Find Trust in the Darkness

Author: BadgerGater

Email: [email protected]

Category: Adventure

Pairing: None

Rating: PG, violence

Season: Three

Summary: Jack defends a village and the price could be his life

Warnings: Violence, a few adult 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 without the author's consent.

Authors Notes: Once again, my beta's did yeoman like work on this-- cdl for her medical expertise, Corine and Tanya for their ideas, suggestions and corrections, keeping me true to the Colonel.

Part One

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They had been expecting the Greissen.

And the truth was, they weren't prepared.

In the pre-dawn darkness on P4G-777, the villagers and their guests were rousted from their homes and herded into the village center, crowded into the small open area in front of the stone steps that served as a platform. On the steps stood a crowd of strangers, and from that group, a single man stepped forward and asked the question the village had been dreading.

There was silence. Suddenly, from the crowd, a voice called out an answer.

"I will," said Colonel Jack O'Neill.

Dr. Daniel Jackson turned to his friend in surprise. "Jack, have you lost your mind?"

"Probably," O'Neill answered quietly, his face grim.

Daniel looked around at the quiet villagers who surrounded the two members of Earth's SG-1. "You're always the one telling me, us, not to get involved. What are you doing?"

O'Neill recalled the incident of three days ago, how, in trying to help the village's young warrior learn a new fight move, he'd actually created a disaster. He cringed at the memory of the young warrior writhing on the ground. "I injured their champion. Do you see anyone else around here who looks like they could put up a fight against that guy?" said O'Neill, pointing at the huge warrior standing almost naked on the platform.

"No. And that includes you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Daniel," said Jack, peeling off his jacket, vest and unneeded equipment.

"Well it's honest Jack. That guy must be six inches taller than you and outweigh you by 60 or 70 lbs."

"Now that I don't need to know, Daniel."

"And what happened to lay low and they'll never know we're here?"

"Daniel, I'm the one who got their warrior hurt," Jack reminded his friend, thinking again of the training match with Solan, and the throw that had accidentally broken the man's ankle. "As I understand it, when Solan issued his challenge, it was a done deal, the fight was on. So if someone doesn't fight this guy, Solan's declared the loser. And as I understand the rules of this barbaric little contest, the loser dies, the warlord takes his pick of 10 of the village's children, and the entire male population of the village gets wiped out as further punishment for losing. (An effective way to guarantee there were few challenges, O'Neill thought.) And, since we're in this village, I think that would include you and me as well. Moot point, someone's got to fight, and looks like I'm the only candidate." O'Neill took another look at the big guy. "So, yeah, maybe he's a little bigger, but I'd rather go down fighting than be slaughtered like a sitting duck for not trying."

"Going down is not the idea."

Jack nodded. "Right," he added, retying his boot laces to give himself time to study his opponent. "Look, Daniel, while this is going on, try to slip away from here, look for Carter and Teal'c if you can. I'll catch up." O'Neill thought back to his decision to send the big Jaffa and Carter with the Travant search party, the one looking for the strange silver rock. After all, they'd come to this planet looking for naquadah. It had seemed like the right thing to do, send them to complete that task while he had figured to teach Solan, the village's champion, some extra fighting moves that might help him win. Instead, he'd made it impossible for the man to fulfill his challenge, and now not only were the children at risk, the whole village faced disaster.

He tried to stay out of local messes, let his cynical side rule his behavior. He'd learned that a long time ago, not to get involved in fights that weren't his business. He couldn't fix the world, well, err, the universe. But he hadn't been able to resist the children, he couldn't turn his back on them. They were innocent.

Damn, O'Neill, you ought to know better. You try to help and just make things worse. Solan was a match for this guy, as big and as strong, bigger and stronger than you. But no, you stuck your nose in it and Solan got hurt, and now, it's up to you to try to fix the mess you made.

Sending Carter and Teal'c away, now, that had been a bad decision, too, it had turned out. Maybe if they'd all been there, together, they would have had enough firepower to overcome this primitive local warlord, stop this barbaric ritual. Bad move, O'Neill, splitting up your forces.

Too late for regrets.

A voice beside him interrupted the reverie. "I don't think I'll get a chance to go after them," said Daniel, waving his hand at the top of the natural amphitheatre, formed by the low hills. Surrounding the village stood a ring of warriors, each almost as big as the guy O'Neill was going to fight.

"Okay, then..."

The elder was at O'Neill's side. "Thank you O'Neill for saving our village.."

"Don't be thanking me yet, Granddad."

The old man put his hand on the Tau'ri's shoulder. "We are grateful, no matter the outcome. Our village will sing your death song, if that is what is needed. But we will not forget your bravery."

"Well, don't be singing anything yet. I intend to win," said O'Neill, silently adding, 'though I haven't got a clue how. Yet.'

Part 2

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A wall, a ring of three-foot tall stones, stood in the village square, surrounding a pit O'Neill had previously assumed was the village well. A horn blew and everyone came to attention. O'Neill and the elder walked forward, the elder pausing at the edge of the ring, while Jack, by stepping inside, accepted the challenge on behalf of the village. The Avanti, the leader of the Greissen, nodded at him.

"We accept the champion of Travant. If he prevails against our champion, Mossari, the village will be freed of it's bond and duty taxes for a ten year. If not, we will take our due and depart."

It sounded like a simple thing, thought Jack, until you knew that the "bond and duty" for this village was to allow the Avanti to take it's pick of the children, five boys, five girls, taken away to be slaves, or hosts or dinner. He didn't know and he didn't care. He wasn't about to let anyone take those children out of this village. Not if he had breath in his body to stop it.

Ten children a year, for ten years. O'Neill could save a hundred children, a hundred children, from God only knew what fate. A village could challenge, and if it's champion won, the village would be spared it's tribute for the next ten years. If it lost, the lives of all the adult male villagers were forfeit. A month ago, when the Greissen had come to the village, the young warrior Solan had stood up to raise a challenge, the first to do so in years. Now, it was O'Neill's fault he wasn't there to fight.

Jack walked across the sand next to Mossari, feeling like a child next to the hulking giant. They strode forward, to pay obeisance to the Avanti, Mossari kneeling. No way, thought Jack, no way am I gonna bow down before some over dressed, child stealing son of a.... and Jack saw the man's eyes flash. Avanti was a Goa'uld! The children weren't to be taken as slaves, they were to go as hosts! Son of a bitch, hosts. He was barely able to stop his hand from going to the back of his neck, to itch the scar there, where Hathor's larvae had sliced into him. He shuddered, remembering the horror and the excruciating pain. He wasn't going to let this snakehead have another child, not one. No way.

Jack wasn't about to bow down to no damn snakehead. He nodded, that was as far as he could make himself acknowledge the Avanti. The Goa'uld glared at him.

"The time has come for the challenge. The Champion of Travant..."

"O'Neill, my Lord," said the elder.

"O'Neill of Travant challenges the Champion of the Greissen, Mossari." The Avanti was staring at him, staring right at Jack, as if somehow he had recognized....

Was the name O'Neill now so famous among the System Lords that even the Goa'uld on this backwater planet knew about him? Jack smiled a small smile of satisfaction, until he remembered the really big guy he was going to have to fight.

"It is a fight to the death."

Mossari was staring at him, sizing him up, and it was obvious from the contemptuous sneer on the big warrior's lips that he thought he could make short work of this undersized upstart.

'So, Malaria, think I'm an easy kill, do you?' the Colonel mused. What was that old saying, "old age and treachery beat youth and inexperience every time?" Well, Jack O'Neill was not quite so old as the gray in his hair might indicate, and he still had a few tricks up his sleeve from a decade in black ops. Fight smart, Jack, he told himself. He's bigger, stronger, younger, but you're smarter. Well, okay more experienced. Ah, maybe trickier? Well, he better be *something* or he would very soon be plain old dead.

"Commence."

Jack was wearing only his BDU trousers, t-shirt and boots. He was stretching, one eye on his circling opponent, when the order was given. Mossari rushed in, Jack dodged right, then left, then swung a fist toward the back of the neck of his larger opponent. It bounced off harmlessly, as the big man halted his bullish rush and turned back to the gray haired Colonel.

Sooo, big, strong, not too quick, O'Neill assessed.

An old memory popped into his head, "float like a butterfly, sting like a bee." The great American boxer, Mohammad Ali. Patience, Jack.

Mossari rushed again as O'Neill feinted right once more, but this time the big man was ready, one paw-like hand snagging the Colonel before he could retreat. The slap knocked O'Neill head over heels. He bounded back to his feet near Daniel.

"Ahh, Jack?" asked the archaeologist, a worried look on his face.

"Just playing with him Daniel, just playing," said O'Neill, hoping that twinge he felt wasn't a broken rib. Not a good start. He'd have to keep out of this guy's range, because his blows were devastating.

Jack danced, dodged, and retreated to the edge of the circle.

The crowd of Greissen were booing. What did they expect, that he was just going to stand there and let this big oaf run him over? He knew better than to attempt to stand toe to toe with a bigger, stronger foe with a longer reach. Momma O'Neill hadn't raised no fools, no she hadn't, he thought with a feral grin.

"What's the matter little man, afraid to fight?" growled the champion.

"Ooh, so it speaks," said Jack.

Mossari came at him in a rush, arms spread wide, Jack hadn't room to get around, felt a huge hand slap at his head, miss, but hit his shoulder, knocking him off stride, into the edge of the fight ring. O'Neill rolled, got to his feet just in time to avoid Mossari's fist, spun and aimed a kick at the big man's chin. He connected, but the blow rocked the Colonel harder than it seemed to affect the Greissen warrior. The big man hardly blinked. The gray haired Earthman backed off, assessing his opponent once more.

They circled, edging around the ring, feinting, retreating, Jack watching for an opening. It didn't look good. The guy was too damn big, and while no one would ever call him nimble, he wasn't slow enough to offset his size advantage.

There had to be something, a weak spot, somewhere.

Mossari charged. Jack dodged left, but the big man caught him with a fist to the ribs. O'Neill went down, struggling painfully for breath, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could get back to his feet, the Greissen was driving his fist into the side of the Colonel's head. For a moment, things went black, then O'Neill, figuring what the hell, his head hurt already, head butted the big man to the underside of the chin.

Mossari was stunned. Jack slipped out from underneath the bigger man, gasping for air. No doubt now, he had at least one broken rib, maybe more. Every breath was painful. Damn. Hard to float like a butterfly when you can't take a decent breath, he thought.

O'Neill wiped blood from his face, his own blood, from the cut above his eye where he'd headbutted Mossari, but noted with satisfaction that the big warrior wasn't moving too quickly now himself.

Maybe he had made an impression on the bigger man, he thought hopefully.

That hope vanished when Mossari, seeming to have learned something from the Colonel's tactics, feinted a charge at the smaller man, then swept left, into O'Neill's spin move to break away. Jack heard Daniel shout his name, but knew it was already too late, as the big man suddenly had him pinned, chest to chest, in a viselike grip.

"Squeeze the life out of you little man," said the giant warrior.

Jack struggled, couldn't break the grip, a haze of pain beginning to obscure his vision as the man's huge bear-like hands put pressure on the broken ribs. He was going to pass out... And then Mossari lifted O'Neill off his feet and the gray haired man took his chance, bringing his knee up, making hard contact into the bigger man's groin, sending the giant to his knees groaning.

Jack lay on the ground, gasping, unable to breathe, unable to move. And then he looked up, at Daniel and the elder, and thought of the fate of 100 children and drove himself back to his feet. He stumbled toward the big warrior, clasping both hands together like a club, smashing his fists down into the back of the big man's neck, again and again.

