomfortable feel of plastic in his throat and in more, ah, delicate places, and sense the light flaring against his eyelids.

He turned his head away from the brightness of the infirmary lights.

“Colonel?”

He knew that voice, Doc’s voice, and he didn’t like the worry he could hear in it. If she was worried, maybe he should be worried?

Without thinking about it, his eyes flew open.

Fraiser’s weary, worried face showed surprise, then delight, then concern returned, all in those first few seconds.

Oh, he’d had her worried, hadn’t he? he thought idly.

“Colonel, nice of you to join us, but you’re really supposed to be sleeping yet.”

He tried to answer, felt his throat constrict around the nasty feel of plastic, his hand of its own volition flying toward the obstruction, his shoulders lifting.

“Easy, Colonel, easy,” a hand grabbed his arm, pushing it back down despite his protest.

She saw the momentary panic on his face. “Sir, don’t fight it. You’re still intubated. We’ll be able to take the tube out soon, but for now I’ve got to leave it in. Do you understand?”

His eyes were searching her face intently, confused still, his breathing rapid, the heart monitor sounding out a much faster rhythm.

“Colonel, I need you to relax, let the medications do their work. We didn’t want you waking up just yet. You need more rest, Sir, you’ll be fine.” She released her hold on his arm, was surprised that his hand moved quickly to touch hers. “Colonel?”

He was staring intently at her, trying to tell her something, no, wait, trying to ask, that was it. “Colonel, everyone is fine. No one else was seriously injured…” she knew she’d understood him as he relaxed immediately, the brown eyes blinking slowly. “Teal’c’s symbiote healed his injuries, they were only minor. None of the rest of us were hurt. The rogue team has been captured.”

His eyes searched her face once more.

“You did good, Colonel. Now rest. Doctor’s orders.”

She saw the tiny grin, the flicker in his eyes, then the compliance.

He still had hold of her hand, and she left it there as he slowly relaxed back into the healing sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Janet Fraiser waited until the Colonel was once again asleep, and then she gently eased her hand out of his strong grip. He was an amazing man. She’d known that for a long time now, long before the heroics that had saved her life, and the lives of how many others, despite his own injuries.

He was a puzzle to her. A strong, yet gentle man, a man who loved a good joke, yet took life seriously, a man who cared too much about his friends and hated his enemies with the same passion.

Funny, in some ways, he hadn’t been so unlike Davidson, and yet they were total opposites in others. Davidson had been willing to do anything to save his people, that was something O’Neill would understand, that desperate act to protect those he was charged with leading.

It was sad. So many had died, too many, and all for nothing, for something so simple.

Davidson’s team hadn’t needed a doctor. They hadn’t been poisoned by something on that planet, they’d been dying from a basic nutritional deficit, something so simple to cure that they’d never thought of it; something they had the ‘cure’ for right in their own possession.

The spores in the air on that planet hadn’t killed anyone. Janet had studied the remaining members of Davidson’s team, and the bodies of those who’d died, and she knew now what had made them sick.

They’d been eating MREs for the first long months they’d been cut off from Earth. She couldn’t blame them for getting tired of the bland rations. And then, on a visit to another planet, they’d found a new food supply, tasty, fruit-like food grown by the natives. The team had traded for, or stolen, more likely stolen, she thought, the variety of flavorful foods, and soon were eating them exclusively, the cartons of MRE’s ignored.

For months, nothing had happened, so no one linked the changes in their health to the food they’d been eating for so long.

If only they’d gone back to the MRE’s, even for a little while. That’s all it would have taken.

All they’d been missing was sodium, good old ordinary salt, something most folks on Earth had an excess of and therefore tried to consume less. Too much salt could kill, but so could too little. Deficiencies were almost unheard of on Earth, but sodium is needed by the body for proper energy metabolism. Too little leads to muscle weakness, irregular heartbeats, and death.

Janet shuddered. Such a simple thing to be so deadly. The aliens they’d procured the food from were fine. Maybe they didn’t need the salt; most likely they got what they needed from some other source, something they were unaware of.

Taking one last look at her now peacefully sleeping patient, the doctor decided she could take a break and grab a snack from the commissary. For some strange reason, she had a sudden craving for pretzels or maybe chips.

Definitely something salty.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\