Desert Island

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: Written for the SG Hurt/Comfort List Put Yourself on a Desert Island w/SG-1 challenge fic

Rating: PG, couple of words

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted (Heliopolis, Jack's Place excepted) without the author's consent.

Authors Notes: Yup, all the bits about me are true. I think. Only the (last) name has been changed to protect the (not so) innocent.

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I knew I shouldn't have taken that cruise. Me, the original land-lubber, I get seasick just looking at the water, so of course this Midwestern farmer's daughter won this stupid windjammer nightmare, disaster, my-very-own-version of the Titanic except it wasn't an iceberg but a submerged piece of junk that we'd hit, cruise to nowhere. And now, here I was all alone on some deserted island in the middle of God only knows where. I hadn't even seen another survivor of the shipwreck.

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I was walking on the beach, picking up any bits and pieces of anything that might seem even remotely useful, when I heard this strange clanking and then a kawooshing noise, from back on the island. I dropped my finds, and ran toward the sound. Over a couple of dunes, pushing my way through a thick stand of brush, I saw a huge, round, 'thing,' shimmering.

Oh Mary, I think you hit your head.

And then he walked through the ring. Stumbled through, rather, looking almost as bewildered as I probably did. He was dressed in some sort of military outfit, a baseball cap shading stunning brown eyes over a handsome face, gray hair peeking from under the cap. And he was carrying a very, very big gun.

I stood rooted to the sand, watching, as he walked away from the ring thing, and towards me. Uncertain he was real, I stared right at him, okay, not exactly eye to eye, more like eyes to the middle of his chest, then my eyes drifted up to his face.

My heart went flip-flop. Oh my.

And then he opened his mouth and said, "Okaaay, and which Munchkin are you?"

Yeah so I'm short. "I'm Mary, and I'm stranded on this island and thank God someone else is ---

"Whoa, whoa, what island?" He looked around, "you mean this is it, the whole place, it's just an island?"

I nodded.

"Oh for crying out loud," he muttered.

"Where did you come from?"

He turned around and waved at the ring.

I peered around him, looking for a chopper or a boat, or something. "Where?"

He swiped a hand across his eyes. "Never mind. I couldn't tell you anyway. And if I did you wouldn't believe me."

He took a step, and I noticed he was limping. "Maybe you ought to sit down, Mister."

He did, on the edge of that platform where the big ring thing stood. He rolled up his pantleg, and I could see a nasty looking gash, bleeding heavily. He grimaced.

"I've got some first aid supplies, among the stuff I found on the beach," ever helpful, that's me.

"Found on the beach?"

"I'm shipwrecked."

"Oh good, that's perfect." he muttered. "Yeah, first aid would be good."

"Stay right here," I said.

"Oh, I don't think I'm going anywhere," he intoned, looking around like he was trying to find something important.

I got the first aid kit, came back. He had stripped off his vest and set his gun aside. I poured disinfectant on the wound as he hissed in pain, then wrapped it with gauze and tape. "Not bad," he said. "You a nurse?"

I laughed. "No. The only injuries I've ever treated were on a horse."

He nodded. "Jack O'Neill, Chicago," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Mary Badger, Wisconsin."

"Cheesehead?"

"Yup."

"So this may sound like a strange question, but what year is this?"

Maybe he'd hit his head. "2000."

"Who's president?"

"Bill Clinton, for a few more weeks." I shrugged.

"Cubs win the World Series?"

I laughed, "not in my lifetime."

He nodded, as if agreeing with my answers. "So this is probably my own universe," he muttered.

Man, he must have hit his head, hard. I didn't have a clue what to do for a man with a head injury, though I could think of a few things I'd want to do with this man, head injury or no. Whoa, Mary, get a grip. I stiffled a giggle.

He pulled out a canteen, sipped water. "So, Wisconsin, what do we have? Food? Water? A boat?"

"Well, I did find a little spring back there," I said. "And I've got some food that washed up from the wreck. But that's it."

"Okay," he fingered the radio on his shoulder. "Ah, I need to make a call. In private."

"Uh, sure, I'll take the first aid kit back."

"Give me five."

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He was silent when I returned. "Any luck?" I asked hopefully. I wanted off this island, although now that he was here the place had taken a definite turn for the better.....

He shook his head, "no. Must be too far to land or a satellite link. Have you looked around here, seen another thing, like a table, round, sort of tilted up on it's side?"

"No, but I never saw that before today, either," I said, pointing at the big, round wheel with dozens of odd squiggly little designs on it.

"Well, if we can find that missing table thing, we could use that big round thing," he waved at the big wheel, "to get us out of here," he explained. "But I guess it will have to be in the morning," he added, noting the sun setting spectacularly into the waters to the west.

He started a fire with a lighter from one of the multitude of pockets in his vest. We cooked some crabs I'd caught on the beach and opened a can of what turned out to be peaches, using his knife. I realized how much trouble I would have been in without him being there. Not to mention, he was God Almighty easy on the eyes.