Mossari roared in anger, arching his back, flinging O'Neill away, three long strides putting him back at the Colonel's side as O'Neill fought to regain his feet. The big man leaned down and grabbed the smaller figure. It was the opening Jack needed. Grabbing the giant's shoulders, using every ounce of strength and power in his body, he pulled Mossari toward him, using the bigger man's forward momentum against him, flipping him over his head and into the central pit.

Neither man let go, both catapulting over the rim and into the pit. Moments later the crowd heard a sickening crunch as the bodies hit bottom.

"Jack!" Daniel screamed as he saw his friend disappear over the edge with his foe, locked arm in arm.

The crowd, on both sides, stood in stunned silence. Never before had both fighters lost.

The Avanti looked shocked.

"We must wait," said the elder to the Tau'ri archaeologist.

"Wait? Wait for what?" Daniel cried. He was trying to go to the pit, trying to see, but the elder was holding him back.

"You must not enter the ring. The fight would be void," explained the elder.

"But the fight is over. They both went into the pit..." Daniel stared, worried about Jack.

"It is possible that one survived. If so, he must emerge unaided, to claim his victory."

XX<>XX<>XX

part 3

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If this was death, how come it hurt so much?

Jack O'Neill opened his eyes, blinked in the near darkness, tried to brush the blood from his face, enough at least to see. Where? What? His vision faded, shimmied, darkened, snapped back to reveal blurry walls surrounding him.

He was lying on something, on someone actually, he thought vaguely, someone who was not breathing. O'Neill managed to raise his head enough to see that the big man, Mossari, was dead, his neck crumpled against the pit wall at an unnatural angle. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall," he mumbled.

Jack let his head drop, he'd won, oh God, he'd won. Or had he?

So why wasn't someone coming to help him? Why were they leaving him here in this pit?

For crying out loud, he thought, don't tell me this is part of the damn ritual, too?

He tried to raise his head, gasped at the pain that made his head swim and blackness dance at the edge of his vision. He closed his eyes, or did he, because suddenly everything went dark, and Jack let his head sink to the cool sand of the floor. Just a minute or two, he told himself, blinking, his vision fading in and out.

He'd have to find a way out. Sure, climb twenty feet out of the pit with a concussion at the least, he knew that from the way his head spun and his stomach roiled; the familiar pain of a couple of broken ribs; and, he realized as he tried to push himself off Mossari's body, a sprained if not broken ankle.

Peachy, just peachy.

Don't whine Jack, you could be Mossari. Like him, you could be dead.

At least he's feeling nothing.

Or so you think.

With a groan, Jack pushed himself up to a sitting position, head hanging, darkness lurking at the edge of his sight, threatening to engulf his throbbing skull.

Every journey starts with a single step, he told himself. Why, he wondered, did he know every bad cliche' and stupid saying ever invented? Why couldn't his mind latch onto important facts like scientific theories or 23 different languages? Hmm? Why?

He didn't have any answers. Didn't matter now, anyway. He had to find a way out.

It would be easier getting out of there if the damn walls didn't keep swaying back and forth.

Not swaying, Jack, you're a little dizzy.

"Yup," he said out loud. "Dizzy." Usually happened with a concussion, that he knew from personal experience. Blurred vision, nausea, headache, that added up to concussion. He tried to squint, closed one eye. That helped a little. Things were still blurred and out of focus, but it helped the wall stand still well enough for him to see that there were footholds on the pit wall. Whoever had built it had left himself a way out. Maybe they came in here and cleaned up the bodies after a fight? Then he looked over to the far wall, to the pile of old skulls and bones, and figured naw, they didn't bother.

Still, the rough set of the stones gave him a possible way out.

Possible, but not likely.

No pain, no gain, huh O'Neill? Give it your best shot. Take a crack at it. Fire up. Go for the gold, go for the Goa'uld.

Oh, God, how many stupid lines were there stored in his brain, huh? He shook his head, and groaned as everything went dim and then black, and his stomach heaved, and he retched.

He fought the darkness that was trying to claim him, willed shaking muscles to steady. You gotta climb, Jack. Just climb, a few feet, it's only a few feet, not far, not far at all. You can do this with your eyes closed.

He chuckled, groaned, as the walls shimmied again, and he realized he would probably really need to do it with his eyes closed. Yup. Concussed.

Putting both hands against the wall, he pushed himself to his feet, swaying, standing gingerly on one foot, while the planet tilted sickeningly, then stilled, and he opened his other eye. Bad move, Jack. Everything started spinning again, as he clutched the wall for support and his stomach did flip-flops.

Don't look up. Just climb.

And then he found the first problem. If the protruding stones were supposed to be a ladder, it was a ladder that had been built for someone a good deal taller than a 6'2" human from Earth. He couldn't reach the first stone with his hands, much less his feet. If, and it was a big if, somehow he got his hands up there, then he could pull himself up, and get his feet up there, then he could climb the stones. They were a bit of a reach, but he could do it.

He needed something to stand on.

Mossari's body was the only thing.

"Oh, lovely," he muttered, staggering back to the dead warrior. He bent down to grab the man's already cooling hand to drag him toward the wall and bit back a cry of pain. Weren't thinking again, were you? Dumb move, Jack, bending over with a concussion and broken ribs. O'Neill fell to his hands and knees, head hanging, as the pain blossomed into agony in his head and his ribs. Nausea boiled in his stomach, and he couldn't stop it and began retching and heaving. Oh God that really hurt, really really hurt, he moaned. For what seemed like forever, but couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, his body spasmed, fueling the pain everywhere, his ribs and his head worst of all. When the retching had passed, he lay still, then, exhausted by the pain, his sweat streaked forehead lying again in the sand.

He wanted to lie there on the floor. He didn't want to move, to start the pain again, or the nausea. But he knew he had to, couldn't remember anymore why he had to, that was beyond him, he only knew he had to get up and get out of there. It was important. It was for the kids.

Get your act together, O'Neill, he ordered himself. Get up.

Jack forced himself to his knees. He couldn't pull 250 lbs. or more of dead weight over to the wall beneath the ladder stones. Roll him. Roll him over there. Even that was nearly beyond him, his injured ribs stabbing him with pain with every movement, his head pounding in rhythm with his labored breathing.

Finally, the warrior's body was against the wall.

Jack sat on his knees for a long time, waiting vainly for his vision to clear, struggling to pull together enough energy to make his attempt to scale the wall.

A walk in the park, Jack, he told himself. You've climbed mountains. You crawled nine days across a desert. You survived four months in prison. You defied Ra and Hathor and by God you are not going to give in to some petty backwater snakehead who wants to turn children into freakin' goulds. You are tough, Jack, that's what you're good at. Not clever, not smart, but tough; John Wayne, Charles Bronson, not some pretty boy.

He forced himself to his feet, gasped with the pain as he reached his arms up above his head for the first stone, as he stepped on Mossari's body. He gripped the stone, and with all his might, pulled himself up, ignoring the screaming agony in his ribs, until his booted foot found the nubbin of rock that extended inches from the wall.

One step. Don't think about how many more there are left to go, Jack. Don't look down, don't look up. Actually, don't look at all. Everything is too blurry, too dim to be helpful. Just feel for the next handhold, the next move. Keep climbing. You've climbed a rock face worse than this in training. This is a piece of cake. Easy. Nothing. Just fatal if he made a mistake, no safety harness, no net, no rescue squad standing by.

No mistakes, Jack, not now. One hundred children. Somehow, he knew he could save the children if he could get out of here. Save the children. Climb. Save the children. Climb. Save the children.

He fixed his mind on that thought as he pulled himself up to the next handhold, forcing the pain aside, pushing past the pain and through it, ignoring it, focused only on his goal. Slowly O'Neill crawled upwards, eyes closed, until his hands were raw, his arms shaking with fatigue and his leg muscles trembling.

And just when he thought he could go no further, his hand felt something different and he opened one eye, looking up to see his fingers curled around the rim of the pit.

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Part 4

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The crowd was still gathered around the stone ring. Most of the people were sitting quietly, a few milling around talking in whispers. They had heard some faint sounds from the pit, like someone groaning, but no one was sure. Maybe both men were dead. No fight had ever ended in a tie before.

And then Daniel saw a hand emerge onto the rim of the stone pit, and he knew that hand was way too small to be the hand of the giant Mossari.

Oh God, please, Jack, come on, Daniel stood, brow furrowed in concentration, fists clenched, eyes fixed on the struggle in front of him.

An arm followed the hand, reaching, searching, coming up inches short of the edge of the stones where he would have a handhold to pull himself out. "Come on, Jack," Daniel whispered.

The arm stretched, found the hold, and inch by inch, O'Neill began to emerge from the pit.

It was silent, some in the crowd anxious with relief and excitement, the others stricken.

Slowly, Jack's silver haired head cleared the rim of the pit. His eyes were closed in apparent concentration, his face ashen, his mouth fixed in a painful grimace.

Daniel's eyes were fastened on his friend's face, willing him to keep moving. "Come on, Jack, come on, Jack, come on, Jack," he chanted stifling the urge to yell out his friend's name, afraid to break the concentration that seemed to be the only thing keeping the obviously injured man poised on the lip of the pit.

Just a few more inches, Jack, just a couple, and you'll be over the top. Daniel Jackson had never in his life met anyone with more sheer stubborn bullheadedness than Jack O'Neill, and he knew the man needed every iota of that determination right now.

Jack's hand was wrapped around the rim of the pit, and Daniel saw the man make one final effort, the muscles in his arms cording with strain, his teeth bared, and O'Neill pulled himself over the edge, sliding from the rim of the pit into the sand of the stone encircled ring.

A groan from the Greissen.

A sigh of relief from the Travanti.

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

No cheering, just quiet as the man lay moaning in the sand.

"Get up, Jack," whispered Daniel, knowing O'Neill had to leave the ring in order to win the battle.

-----------

Jack O'Neill lay in the warm sand, spent, his body protesting, his lungs barely able to pump enough air, his head pounding like a jackhammer was trying to batter its way out of his skull. His arms and legs trembled with fatigue, his head threatened to explode. Finally, he forced his eyes open. Dim and blurred, twenty feet away, across the circle of stand, he saw a pair of familiar blue eyes meet his.

Daniel was there. Damn, why didn't Daniel come to help him? He thought Daniel was saying something but he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. Daniel, help me, tell me what to do.

"Jack, over here, you have to come here, to me," said Daniel.

Yeah, right. Why don't you come here?

Shit. He must have a reason.

O'Neill let his lids droop closed again, dropped his head onto the sand, resting it a moment, gathering his will and his strength, ordering his arms to push him forward. He didn't even consider making the effort to get to his feet, if that was the requirement to win this fight, then he was doomed because there was no way he could get himself upright.

But he could crawl. His head spun wildly but Jack looked ahead, seeing three Daniel Jackson's staring intently at him. Three? Oh Lord, I can't take care of one, he thought vaguely, and squeezed his eyes shut.

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

"Jack, you have to come here, to me. Now." Jack was looking at him, bleary eyed, obviously concussed and something more, his eyes looking vague and distracted. "Jack, the children, remember 100 children?" Daniel knew those words alone could propel his exhausted friend into movement.

O'Neill raised his eyes, fastened them on Daniel's face, and began to crawl, one painful inch at a time.

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Jack dug his bloodied hands into the sand, pulling himself forward, pushing with his good right leg, sliding inch by torturous inch across the hot sand. Don't think, just move, get to Daniel.

His world had shrunk to one sound, one goal, one action. Crawl forward, using hands and one good knee, toward Daniel and out of the circle. Toward Daniel. Out of the Circle. Toward Daniel. Out of the Circle. Daniel's voice pulled him forward in a world gone dark, where everything was black.

Three feet from his goal, so close he could almost touch the young archaeologist's hand, Jack's head dropped once more to the sand. Daniel could hear his harsh breathing, see the blood caked on his hands, and more trickling from his right ear. Oh God, wasn't that the sign of a skull fracture? Hadn't Jack had one of those years ago, some parachuting disaster in the Middle East? Could a man survive a second one?

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

Jack was mumbling, his concentration gone, his world having shrunk to nothing more than the pain in his head and his fight for air. Daniel's voice was the only thing that pierced the darkness in his skull.

"Don't you dare give up on me, Jack," said Daniel fiercely. "Jack, the winner has to walk out of the ring, remember Jack, walk out. Get up on your feet."

Jack would have laughed, if he didn't know that would hurt like hell.

"No," he whispered.

"No? What kind of answer is no? Are you quitting? Quitting on these people, on those children?" Daniel pleaded. "Kids, Jacks, 100 kids, depending on you." Oh God, Jack, I know you're hurting I can see it in your eyes and on your face, but damn it, you've come so far and you're so close, you can't give up. You never give up Jack, never, not you. I don't want to see you like this and I don't want to watch your agonizing movements, but the payoff is waiting. I know you. You won't forgive yourself if you fail. "One hundred kids, Jack, you can save them," Jackson whispered.

O'Neill raised his face, eyes drifting, searching but the darkness concealed everything. He coughed, blood trickling from his mouth. "Kids?...." and then he remembered, the children, the 100 children he could save. Maybe that would make up for Charlie a little bit, make up for all the killing and all the dark nasty deeds in his past.

Jack closed his eyes, pushed himself up from the sand, raising his shoulders, pulling up his knees, groaning. He steadied himself, wondering when it had gotten dark. Why was it dark, where had the sun gone? Was it night already?

It was so dark he couldn't see Daniel, couldn't see anything, so he fixed his focus on the familiar voice speaking his name. He didn't need to see to know that was Daniel, he should listen to Daniel, go to Daniel. With trembling arms he pushed away from the sand, kneeling now, swaying.

"Daniel?" he whispered past the throbbing in his head, his gaze unfocused. "Oh, God."

Jackson could see the Colonel wavering, losing his concentration. Daniel had one last idea to get through to his friend, and he put every bit of command tone he could muster into his voice. "O'Neill, get up. Get up on your feet, airman," he tried to sound like Hammond, like a pissed-off General Hammond. "Get up on your feet and get over here. Now," he ordered.

Jack raised his head, the ingrained response of years of military training to obey orders slicing through the fog in his battered brain. "Yesshh, Sir," he mumbled, and summoned up the last of his failing strength. He pushed off the ground, weaving, somehow getting up onto his feet. He did not hear the indrawn breaths of hundreds, of all the villagers, as he stood and staggered, weaving on his feet, hunched over but on two legs. That was enough, it better be good enough, because this was all he could force himself to do. He lurched forward a step, nearly falling as his ankle buckled, but somehow he righted himself, staggered another step past the rim of the circle, and collapsed into Daniel's waiting arms.

"Goa'uld bastard," he mumbled, and passed out.

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Part 5

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The Avanti was livid, but he could not back down. Not that he cared about the villagers, but he dared not break his word in front of his own people.

"The challenger is declared the winner. Travant is free of bond and duty for a ten year," he announced tersely, then left the dais and headed for his transport. He was getting the hell out of this village. Now.

He had plans to make. Somehow, he was going to have to come up with 10 more children, take them from another village, steal them somehow, in order to meet his quota. Or the System Lords would revoke his right to this planet. Granted, it wasn't much, this little backwater world with its primitive inhabitants. But he lived well here, and the rest of the Goa'uld left him alone.

And then another thought struck him. If O'Neill was here, the others must be here also. So if he captured them, all four of them, the most hated of the Tau'ri, he could claim the price on their heads. They had to be worth even more than ten squalling human children.

He turned back, took note of the man O'Neill had gone to, a slender man, and though he spoke the native language, he seemed a bit out of place.

Avanti signaled his aide. "Find out what is happening, what O'Neill's condition is."

The man bowed, "yes, my Lord."

<><><><><>

With the help of several men from the village, the unconscious O'Neill was carried to the elder's hut. The village healer's assessment of the situation was as bad as Daniel's.

"He will die," said the healer. "The injuries are inside, to his head, to his lungs. There is nothing I can repair. There are no poultices, no potions or drugs to aid him. I can do nothing but give him medicines that will take away the pain, ease his passing."

"We can't just let him die," protested an anguished Daniel, looking at the elder, and the others. "He saved your village, saved your children..."

"We would do anything to help him, but there is nothing..." said the elder, sadly.

From the back of the crowd, one man slipped away, unnoticed, and whispered a few words to another, a warrior dressed in the robes of the Avanti.

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

"O'Neill is dying of his injuries, my Lord," reported the aide.

"Well, Dolarin, we will have to do something about that. He is too valuable to be left to die."

"But my Lord..."

Avanti's eyes were gleaming. "O'Neill's friends must hear of the rumor that the Avanti has a sarcophagus, a healing device, a thing that can save O'Neill. It is in my palace at Barra'veld. But, and this is important, Dolarin, our spy must reveal that I and my entourage are going on to the next village, not home. My palace is lightly guarded while I am away."

"But my Lord, it is always well guarded."

"Kree!! You fool, of course it is guarded. But the Tau'ri must think it is not, so that they will make the attempt to save their friend, and fall into the trap. Go. Now. Be sure the spy lets them know. In fact, he can lead them to the palace. Have him tell them he once worked there, in the kitchen, but was sent away."

Dolarin bowed deeply. "Yes, my Lord. Your word is my command, my Lord."

Avanti smiled. This would be even better than having the yearly tribute of children for hosts and Jaffa's. He would be the toast of the System Lords, for capturing O'Neill and Jackson, possibly even Carter and the Shol'vah, Teal'c. As he grinned in anticipation of the riches and acclaim that would soon be his, his eyes glowed.

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

In the village, outside the hut of the elder, the villagers had gathered, and they were singing, a keening, wailing song. Jack's death song, thought Daniel sadly. They had promised to sing it and now they were, because O'Neill was dying. They were too far from the gate, certainly a week at best, and he would never survive the journey. Deeply unconscious, each breath rasping through his damaged lungs, O'Neill was barely holding on. The healer did not think the Tau'ri would live through another night.

How could it end like this? After all they had been through, after battling the Goa'uld, fighting the most advanced and sophisticated races in the galaxy, Jack O'Neill would die at the hands of a primitive warrior in hand to hand, weaponless battle.

The Travanti had sent several messengers to the rendezvous point, where Carter and Teal'c should be waiting by now, but by the time they got here, it would be too late. Too bad Sam didn't carry that damn Tokra healing device.

Could they contact the Tokra? No, not in time. Daniel buried his face in his hands and listened to each painful breath his friend drew. They had faced death so many times before, and somehow had always cheated it, escaped and returned home. They were the only SG team still intact, after four years. Other teams had lost individual members, several teams had been wiped out in total, some personnel had left, unable to handle the stress and the strain. But SG-1 had been like... magic. They had all credited it to their differences, the various and different unique talents they brought to the team. But Daniel had always known the true secret to SG-1's survival was Jack's bullheaded stubborn insistence that they were a team, a family and by God, he wasn't going to let anything happen to his family.

And now the family was going to lose him.

God, it wasn't fair, not now when Jack had finally found some peace in his life, something good and worthwhile and a reason for living. Daniel remembered the dour man he had first met and so disliked, the cold and hard man, a shattered shell of a human being. It wasn't until he found out the truth about Jack, about his loss, the death of his son and the all-consuming guilt he'd felt for that tragedy, that Daniel found something in the gruff Colonel that he could understand. Daniel understood loss, it was one of the cornerstones of his life.

Like O'Neill, he had vowed never again to let any one human being become important to him, but then Sha're had come into his life. And SG-1.

Jack was like his big brother, or an uncle. Annoying, teasing, often exasperating, but always someone who in the end had your best interests at heart, someone who tried to spare you the pain he already knew. Forever someone he could count on. And now, he was going to lose that.

He tried to ignore the commotion outside his door, the babble of voices. Couldn't these people even let a man die in peace?

The elder was back, a hopeful look on his face. "Bertal is here and he has an idea. He knows of a healing device..."

Daniel jumped up. "A healing device? Where?"

Bertal bowed, "Tau'ri, the master Avanti has a special bed, like a coffin, where he sleeps the healing sleep."

"A sarcophagus? Here, on this world? But... my God, he's a Goa'uld! Jack mentioned something about that, but at the time I thought it was just delirious raving. Oh, my God, where is this thing? How far?"

"Avanti's palace. Three days walk."

"If we carry him, non-stop, changing the bearers in shifts, we might make it in one day."

Maybe he could hold on. Daniel bent back down to his friend. "Jack, Jack, if you can hear me..."

The pallid, sweating man on the bed, breath rasping, moaned, but did not respond.

Daniel continued, hoping his words were getting through to his friend. "Jack, we can help you. If you can hold on, one more day, 24 hours. You hear? Huh? I'll never forgive you if you die on me, Jack."

Daniel wasn't going to worry about guards or tactics or a plan. Just get Jack to the sarcophagus, get him healed. He'd worry about the details later.

They left within the hour, volunteers taking shifts carrying the stretcher bearing the still form of Jack O'Neill. They walked through the night, and well into the dawn, never pausing.

-----------

Part 6

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

The palace seemed lightly defended, Daniel thought. Why?

"Avanti was going on to the village of Maraltan. When he is away, he leaves very few to guard. There is no need. No one would dare to defy him," said Bertal.

"And you know where the healing device is?"

"Oh, yes, I have seen Avanti use it."

"Okay."

-----------

They were huddled outside the city, looking in, using Jack's binoculars to study the fortress-like palace below them.

"So how do we get in?" Daniel asked Bertal.

"The door is there," he said, pointing.

"So, what, we just walk in?" Daniel was too exhausted to even think about creating a plan. He looked down at Jack, at his dying friend, and thought, what the hell? It was just brazen enough that it might work. They didn't exactly have time to cook up any elaborate subterfuge to gain access, so why not? It was, Daniel thought, exactly the kind of thing Jack would love. Bold. Cocky. Risky. Just daring enough to be successful. "So, okay we walk in, like we belong, like we own the place. Like Avanti sent us here. Okay?" Daniel looked at the Travanti around him. "I would prefer to go in alone, but I need someone to help carry him," he said.

Every man raised his hand to volunteer.

"Look, thank you, but..."

"You cannot carry him alone."

"I can't pick," said Daniel plaintively.

"Then we will draw straws," the winners, those who drew the long straws, were given the honor of entering Avanti's palace with Jackson and O'Neill.

As they started out of the forest, Daniel turned to them. "Thank you. All of you. For him. He'd thank you if he could."

"We thank you, for allowing us the honor of assisting O'Neill."

"Jack," Daniel bent down one more time to speak to his friend. O'Neill's breathing was labored, his eyes closed, face gray, his pulse feeble beneath the clammy skin. "You have to hold on a little longer. We're nearly there. Don't give up on me."

No response. God, thought Daniel, please don't let us be too late, not after all this.

"Okay, let's go."