I checked the bandage on his leg, noted the bleeding had stopped, poured more disinfectant on the wound and re-taped it.

"Thanks," he said.

"Welcome. After all, you brought the fire. Fair trade." Besides, he'd done wonders for the scenery.

He sure didn't say much. Me, after three days all alone on that island, man I wanted to talk. "So are you Army?" Just to hear his voice, well, I'd have appreciated anyone's voice but....

"No."

"Navy, then, a Seal?" Shook his head. "Coast Guard?"

"No, Air Force."

"Lose your plane?"

"Not exactly."

I gave up on the conversation after that. The fire died down, and the sea air grew chilly. I pulled out my blanket, the only one I'd found, saw him shiver. "Share?"

He nodded. Rather nervously, I slid over to where he was leaning against the ring's base, and wrapped the blanket around both our shoulders. "Nice," he said. "Thanks." Gave me an odd look, "I don't bite, even on my worst days."

"That's good to know."

He made himself comfortable under the blanket, okay, so it was just a piece of canvas but it was protection from the wind, settling himself in against my shoulder, like this was the kind of thing he did all the time. This, I thought, was nice, very very nice. And then my insatiable sense of curiosity got the better of me. "Ah, so, ah Jack, did anyone ever tell you that you, ah, you look an awful lot like that MacGyver guy who used to be on TV?"

"God, not you too. All the time," he said with a groan. He sighed and muttered under his breath, "stranded on a desert island with a miniature cheesehead and I still can't get away from that MacGyver guy."

"Well, you don't have to get rude about it. I was just making an observation." I said. "And you really do look like him. Just older."

At that, he raised an eyebrow at me. Made him look even more like MacGyver. I laughed.

"Not older. Just more distinguished, the gray hair and all," he suggested.

"Right."

"Making old jokes now, are you?" he queried.

"Ah no, not if you don't make any more short jokes."

"Touche', Wisconsin."

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In the morning, we searched, walking a grid pattern, probing into the sand with long reeds we'd pulled from the bushes. We'd covered about half the territory in front of the wheel, "the gate" he'd called it, when my reed hit something. "Hey, Jack."

We started to dig, and sure enough, it was an odd looking round thing. It took us hours to get the thing free of the sand. I didn't know what it was, but I did notice that the table top was covered with those same squiggly designs that were on the big ring. "So what is it? Some top secret Air Force project?"

He grinned. "You might say that." He looked at me. "What you are about to see, you, well, you can't see this---" and he began punching panels on the 'table.'

The ring began to move. I nearly jumped out of my skin. O'Neill grinned, looking relieved. "Uh, this part is really neat." Fluid, like a fountain, cascaded out of the center of the wheel, sucked back in to form a shimmering film across the center of the ring.

"What the hell is that?"

"Can't tell ya, Wisconsin. Come on." He grabbed my hand. Okay, he wouldn't have to invite me anywhere twice, and he hobbled up the ramp toward the gate with me in tow.

"Wha--"

"Through there," he pointed at the "gate."

"But I can't swim!"

"Don't need to."

And he took my arm and pushed me through the film. Everything spun. Have you ever been on that avalanche ride at Universal Studios? Worse than that. I didn't make it two steps out the other side of that 'gate' before I was throwing up. I told you I got seasick easy.

He looked around. "Ah, good," and he walked over to another one of those tables, propelling me along with him. He punched in more numbers and tapped that glowing orange centerpiece.

Now that I wasn't green anymore, just very, very pale I asked, "where are we?"

He smiled. "Land of Light."

"Yeah, it looks pretty light."

"Okay, one more time."

"I've got to do that again?"

He grinned. "Yup."

Once the gate whooshed, he flipped the switch on his radio, "This is Colonel O'Neill," and rattled off a string of numbers. A voice answered from nowhere.

"Okay, we're good to go," he said, and we stepped through the ring one more time.

I'd have been scared witless of all the soldiers' guns and weapons on the other side, if I hadn't been so busy throwing up, or trying to, again. Jack held my arm. "Hey, it's okay."

A very official looking guy in a very fancy Air Force dress uniform was there. "And who is this Colonel?"

"Ah, Mary from Wisconsin. It's a long story, Sir."

"Oh, it must be Colonel, and one I'm eager to hear. Ma'am, welcome.

I was shuffled off to a small hospital, checked over very thoroughly by a very kindly lady doctor named Fraiser (who incidentally, wasn't much taller than me), and told I could leave. First, however, I had a meeting. The guy with all fancy medals, Gen. Hammond was there, and Jack, Colonel Jack O'Neill.

"I am sorry for all this inconvenience ma'am," said the General. "But inadvertently you became a witness to a very top secret Air Force operation, and have seen some technology that is not known to the general public. We have a secrecy non-disclosure form for you to sign."

"Just routine," smiled that gorgeous colonel.

I signed, without reading the fine print. I'd have signed away my first born child, if I had one, after a look into those brown eyes. I'm a sucker for a hunk. And I didn't mind that gray hair at all.

FINISH