It was too easy. Daniel should have known, and would have known, if he wasn't exhausted from 48 sleepless hours. But, he realized later, it would have made no difference. In the face of a hundred guards, he would have walked into the Avanti's palace and put Jack into the sarcophagus regardless of the possible consequences.

The palace was empty, their footsteps echoing, as they boldly walked in the front door behind Bertal. "Avanti sent us. With this man. We must enter now," Daniel told the lone gatekeeper. They entered the courtyard, followed Bertal to the room he indicated, and found the healing device.

Gently, the Travant volunteers lifted O'Neill's barely breathing body from the litter and placed it into the sarcophagus.

"Go," Daniel ordered.

"But..."

"If this works, he'll walk out of here, healed. If it doesn't, there'll be no need for litter bearers," Daniel explained. They left. It was eerily silent in the palace. How long, Daniel wondered, does he need to be in there? Long enough, not too long, he thought, remembering the warnings, knowing first hand what the sarcophagus could do to a man. He shuddered, but remembered this was only Jack's second time in the healing device, so he should be okay.

And then he heard footsteps in the hall: many, many footsteps.

The Avanti walked in, followed by his personal guard, and Bertal.

"Ah, look," said the Goa'uld, "look at what my little trap has caught." He motioned to his guards, and two of them grabbed Daniel. Another opened the sarcophagus and looked in. Jack's eyes were still closed, but he moaned. "He is only partially healed, My Lord."

"It's good enough. As long as he's alive long enough when the buyers gets here, that's all he needs."

"Wait. What 'buyers'?" asked Daniel.

"The Jaffa who will take you to Apophis." Avanti's eyes glowed. "He's very eager to see you, and O'Neill. My reward will be great, for bringing you to him."

"Well, ah, our people would give a pretty good reward for our return as well."

Avanti laughed. "The Tau'ri? Pitiful, primitive creatures. What could you have of value that a Goa'uld would want? Hmmm. You have delusions of grandeur, Daniel Jackson of the Tauri. Now, get them out of here," he ordered his guards.

A Jaffa picked up O'Neill, slung the still unconscious form over his shoulder and followed the guards as they led Jackson to a cell, a bare, stone walled room. Daniel was pushed into the room and Jack's inert body was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. The archaeologist heard the door being lock behind them as he hurried over to O'Neill. He only hoped they had allowed the gray haired Colonel enough time in the sarcophagus.

"Jack, wake up. Can you hear me? Jack."

O'Neill moaned.

"Come on, Jack. Wake up. Now. It's time. Come on." Carefully, Daniel patted his friend's cheek, rewarded by a flickering of eyelids, and Jack's hands moving up to brush Daniel's hands away from his face.

"Wha? What?"Jack suddenly sat bolt upright, his eyes searching frantically around the room. He coughed, rasped, hoarsely. "Where are we?"

"In Avanti's palace."

"How'd I get here?"

"We brought you here to use his sarcophagus. You were dying..."

"I won the fight?"

"Yes."

"That's good." Daniel saw Jack swallow convulsively. "Ahh, Daniel. Did someone use a shock grenade on us?"

"No."

"Oh, that's too bad."

"What?"

"I was sort of hoping the reason I can't see a thing was an after effect of one of those shock grenade thingys..."

"You can't see?"

"Pitch black, Daniel," said Jack, raising his hands in front of his face. "I can't see."

"Oh dear."

"Daniel," there was an unexpected edge of panic to Jack's voice. "The sarcophagus..."

"Avanti's men pulled you out before you had enough time to heal completely. When we get out of here, we'll just put you back in and let it finish it's job," Daniel told him, reaching out to pat his shoulder reassuringly.

Jack shrank back from the touch.

Dammit, thought Daniel, I have to be more careful, take it easy with him, in this condition. "It's okay, Jack, it'll be all right."

"Yeah sure," O'Neill answered in a small voice, not brash, not sarcastic, not sounding at all like Jack O'Neill.

Oh God.

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

Part 7

-----

He didn't mind the dark when he first awakened, and then he remembered. Another fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Jack. His ribs ached and his ankle throbbed, and the headache, that was nasty. All of that he could deal with, but his eyes, if he couldn't see, couldn't do anything. Jack O'Neill shivered, wrapped his arms around himself, feeling helpless.

"Jack."

The familiar voice in the darkness was welcome. "Daniel? What?"

"They brought us some water and some food." O'Neill felt the cup placed into his hands, drank deeply. Daniel took it, then tried to press something else into his palm. "Here, eat."

Jack shook his head. "Arrggh," that made it hurt. "No."

"You need to eat. Keep your strength up."

"Can't."

Silence. "Daniel?" Please, don't be silent, not now, I need to hear your voice, need something to concentrate on in the darkness because I've never much liked the dark, not since, well, since a very long time ago. And where I am now is a really, really dark place. "Talk to me, Daniel."

In the darkness, Jack heard a rustle of movement, felt a hand touch his shoulder. "It's okay, Jack. I'm here. I think...."

<><><><><>

Major Carter and Teal'c arrived in the village near dusk, exhausted after traveling all day, at least the human was. Sam wondered whether Teal'c ever truly got tired or hungry, well, maybe that was unfair, she had seen him hurt and tired, so the symbiote wasn't perfect in that regard. But it did give him a huge advantage over his strictly human teammates in SG-1, especially at a time like this, when they were stretched to the limit of their physical endurance.

Yet Carter's exhaustion dulled when she discovered the news in the village.

Daniel had taken the dying Colonel O'Neill to the palace, in hopes of finding a sarcophagus. They had safely entered the deserted palace, placed the Colonel inside, but several of the departing escorts had seen the Avanti and his guards returning.

"I believe they walked into a trap," said Teal'c conveying no emotion in his words or face, but Carter knew he was greeting this news with distress.

"So we've got to get to them as quickly as possible, " Carter said.

"Yes, but Major Carter you must rest, and even I must spend some time in Kel no'reem. I suggest we spend some time regaining our strength here in the village and then travel on."

And hope we aren't too late, thought Carter.

------

"Daniel?" The voice sounded odd, shaky.

The young man was immediately awake. "What is it?"

"Do we have any water?"

"Yes. Here, let me help you." Awkwardly, Daniel held the dipper up for Jack to drink. The Colonel sipped, then sat back heavily.

"How are you feeling?" Daniel asked.

"My head hurts."

"That's to be expected. You've got a nasty lump on your head. You had a bad concussion, more likely a skull fracture."

"Ah, yeah, done that before," he said softly, with no spark.

Daniel dipped a cloth he'd ripped from the end of his shirt in the water, gently wiped Jack's face. "How about your ribs?"

"Still sore, like they're cracked."

"Then the sarcophagus helped. They were broken." Daniel shivered, remembering. "I need to check you over. I'll be as gentle as I can but this might hurt."

Jack nodded carefully, having discovered any quick movement sent pain flaring through his skull. "Okay."

"I'll start with your ankle." O'Neill felt Daniel's hands untying the laces of his boot and carefully lifting his ankle.

"Ummmmhh."

Daniel stopped, unsure what to do next.

"Go ahead," Jack ordered through clenched teeth. He felt the boot sliding off his foot, hands gently probing the swelling.

"Your ankle doesn't seem as swollen, I think it's partly healed too."

"Good."

"Ribs next." Daniel carefully moved Jack's t-shirt up to reveal the ribcage, mottled in vivid shades of black and purple.

Jack felt the long fingers test his ribs. "Ow," he hissed, drawing in a breath. "Ow! Careful!"

"I'm trying, Jack, but there's a lot of bruising here, and swelling," he pushed the shirt back into place. "Well, your breathing is definitely better and your pulse and respiration are definitely more normal."

"Been studying nursing while I wasn't watching, huh, Danny?"

"I just figured hanging out with you, it would come in handy. Hurt anywhere else?"

"Everywhere, but nothing particular," Jack answered.

"Okay, then. We've got some food here, you should try to eat something."

"I don't think I can," answered the battered Colonel.

"You should try."

He shook his head, stopped, a grimace of pain crossing his face. "No. Can't. Really. I'm still nauseous. Head injury does that to ya.' Maybe later. Think I'll rest some more."

"Okay."

Jack's eyes were closed. "Daniel, is it still dark?" the voice was very, very quiet.

"Yes. It's the middle of the night, dark and quiet." Daniel didn't bother to tell him about the flaring torches lighting the hallway outside their cell.

"Good." Very quietly, sinking back to lie again on the floor, O'Neill added, "Daniel? Thanks."

"Anytime."

Daniel again took his jacket and wrapped it around Jack's shoulders. Then, Daniel sat, knees drawn up against his chest, hands clasped around his knees, watching his friend, and worrying.

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

Part 8

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

The rescue party included a half dozen villagers, poorly armed, Carter thought despairingly, herself and Teal'c. Not much of a force to defeat a Goa'uld and his guards. Even if he had no true Jaffa, no or few Goa'uld weapons, they would be badly outnumbered.

There was one thing in their favor, however, Carter had found the Colonel's pack in the village, and four bricks of C-4 inside it. She smiled, thinking of O'Neill's penchant for making sure they had enough armament, no matter when or where they were going. "Always be prepared, that's the Air Force motto," he'd told her once. She'd smiled. "Sorry Sir, that's the Boy Scout motto." He'd laughed. "Air Force, Boy Scouts, one and the same," and grinned that annoyingly smug grin that always made her laugh, even when she had to hide the chuckle.

She hoped she'd see that grin again, hoped the sarcophagus had healed the Colonel before the Avanti returned. Maybe, she hoped, Daniel and the Colonel had managed to hide in the palace, sneak out, something.

They were waiting for word. Jolan, one of the Travant villagers, had gone to the palace after explaining that his cousin worked in the kitchen there. It would not be suspicious for him to stop and chat.

Carter's hopes were in vain, however, as they quickly discovered, when young Jolan sauntered back out of the castle. "There are two strangers locked in a cell on the floors beneath the castle," he told them breathlessly. "One is the man with the strange glass eye covers. The other is injured, he was removed from the healing box before its work was complete. The Avanti is expecting guests, very important guests, tomorrow. Travelers from the stars are coming through the gate to take away the prisoners."

"Damn," muttered Carter.

"Do not despair, Major Carter," said Teal'c in his ever steady tone. "O'Neill is still alive, and that is more than we could have expected. We must rescue them."

"Okay, so how do we get in?"

Jolan spoke up. "There is a back door, opening into the kitchen, I have used it many times to visit Tante Kinessa. The workers use it to go in and out of the palace. If we enter in the early morning hours, after moonset, no one will be there. I can ask Tante to see the door is unbarred for us."

"Okay, so that gives us a way in," Carter nodded.

"And we can use the C-4 to create diversions, while we rescue Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson," added the Jaffa.

"We will assist in your diversion, Tau'ri," said the village elder. "We owe your Colonel our lives, and the lives of our children."

"Okay, then, we move after moonset," the Major ordered.

--------

It had been a long day for Daniel but, he suspected, not half as long as it had been for his friend. Jack had been asleep or unconscious most of the day, while Daniel had been left to wait and worry. Though the sarcophagus had started O'Neill healing, the task had been far from complete when he was removed. Greatly improved from his mortally wounded condition of the day before, Jack was still hurt, weak, in pain, and most devastating of all, blind.

O'Neill had roused several times during the day, exchanged little more than a few mumbled words with Jackson, and gone back to sleep. Finally, more food was brought and left for the prisoners.

"Jack," Daniel was careful to give O'Neill warning before approaching. "Jack," he called more loudly, then touched his friend's shoulder.

Jack sat up quickly, grimacing, then leaned carefully back against the wall, eyes closed. "What?" he asked, tiredly.

"They brought us more food and water. Here," he placed a bowl in O'Neill's hands. "It's some kind of soup. Doesn't taste too bad, really."

"No."

"Jack, you have to eat, to get some strength back."

"So, what, I can lead us out of here?"

Daniel didn't like the defeated tone he was hearing, didn't like it at all. "We'll find a way out of here and get you back into that sarcophagus. Or let Doc patch you up. Whatever. We'll find a way. That's what you always say. There's a way out if you look for one."

"Hard to look when you can't see."

"Well, you can think and you can hear and you can talk, so don't be giving up on me."

"Yeah, right."

"Jack, I need you with me on this."

O'Neill sighed. "If you find a way out, Daniel, take it, and leave me behind."

"Leave you behind? Right." Daniel let the disgust leak into his voice. "I never thought I'd see the day when Jack O'Neill laid down and gave up."

"That's good Daniel. See the day, yup, never see that day, I sure won't see that day or any other day."

"You're quitting? Just like that? Things get a little tough and you, Mr. Macho Air Force tough guy, wants to give up and quit on me? Huh? Just like you quit back there after Charlie died, back when we went to Abydos? Well, I didn't let you quit then and I'm not going to let you quit now." Daniel insisted. "So eat your soup. That's an order."

Jack sat for long seconds, doing nothing. Daniel was afraid it hadn't worked and Jack really had given up, and if so, then he didn't know what he would do, because he wasn't strong enough to fight for both of them.

The silence lengthened. "Daniel, thanks. I needed that," a rueful smile crossed the grim face, not much of one, not for long, but it was there. "I, um, I guess I'm a little worried here. Feeling a little," the hand waved in one of those gestures Daniel recognized, the one that said Jack had something important to say but didn't have the words to say it, "a, ahh, little lost, at the moment. You know..."

"Yeah, I know," Daniel reached out and touched Jack's shoulder. "Just eat your soup. Before it gets cold, huh?"

Jack nodded, carefully, raised the bowl to his lips and drank.

Daniel sighed. A step forward, not much, but something. They were still the Avanti's prisoners, still locked in a cell, Jack was still hurt and blind, but at least he was eating. He hadn't given up, and Jack O'Neill was the one person Daniel Jackson always knew he wanted beside him in a fight.

-----------

Sometime in the early evening, the door opened and the Goa'uld swept in, surrounded by his guards.

"It's Avanti. Stay down," Daniel whispered at Jack.

Jack heard the door open, the sound of many feet, the clank of weapons, and he tried vainly to assess the situation. Damn, unable to see he was helpless to do anything, to help Daniel or himself, he thought bitterly.

"What do you want Avanti? And why do you need to bring a whole squad of your guards with you?"

Daniel was trying to give him clues. Good job, Daniel, he urged silently.

"Get up!"

He heard the rustle of cloth at his side, Daniel getting to his feet.

"You too," the Goa'uld continued.

"He can't," said Daniel quickly. "He's still too sick. He needs more time in the sarcophagus."

Jack heard the sound of a slap and staggering footsteps, like someone catching his balance, and forced himself to lie still, to play sick, or at least sicker than he still was.

"You have nothing to say about what he needs. He only needs to be alive when your new owner shows up."

Jack heard the footsteps draw closer, but was totally unprepared for what happened next. A boot hit his unprotected ribs, impacting brutally on already cracked bones, driving the air from his damaged lungs. Jack bit back a yell, letting only a moan escape him as he reflexively curled into a fetal position.

"Get up," said the voice of the Avanti from above him, clearly angry.

"Can't," Jack mumbled, not lying this time, still trying to draw a breath into his battered chest.

A hand grabbed his arm, jerked him to his feet. He staggered and would have fallen if he hadn't suddenly felt the wall at his back. O'Neill leaned heavily against it, still gasping for air.

"See, I knew you could, Tau'ri." The voice changed, the man had turned away, O'Neill guessed.

"Kree!" said the voice, followed by unintelligible words in Goa'uld, the sound of them making the hair on the Colonel's neck stand on end. God, he hated the damn snakeheads. Hated them, hated what they'd tried to do to him, hated the way they made him feel helpless. But not half as helpless as his own body was making him feel, now.

"Go!" said a rough voice from the darkness that surrounded him. Go? Go where? How? And then there was a hand on his arm, steadying him.

"Jack..."

"You, leave him..."

He heard the anger, the defiance in Daniel's voice. "Can't you see he's hurt? He has a serious head injury, he's so dizzy..."

O'Neill helped Daniel's story by stumbling over the edge of a step, one he didn't know was there, in the doorway to their cell.

"Sorry," Daniel whispered, steering him out of the room. A hallway, Jack could tell by the way their footsteps echoed.

"You, quiet," the rough voice ordered.

"Okay, I was just helping," said Daniel, and again Jack heard the sound of something impacting a human body. Damn, these guys would pay for hurting Daniel, he thought.

Jack counted the steps for something to keep his mind occupied. One hundred and forty seven, then 17 through a small room, and finally, they walked twenty-seven paces across a room where the echoes bounced off distant walls. Big room.

Avanti's voice again. "So, my Tau'ri friends, shall you entertain me tonight? It will be our last night together, after all. And I have heard so much of the Tau'ri, of their cunning and prowess. Perhaps you could show me something that will amaze and delight me."

"I don't think so," said Jack sarcastically, aiming his voice at where the Avanti's words seemed to be coming from.

"Kneel before your God!"

"Now where have we heard that before, eh?" Jack asked.

"On your knees!"

"No," said O'Neill, defiantly. Jack didn't need to be able to see to know that Avanti was making a motion to one of the guards behind him, and a fraction of a second later, he was slammed in the back of the legs by a staff. The Colonel fell, his knees impacting painfully with the stone floor. Then his hands were jerked roughly behind him and his wrists tightly secured.

O'Neill heard more rustling cloth, then footsteps approaching him. He stared straight ahead straining to hear to make up for what he couldn't see.

Suddenly, there was a hand in his hair, pulling his head back. "Hey!"

"You may act brave now, O'Neill, but you will regret your attitude once Apophis has his hands on you. He is most eager to renew your acquaintance."

Suddenly, the voice changed. Damn, thought O'Neill.

Avanti had noticed something odd about the man, the Tau'ri. He released the man's head, then brought his hand in front of the silver haired soldier's face. No reaction. That was odd. Again, he brought his hand close, and the eyes did not blink. Hmm. He slowly brought his hand forward, touched the Tau'ri's face. The man instinctively recoiled. Blind, the man was blind.

"Leave him alone!" the other human shouted.

"Ah, so you would protect your crippled friend, Tau'ri. You must be the one they call Dr. Daniel Jackson. Quite a price on your heads. You are a most valuable prize."

"He's of no value if he's dead," said Daniel.

"Oh, that is true, but I have a sarcophagus, and can undo any damage that may be inflicted for my amusement," said the Avanti threateningly. He turned back to the kneeling Colonel. "Is it difficult, to be blind? To be helpless before your enemy? When you know I could heal you? Perhaps you will beg for the healing?"

Jack didn't answer.

Avanti waved his hands in front of the Colonel's face. "Difficult, isn't it, to tell what I will do next?" There was amusement in the voice. "I think I shall enjoy our evening, O'Neill. Perhaps a little payback for the death of my valued warrior, Mossari. You owe me."

Avanti's footsteps moved away.

Jack hated not knowing what was happening, what the man was doing as he heard small noises.

"He's picking up a.... ooof," Daniel's whisper was cut short.

"Gag him," was the order from Avanti.

Jack swallowed, tried to focus on his hearing, to understand the tiny sounds and what they might mean. He knew they had dragged Daniel away.

"Now, O'Neill," the Goa'uld was so close Jack could feel the man's breath on his face. "You will do as you are told."

"No." From out of the darkness, a fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him to the floor. Rough hands jerked him back to his knees.

A hand clenched his sore jaw, tightly, and there was amusement in Avanti's tone."You do not understand? Or you refuse?"

"No." Another blow out nowhere, but this time he was braced against it, swayed, but stayed upright.

"Stubborn, O'Neill, but it will gain you nothing." There was anger as well as amusement in the tone now. The Goau'ld was walking around the kneeling man, O'Neill tracking him by the sound of his footsteps. "So, tell me, O'Neill, what are you doing on my planet?"

"Vacation. Heard it was the new tourist hot spot of the galaxy."

The slap this time came from behind, making his ears ring, pain shooting through his head. Jack gasped.

Avanti's breath against his ear. "That hurt, did it? Make your poor head hurt, human? I could fix it, put you into the sarcophagus and heal you." The Goa'uld patted O'Neill's cheek. The Colonel jerked his head away. Avanti laughed. "It's right over there, O'Neill, a beautiful thing. Oh, yes, but then of course you can't see it, can you?" The blow this time, a hard slap to his cheek, stung.

Jack made no sound.

"Answer me, Tau'ri." Another blow, a fist to the jaw, rocking him, sending waves of pain through his already pounding skull.

O'Neill remained silent.

Once again, he heard the Avanti approach, felt the hot breath against his face. "Tell me or I will kill your friend. Do you understand?"

"No."

Jack felt his hands released, and gathering his strength, he surged to his feet, hands grasping for Avanti's face. If he could only get his hands on the bastard...

O'Neill tripped, over what, he had no way to know, and crashed again to the floor, landing on hands and knees, ribs throbbing.

Avanti laughed. "Oh, good try, O'Neill. That was good." Once again the voice came close to his ear. "Don't you want to try again?"

Jack did, pushing to his feet, arms outstretched, only to receive a blow to the stomach that sent him to the floor, breathless, pain howling along his ribs. Once he could breathe, the Colonel again forced himself defiantly to his feet, weaving, but upright. Bastard, he thought, just another slimy snakehead bastard.

"Now, O'Neill, I want you to picture this. Imagine, if you will, your friend, tied to a chair. On the table, before him is a lantern. A very hot lantern filled with the burning oil that lights my rooms. Oh, sorry, that's right, you can't see the light, but imagine it. Now, O'Neill, if you, in your hopeless blind blundering, bump into that table, the lamp will overturn, spilling it's flaming oil on your helpless friend. You do get the picture, don't you?"

Jack said nothing.

"Answer me," thundered Avanti. Jack heard the sound of a slap, of a hand against flesh, a stifled moan of pain. The son of a bitch. "Answer me."

"Yes," he said quietly, as hands grabbed him, spinning him around in circles to disorient him, Jack realized. Next he was forced stumbling up steps, seven or eight of them, it was hard to tell.

"So, I have work to complete, but I will return. I suggest you remain right where you are, O'Neill, because the rope now being placed in your hands connects with that table, and if you move, it will pull that table over and the lantern will drop, oh, just about into your friend's lap. You wouldn't want that now, would you?"

"No," said Jack, in a very small voice, as his hands were pulled straight out in front of him, a rope placed across his fingers, and he gripped it.

"Now, I must go. I have work to do, but I will be back." With a snicker, Avanti said, "Don't move."

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

part 9

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

Jack was certain they were alone in the room. He could hear Daniel breathing harshly against the gag a few feet in front of him. He could hear the barely audible hiss of burning oil. He thought they were alone.

"Daniel? Are we alone here?"

A stifled sound.

"Does that mean yes?"

Another undistinguishable sound.

God, he had to figure out a way to communicate. "Daniel, if the answer is yes make a noise once. Twice for no. Do you understand?"

One noise.

"So we're alone?"

One noise.

"You okay?"

One noise.

"That's good, because my head is hurting a bit and I'm feeling a little wobbly here, and I really don't know how long I can stay on my feet," Jack told him.

Two noises. What the hell did that mean? O'Neill wondered. "No, I won't move."

Two noises.

"Should I move?"

One noise.

"Now I'm confused. You want me to move?"

One noise.

"Why?"

A series of unintelligible sounds as Daniel desperately tried to tell his friend to stand still. Jack couldn't know, couldn't see that he was in fact standing on a landing on the stairs, below him and above him steep steps with no railings.

"Alright, alright, sorry, I forgot." Jack took a deep breath, felt his knees shimmy, and steadied himself. He couldn't fail Daniel. He had to figure out this puzzle, figure out what questions to ask, even if his battered brain didn't want to co-operate. "If I don't move, you will be safe?"

Two noises.

"No? If I don't move you will be hurt?"

Two noises.

"I know I'm not very with it, here, Daniel, but I think you just contradicted yourself."

One noise.

"Okay so I shouldn't move."

Two noises, then more.

"I should move? Daniel, I know my head hurts and I'm a little confused, but you told me you were safe if I don't move."

One noise, yes.

"Will you be hurt if I move?"

Two noises, no. What?? "Daniel, did I understand, you won't be hurt if I move, let go of the rope?"

More unintelligible sounds.

God, thought Jack, my head really hurts. I can't do this anymore. Think, Jack, think. "Will something bad happen to you if I move?"

Two noises, no.

Jack shook his head, felt himself stagger, heard what sounded like a gasp from Daniel. And then it hit him. "If I don't move you will be alright, but something bad will happen to me."

One noise, yes.

"So I should move?"

One noise, yes.

"Where? How? Sorry," O'Neill shook his head in frustration again. "Should I let go of the rope?"

Two noises. No.

"I should hold onto the rope and move forward?"

Two noises.

"I should hold onto the rope and move backward?"

Two noises.

"I should hold onto the rope and move to the left?"

One noise. Just as he was about to move, more noises.

"What? Shit, Daniel, make up your mind." Jack paused, "ahh, your left or my left? Okay, I should hold onto the rope and move to my left?"

One noise. Yes.

"That was a yes, hold onto the rope and move to my left?" Damn, what would happen? "Daniel, are you sure?"

One noise. Yes.

"Move that way?" O'Neill swung his head to his left, though that small movement made him dizzy, he felt himself stagger, so he stepped. And stepped into nothingness, his hands reflexively clutching the rope as his feet swung over empty air.

<><><>

Outside the palace, the rescuers waiting impatiently for the darkness to cover the land. Jolan returned with news. "Tante will leave the back door unbarred when she leaves tonight. We can go in that way. No one will see us or hear us."

"Good, thank you," Carter told him. "Now, we need to know where to plant the explosives."

She hastily drew a sketch of the building's exterior on her notepad, then had Jolan show her the location of the kitchen, the guards' barracks, Avanti's sleeping quarters, the main hall and the cell where Jack and Daniel were being kept.

"Okay, if we put explosives here, here and here," she indicated the barracks, Avanti's quarters and the main hall, "that should draw enough people away. You'll be with me. We just make a lot of noise, don't attack, just keep them wondering who's out there and what's happening, while Teal'c, Jolan and the other three go to the cell."

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

Jack, dangling from the rope, felt his flailing feet hit something, the wall, beside him.

"Daniel," he hissed, having trouble talking and breathing while hanging by his arms, the weight of his body pulling steadily on aching, damaged ribs. "Now what?"

More unintelligible sounds.

"Should I let go?"

One noise.

"I should let go. The floor is close?"

One noise.

"Dammit, Daniel, you better be right," Jack muttered and released the rope.

He dropped and hit the floor hard, the unexpectedness closeness of it sending jolts of pain through his sore ankle and knees. It had been only a couple of feet, but in the dark, no, blind, he couldn't judge. He slid to his knees, gasping for a moment, gathering his strength, and truth be told, his courage. Just pretend it's dark, Jack. It's just dark. Lights have gone out. Simple thing. No moon, no lights, just regular darkness all around, instead of darkness inside your own head. He took a deep breath, as deep as his sore ribs would allow, and let it out slowly. Steady, Jack. Steady. "So what do I do next, move forward?"

One noise.

"Toward your voice?"

One noise.

Jack took a tentative step, eased forward another and another.

Two noises.

"Now what? Should I stop?"

Daniel wasn't sure how to answer. Jack stood in the middle of the room, in front of him were the steps leading up to a platform where Daniel was tied to a chair. And there really was a lantern, on the table in front of him and a good bump would dislodge it. Damn, if only he could talk to Jack.

One noise.

Then two noises.

"Daniel, did anyone ever tell you you're confusing even when you can't talk?" Was that a yes, or a snort of laughter, Jack wondered. "So do I move some direction other than forward?"

One noise.

"Left?"

Two noises.

"Right?"

One noise.

"One step?"

One noise.

"Another step?"

One noise.

"Another step?"

One noise.

"Another step."

Two noises.

Jack stopped. "Now do I go forward?"

One noise.

Jack stepped, hit the edge of the first step and tripped, landing hard. "Oh damn, that hurt," he said, holding his aching head, needing a long moment to catch his breath before getting up. He felt with his hands; stairs, there were stairs. "Why didn't you warn me?" O'Neill heard muffled sounds from Daniel. "Ahh, yeah, right, you couldn't. Sorry. Okay, how many steps?"

Jack counted the noises. "Eight?"

One noise.

"Daniel, if you ever tell anyone I did this, I'll kill you," said O'Neill, and started up the steps on hands and knees. Eight steps, and then a platform.

"More steps?"

One noise. A pause, then more unintelligible garbled noises.

Jack stopped, confused. "Should I get back up?"

One noise.

Trusting, O'Neill got back up on his feet. "Forward?"

Two noises.

"Left?"

One noise.

"Okay, it seems I'm moving toward your voice again, Daniel. Is that right?"

One noise.

"How many paces?"

Three noises.

Jack took three steps, stopped. "More steps?"

Two noises.

So now what?, Jack wondered. Very carefully, he reached out his hands, encountered wood. "Is this the table?"

One noise.

"Left?"

One noise.

More steps left, then two forward, as Daniel guided him, and suddenly he was close, very, very close. "Daniel, can I touch you?"

One noise.

"Will you be okay if I untie your hands?"

Two noises.

"That will hurt you?"

Two noises.

"Hurt me?"

One noise.

"So what should I do?"

Unintelligible noise.

Jack was frustrated. "So I shouldn't move and I shouldn't touch you, what the hell am I supposed to do?" He was angry, frustrated, and under it all, scared. He was afraid time was running out, afraid this was all some nasty game and he wouldn't be able to free Daniel. He was afraid he'd do the wrong thing and in his blind blundering get his friend hurt or killed. He was afraid he would fail, and his friend would pay the price. "Daniel?"

Noise, Daniel was trying very, very hard to speak around the gag.

Ah, thought Jack suddenly. "Can I take off the gag?"

One noise.

Carefully, Jack reached out, his hands contacting Daniel's face. "If you want me to stop, make noise. If it's okay, keep quiet. Here goes." Jack ran his hands down Daniel's face, feeling along his cheeks, back into his hair, finding the knot. He tried to work the tightly knotted narrow band of leather loose, but it was hard. He cursed, frustrated because he couldn't see what kind of knot it was to know how to get it undone. So he kept working. "There," he said, "I'm getting it. Good," he said triumphantly, gently pulling the binding away from his friend's face.

Daniel coughed, cleared his throat.

"You okay?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, uh thanks. That's better. You?"

"I'm fine. So what's next?"

"Well, you need to untie me, but first, I have to tell you. He booby trapped me, just in case you got this far. There's a wire around my hands, that comes up around my neck, and it's attached to that damn lantern. And there's a shock grenade, too."

"Where's the lantern? Guide me to it."

Bit by bit, six inches forward, three to the side, Daniel carefully guided Jack's hands to the lantern, the handle, and the wire, freeing the device that would have activated a Goa'uld shock grenade. Out of habit, Jack stuck the thing in his jacket pocket. "Anything else?"

"No," said Daniel, sounding relieved. "You should be able to untie my hands now."

<><><><><>

"Go!" whispered Carter into the walkie-talkie, and her team moved forward. Once in place just outside the palace walls, she hit the radio again. "Teal'c is your team in place?" she whispered.

"Yes, Major Carter. We are ready."

"Okay, it's a go. Good luck."

"We will find them, Major Carter," he said confidently.

Carter set the radio aside, picked up the detonator and blew the charges Jolan had placed inside the palace. Unfortunately.

<><><><>

part 10

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

Jack had just started working at the knots binding Daniel's hands when the first of the C-4 went off. The building shook, floors rattling. "What the hell?" Beneath him, the floor buckled as one wall crashed down, and the platform he and Daniel were on rocked, tilted, and began sliding toward the main floor of the hall below. Jack heard Daniel yell, made a desperate but futile grab for the chair, heard it skid and fall as he clung to something, he didn't know what, a post of some sort, that seemed firmly anchored.

"Daniel! Daniel?" O'Neill heard coughing and a groan from below him. He was frantic, unable to see Daniel, to know what had happened or where he was. "Damn! Damn! Daniel? You there? Daniel?!?"

"Jack, I'm okay. Just...."

"Just what?"

"I'm still tied to this damn chair and it's kind of sideways and upside down, not very comfortable. But I'm okay." Daniel looked up, dismayed at what he saw. On the platform above him, what had been a balcony of sorts above the hall's main floor, Jack was clinging tenuously to a support post. A couple of feet in front of him the floor had broken away in the blast. O'Neill was safe, for the moment, but how the hell was he going to get down? "Jack, just listen to me. You want to stay right where you are, for now. Can you?"

"Yeah. What's the problem?"

"Well, whatever that explosion was, it caused part of the floor to break away. You're going to have to climb down here."

"Oh great," said O'Neill. "And I suppose it's..."

"It's ah, it's not bad. I can talk you down." Daniel swallowed. This was going to be hard to do, Jack would have to do exactly as he told him. He could see a safe path of descent, but it would be tricky. "Jack, do you trust me?"

O'Neill's voice was strong. "I trust you with my life, Daniel. That's what I'm doing isn't it?"

"Yes. So you have to do what I say, exactly what I say, no more, no less."

"Uh, I have to follow your orders?"

"Exactly."

Jack O'Neill took a deep breath. "Okay. Order away."

<><><><><>

Teal'c, Jolan and the rescue team raced down the hallway before skidding to a halt. The cell door was open. "We are too late," said Teal'c, turning to Jolan. "Where would he have taken them?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. I don't know why he would have moved them at all, it doesn't make any sense," said a bewildered Jolan.

"This is surely where they were," said Teal'c, finding the food, water and Daniel's discarded jacket. "This is an SGC jacket. They were here. Now we must search. Or better yet, find a guard to tell us."

<><><><><>

In the distance, Jack and Daniel could hear the crackle of gunfire, the distinctive snap of staff weapon fire, shouting and cursing, from other parts of the palace, but so far, they were still alone. "Okay," started Daniel, "now before you move at all, let me explain. You're about 15 feet above the main floor, but parts of that have broken away and are open to the, the dungeon underneath, so there are holes where you could drop another 20 feet."

"Oh lovely."

"Right. But there are parts of the floor intact. We just need to get you down to one of them." Daniel laid out the situation, the obstacles, and what Jack would have to do. "Okay, start with your right foot, move it to the left, there against the wall..."

Three moves later, Jack had moved toward the broken, tilted remnants of stairs. "Slide left, and feel for the first step."

Jack was on hands and knees on the tilted slab of floor, holding onto another support post, his foot reaching for the step. "Got it."

"Okay, it looks..."

O'Neill started to rest his weight against the step and felt the edge crumble. A huge slab of flooring fell with a crash as he scrambled to keep hold. "Daniel?" there was an edge of panic to his voice.

"I'm fine. That fell a long ways away from me. Now, you have to try that again, just stay closer to the wall."

Each step was agonizing in the darkness as he listened to each word, trusting Daniel to find him a safe way down. God, he wanted to stop and rest, lay down and let the throbbing in his head stop, but he couldn't, there wasn't time. Later, Jack, later you can rest. Rest now and you end up dead, Daniel too. No time to rest. Time to get to work.

"Jack? You okay?"

He could hear the concern in Daniel's voice. "Just checking out the scenery."

"Right. Okay." Daniel could see the strain on his friend's face and hear the harsh breathing. He knew Jack was hurt and exhausted, but he also knew they didn't have much time. "Ready now?"

"Yeah."

Six steps.

"Halfway."

"That's good."

"Yeah, now comes the tricky part."

"The tricky part?" asked O'Neill incredulously.

"Yes. Most of the stairs have fallen away but there's a narrow, umm, ledge left, plenty of room. If you're careful."

"How narrow?"

"Eight-ten inches, ahh, well, actually, maybe six."

"Maybe six?"

"Yeah, you'll have to sort of climb down, not walk."

"Oh great, climb down, in the dark."

"I'll help."

Two simple words. Trust him, Jack, you trust him. It's just so hard, when I can't see, Jack thought. When I have no control, see that's the hard part, I'm a bit of a, umm, okay, I'm a control freak. Like to be in charge. On my own. My own boss. Do for myself, you know? And now I can't. And it's, admit it O'Neill, it's scary. Okay, buddy, now you've admitted it, confronted it, dealt with it, and it's over. You're scared, Daniel knows you're scared, but he's here and he'll see you through this, O'Neill told himself. Lovely choice of words, Jack. He better see me through it because I can't. Turning over control is hard, O'Neill thought, taking a deep breath, and letting it out slowly. "Okay, tell me what to do."

Daniel heard the tremor in the voice, the exhaustion and something else, but he also heard the trust. Jackson knew O'Neill too well to dismiss the meaning of that trust, knew it was something the Colonel rarely granted, and vowed to live up to that trust. Jack needed to be the man in charge, and at the moment he couldn't be, and that was as traumatic for Jack O'Neill as anything could ever be, Daniel knew.

Inch by inch, Daniel talked him down the edge, a handhold here, a toe there, down the broken off steps, and onto the floor. Jack was shaking with exhaustion and relief by the time he got down to the bottom. He wanted to stay there, hugging the floor, resting, but the sounds of battle were moving closer. Maybe it was Carter and Teal'c, but maybe Avanti and his Jaffa would get to them first. So, get with it, O'Neill, Jack told himself. "What next?"

"Okay, the floor is broken away to your right, but there's a safe path to the left. Just go easy, because I don't know how stable that floor might be," Daniel warned. "Three steps forward. Stop. A step further left."

O'Neill felt his knees bump into something, reached out his hands to touch, and knew in a terrible moment what it was. "Is this...?"

"The sarcophagus," said Daniel softly.

"It's damaged?"

"Yes. I don't think..."

The Colonel felt his heart sink. If the sarcophagus was damaged, it couldn't be used to fix him up. He might be like this, blind like this, forever. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh stop it O'Neill, he ordered himself, get a handle on it, for crying out loud. Don't even think like that. Don't.

"Janet will fix you up, don't worry."

Yeah, thanks Danny boy, I know you're trying to help, but this being blind stuff sucks, let me tell you, O'Neill thought. Just try it for yourself. No, wait, I wouldn't wish this on anyone, especially not on you, my friend. Just...Get on with it Jack, no use crying over spilt milk. Jack forced himself to once again concentrate on the task at hand. What happened later, would happen later. If they didn't get out of this mess right now, nothing else would matter. "Where next?"

"Take three steps forward."

"Good, now watch there's a beam above your head."

Jack ducked, moved forward.

"That's it. You're past it. Okay...."

Suddenly the comforting chatter stopped. Jack halted. "Daniel? Daniel?"

"Daniel won't be saying anything for a while, O'Neill," said the Avanti's voice harshly. "Now, you, come here to me."

Damn. "I don't know..." the Colonel made his voice as uncertain and hesitant as he could. And then an arm grabbed his, a Jaffa by the feel of the armor, and Jack was marched across the room and pushed to his knees. He heard moaning from the floor beside him. "Daniel?"

"Hmm, I'm fine."

"That's my line, Daniel."

"Oh, well, then I'm not so fine."

"Shut up!" ordered Avanti, and then something, a staff weapon O'Neill thought, slammed across his back, driving him to the floor beside Daniel. Oh shit, he thought, I'm getting really, really tired of this. Couldn't this damn Goa'uld and his Jaffa find someone else to pick on, huh?

Jack heard more noises, and then someone else was grabbing his other arm, "it's me" said Daniel.

Pulled to their feet, they were herded away from the great hall, back toward the kitchen, away from the sound of gunfire, and what was surely their rescue party.

"Daniel?" Jack whispered.

"Quiet," ordered the Jaffa, before Jack got any answer.

They were being marched away from their rescuers, the Colonel realized, to God only knew what fate as prisoners of Apophis. Damn. A few more minutes, that was all they'd needed, a few minutes for Teal'c and Carter to find them.

And then he remembered what he had in his pocket. O'Neill slid his hand into his pocket and by feel he activated, at least he hoped he activated, the shock grenade he'd picked up earlier. Damn, how many seconds did it take for these things to go off? He tried to remember, guessed 10, then counted, and at nine pulled the device from his pocket and dropped it on the floor.

A Jaffa shouted something unintelligible, and then the grenade went off, knocking Avanti, his guards and the two prisoners off their feet.

Not long enough, however, for the rescuers to reach them, as O'Neill had hoped. Damn Goa'uld must be immune to their own weapons. Or at least the snakes helped them recover much quicker. As he came to, shaking his head to try to clear it, he realized immediately that such movement wasn't a good idea, but it was already too late to stop the throbbing pain. Jack groaned and tried to sit up, feeling for Daniel's form in the darkness. His hands found the familiar glasses-clad face stirring next to him. "Daniel? You okay?"

"Umm, yeah it's me, I think," Daniel answered.

After a few moments, they were once again being shoved to their feet and marched forward, toward a doorway that led outside.

Avanti needed only to escape the palace, he could still make his trade. With the reward he would receive from Apophis, he would rebuild a greater, grander palace than that old thing had been, he told himself. These Tau'ri had actually done him a favor, he thought triumphantly as he looked at his stumbling captives.

Outside, they hadn't gone 10 steps before another voice stopped them.

"Halt!"

Jack spun to face the familiar voice of Teal'c.

"You must release them, or I will fire," said the Jaffa of SG-1.

Jack felt hands grab him, as the Avanti moved to use him as a shield. "No!"

Teal'c wavered, unwilling to fire even the zat at the already injured Colonel, and in that moment of hesitation suddenly O'Neill spun, lifting his elbow, smashing it into the unexpecting face of Avanti, and then the Colonel was on top of the Goa'uld, jerking at the hand device on Avanti's wrist. The Goa'uld pushed O'Neill away, and Teal'c fired. The Goa'uld went down stunned, still trying to use his ribbon device and Teal'c shot him a second time.

O'Neill suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, Daniel's familiar voice in his ear. "Wow, Jack, that was incredible. How did you do that when you can't see?"

"Practice," said O'Neill, still trying to draw a deep breath. "I, ah, I think I better sit down," he added suddenly, finding himself inexplicably already halfway to the ground.

Teal'c grabbed the gray haired officer, helping him to sit on the ground, leaning back against the stone wall of the garden. "Colonel O'Neill, you are injured?"

The Colonel shrugged his shoulders. "My head hurts."

Daniel nodded, worried about the effects of the shock grenade on top of O'Neill's existing injuries. "Easy. Give it a couple more minutes, Jack. Worst of the effects from the shock grenades wear off in just a couple of minutes."

"I know that," O'Neill snapped, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers of his right hand. "This is, worse."

"Okay, just relax. You're fine," soothed Daniel.

"No, I'm not fine, I can't see my own hand in front of my face. I'm blind as a bat, Teal'c," he finished, trying hard to be his usual cocky self, and not succeeding.

The huge Jaffa turned a questioning glance toward Dr. Jackson.

"The Avanti pulled him out of sarcophagus too soon. We saved his life, but it didn't have time to finish the healing..."

"Then we must endeavor to return Colonel O'Neill to the device to complete the healing process."

"It's wrecked," said Jack, distractedly.

Teal'c shot him a questioning glance, then remembering the man could not see, asked, "The sarcophagus was damaged?"

"It's in there," said Daniel, pointing to the wreckage of the palace. "When the walls caved in, it seemed to be pretty badly damaged. I don't think it will work."

"I will check," offered Teal'c.

"Thanks," O'Neill said quietly. He could hear the Jaffa's retreating footsteps, and after a moment, he asked, "tell me what's happening, Daniel."

"Uh, what's happening?"

"You know, like the fighting, where people are, where we are...."

"Oh, right." Daniel looked around, trying to decide how to start. "We're outside the back of the palace, in a sort of garden I guess. Teal'c's just gone back in. The place is pretty much destroyed, there's not much left of it. The roof's caved in and some of the walls. Carter and some of the local are mopping up, they've got a bunch of the Avanti's people rounded up."

"The damn snake?"

"Avanti is dead."

"You're sure?"

"Oh yeah. Teal'c, ah, disintegrated him."

"Good riddance," Jack said with a sigh, leaning back against the stone wall, wishing the throbbing in his skull would stop. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate on anything, because it seemed like suddenly the pain and the exhaustion were crashing down on him. He knew it was an after-effect of the adrenaline surge that had helped him fight the gould, he knew that and welcomed it, and too tired to do anything else, he simply let himself drift.

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

part 11

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

O'Neill had been asleep for a while when familiar voices woke him.

"Well, we need to get him back to Janet as soon as possible. Hopefully she can do something for him," said Jackson.

"I don't know, Daniel, there's not a whole lot anyone can do to cure blindness. If it was caused by his head injury, maybe it will improve once the swelling in the brain goes down, but that's the best we an hope for. Optic nerves don't repair themselves," Carter added.

"Optimistic, aren't we?" O'Neill piped up, hating the way they were talking about him.

"Sorry, Sir, I..." Carter stumbled over the words, aghast that he had heard her. She'd thought he was still asleep.

"I'm blind, not deaf," he said, his tone even more caustic than usual. He stuck out a hand. "Now help me up and let's get out of here, huh?" he tried to sound normal, knew he was failing.

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

O'Neill walked, one hand on Daniel's shoulder, insisting he was fine and didn't want or need to be carried like some damned invalid, thank you, and none of them had the heart to insist otherwise. They made slow progress towards the Stargate, and it was four days later before they finally stood on the platform, ready to bid farewell to the people of Travant. Guards, armed with the weapons they had taken from the Avanti's Jaffa, ringed the gate.

The elder came to stand before the Colonel. "O'Neill, the village of Travant will sing of your bravery and valor for many years. You will not be forgotten. Your name will be honored, and you will always be welcome."

O'Neill tried to grin. "Ah, well, I may be back, looking for a place to retire, you know." He put out his arm to pat the elder on the shoulder, misjudged it a hair, and missed. Carter tried to bite back her sigh of despair, seeing her CO come down to this.

O'Neill tried to ignore it, simply reached out again, touched the man's shoulder. "Take care of the children," he said, very softly.

"We will, O'Neill."

"That's good." He turned away back toward where he knew the gate was. "Let's go kids, huh?" he said, taking a deep breath. He heard the gate kawoosh, heard Carter send the iris code and receive the acknowledgement. Daniel was there, taking Jack's hand, placing it on his shoulder, to guide the man through the gate. Jackson felt the man shiver, knew this must be a terrible moment for this proud and independent man.

"Jack, I..."

"Don't you dare say it, Daniel. Not a word." O'Neill forced a smile. "A hundred children, Daniel and more, now that the Avanti is dead. If I never see again, it was worth it. Remember that," he said, squeezing his friend's hand, willing himself to be steady, to move his leaden feet forward, toward home.

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

General Hammond was standing in the gate room to greet his returning team. Carter stepped through the gate first, and Hammond immediately knew something was wrong, very very wrong by the brief glimpse he had of her face before she turned back to the gate. She watched Teal'c walk through, face impassive as ever, and then O'Neill and Jackson came through together.

It was odd. O'Neill looked the worse for wear. There were no obvious injuries, but the man looked drawn, exhausted, hurt. His hand was on Jackson's shoulder and the look on Daniel's face, one of worry and concern, turned the General quickly back to study the face of his second in command.

"General," said Daniel.

"Glad to have you back SG-1. Everything ok?"

"Just dandy," said O'Neill, though Hammond heard the odd timber in the Colonel's voice, the way he forced his words, the vaguely distracted look in the normally direct brown eyes. "Good to see you, Sir."

Hammond saw Jackson cringe, and the General stared at O'Neill, suddenly realizing the fixed gaze, the odd expression, the tight lines around his eyes. Even as he watched, O'Neill strode forward, pushing Daniel ahead of him, and it wasn't until the man stumbled that Hammond knew for sure something was wrong.

"Where's Dr. Fraiser?" Hammond ordered hastily.

As O'Neill stumbled, then caught his footing, the Colonel felt for the familiar steps, and side by side with Dr. Jackson, he stopped in front of his CO. "SG-1, all present and accounted for."

There was worry in Hammond's voice. "Colonel?"

"Just a little problem, Sir, nothing to worry about," he said, his hand gripping Daniel's shoulder harder.

The General's voice was very soft. "Son, maybe we should wait here for the doctor..."

"Sir, no, not here," and there was pleading in the voice. Hammond knew what the man wanted, what O'Neill's pride dictated. Even as Fraiser dashed in the door, eyes flickering around to see the four SG-1 team members standing and seeing no obvious crisis, she turned in surprise to Hammond.

"General?"

"Not here, doctor. The infirmary," he ordered gruffly.

Hammond, Fraiser and the four from SG-1 walked silently down the hallway. Entering the infirmary, Daniel guided Jack into a room, and helped settle him into a sitting position on a bed. No one had spoken since they'd left the gateroom. The silence, thought O'Neill, was deafening. "Hey, kids, this isn't a funeral." He needed to hear them laugh, but no one did.

Doc's voice was as quiet and gentle as he thought he'd ever heard. "Colonel?"

"Hit my head," he said softly, and then he reached out, toward her, reaching blindly, and she bit back a gasp. "Can't see a thing Doc. Pitch black." He tried to smile, failed, and as she grabbed his hand, felt it shake.

"Sir, let me take a look. We'll see what we can do."

"Bad choice of words, Doc," he said quietly.

She patted his arm, looked at the worried faces around her, glad the Colonel couldn't see the gloom on every face in the room. "I need to examine the Colonel. The rest of you, out. Dr. Warner will do your post mission checks."

Hammond stepped in front of the Colonel. "We'll debrief when you're done here, Jack."

He chuckled dryly. "That might be a while, Sir," he said. "I won't be offended if you start without me," he said quietly.

Hammond didn't know what to say, couldn't think of an encouraging word, just touched the Colonel's shoulder lightly, and left.

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

It was very quiet in the room. O'Neill could hear Fraiser moving. "Doc?"

She did not like the uncertainly in his voice. "Colonel, I'm just going to check your vitals, we'll do some tests, see what's happening." She smiled reassuringly, realized he couldn't see it, reached out to touch his arm, felt him flinch at the unexpected contact. "Sir, I'll try to remember to tell you everything we're doing, but if you have any questions, ask, okay?"

"Yeah, sure thing Doc."

Her exam revealed the extent of the damage-- healing ribs, swollen ankle, head trauma, fading bruises. "Sir..."

"According to Daniel, they were singing my death song. It ah, turned out to be a bit premature, but, ahh, nearly true, I guess. They stuck me in the sarcophagus, but only for a couple minutes. Didn't have enough time to work it's magic. And then in the escape it sort of got, ah, blownup. No sarcophagus. No cure."

"We don't know that, Colonel."

He snorted derisively. "Yeah. Right. It's been nearly a week."

"You had a skull fracture, Colonel. That's a severe brain injury..."

"I know, Doc. Had one of those before. Wasn't blind that time."

"Yes, Colonel. That's true. An injury to the brain causes swelling, and it takes time for that swelling to go down, just like your ankle's still swollen. Once the pressure decreases, your eyesight may return."

"May. May not."

She chose her words carefully. "That's true, Sir. If there's damage to the optic nerve, there's nothing we can do to restore your sight."

He sighed, his shoulders sagging for a moment before he forced himself to straighten them. "What are the odds, Doc?"

"Sir, it depends."

"Give me something, Doc, anything," a touch of desperation tinged his voice.

"Colonel, I just don't know. It can happen. Sometimes it does happen. We'll get you started on some medication which can help decrease the swelling, that should help with the headaches I imagine you're having."

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Whopper sized headaches."

"Sir, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but right now all we can do is wait."

"How long?"

"A few days, maybe more."

He dropped his face into his hands, and Fraiser was glad he couldn't see the worry she knew was reflected in her own face. "Colonel..."

He raised his head, glaring at the place his ears told him to look. "Doc, don't tell me it's going to be okay, because you don't know that do you?" there was anger in his voice now.

"No, Sir, I don't know," she said softly.

"Then don't sugar coat it. I won't get my sight back, will I?"

"Colonel, honestly, I don't know. We can hope for the best. You have made some remarkable recoveries in the past, and it can happen again. A positive attitude is a big part of it, Sir." She thought quickly. "Now, how about we get you settled in here, let you get some rest, get you something for that headache?"

"Sure, Doc," he answered tonelessly.

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

"Hey Daniel, you ever think of how often we use that word?

"What word?

"See? See ya later. See ya' tomorrow. I'll see to it. Seeing is believing. See the light. Oh say can you see?"

"Jack...."

"Avoiding the subject won't change anything," Jack said darkly.

Daniel looked at his friend, at this strong man who had so often seemed invulnerable. He knew Jack better than anyone, which really wasn't saying much, as private a person as O'Neill was, yet Daniel didn't have a clue how Jack was really coping with this. The man was, as usual, hiding his real emotions, his fears, if he had them. And he must. He was human.

There was silence for several more minutes, before O'Neill spoke again. "Good thing I like dogs."

"What?"

"Dogs. I can get a seeing eye dog. Love dogs, you know."

Jack was trying hard to put up a good front. Maybe he could fool the others but he wasn't fooling Daniel and he knew it.

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

part 12, the finale

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

It was weird, being blind. He couldn't tell night from day, the most basic thing about the world around him. He was finding sleeping hard, and yet he didn't want to take one of those damn pills. Actually, he was sort of avoiding sleep, because when he dreamed, he could see, and then he would wake up, and the darkness seemed that much worse, when he realized it had been just a dream.

He heard footsteps. "Who's there?"

"Dr. Fraiser."

"Come to tuck me in, Doc?"

"Just wanted to see if there was anything I could get for you, Colonel."

"New pair of eyes? A set of those fancy eyeglass things that blind guy wore on Star Trek?"

She chuckled, trying to play his game, knowing the humor, as it always had been, was a defense mechanism to hide his feelings. "Try to get some sleep, Sir. It's late. You need the rest."

"Right." He didn't bother trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Got to be ready to go tomorrow, play a couple games of Hide and Seek, a little blind man's bluff, pin the tale on the donkey, and think of all the time I'll save, won't need to bother about the blindfold..."

"Sir..."

"Sorry Doc."

"Colonel, it's okay to be scared."

He tilted his head to look at her, so like his normal glare, for a moment it was hard to believe he couldn't see her. "Since when?"

"Anyone would be scared in your position. The unknown is frightening."

"I face the unknown every day," he said defiantly.

"Yes, you do. But in a way where you have control, where you have the information you need to act and make decisions."

"People learn to cope."

"Yes they do, Colonel. You will too, if you need to. Goodnight, Sir."

"Night, Doc. See ya' in the morning," the bravado sounded false, even to his own ears.

Quickly Fraiser stepped out into the hallway, paused tiredly, sagging back against the wall. Oh God, it was so unfair. She felt so helpless and so useless. What good was it to be a doctor when you couldn't help someone? He was putting up a brave front, but she knew the Colonel well enough to know the man was scared. He stood to lose everything that mattered to him, his work, his friends here, his independence, and he knew it, and she knew it, and there was nothing she could do.

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

O'Neill lay down on the bed, tried to sleep and finally dozed off. In the middle of the night he woke needing to go to the john. Stubbornly refusing to ask for help, he decided he could do this himself. He knew it was only six steps to the door, then down the hall to the left to bathroom, he'd done this a hundred times, no big deal. He climbed off the bed, counted the steps, hands stretched in front of him. Only he didn't know someone had left a cart there in the hallway. He hit it, knocking it over with a crash of rattling metal, falling and banging his already sore head against the wall.

He woke up to Doc's voice. "Colonel?"

"What the hell happened?"

"You tripped over a cart, here in the hallway, Sir."

"Damn stupid place to leave stuff."

"Yes, Sir."

"Stupid stupid stupid." He reached out his hand to push himself to a sitting position.

"Colonel, you should stay put for a minute..."

"No," he shouted, fed up, his anger suddenly getting the best of him. "I will *not* stay put, I will *not* sit here on the floor like a damn, stupid, useless, helpless...."

"Sir, you're not helpless."

"Right. Then what am I?" he asked angrily.

"I..."

"Can it, Doc, just can it," he said, putting a hand against the wall, climbing to his feet, starting along the hallway.

"Ah, Sir," she said from behind him, "this way, Colonel."

"Right," he said angrily.

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

He didn't think he would sleep again that night. He was so angry he didn't even tell Doc that he'd hit his head again, and it hurt like hell... Oh shit, he thought, curling up on the bed, trying to find a way to make himself not think. It didn't work of course, he couldn't stop thinking and the more he was thinking the more he felt like he was going to explode.

Somewhere in the night, he did fall asleep.

O'Neill awakened to the sound of someone in his room. That was a thing he hated, not knowing who it was, having to ask. He lay still, eyes closed, Hell, what difference did it make, he thought.

"Good morning, Jack," Daniel's cheerful voice greeted him.

"If you say so," he grumbled.

"Wake up in a bad mood today, did you?"

He didn't even want to answer, turned toward the sound of Daniels' voice to make some sarcastic answer, when suddenly, a searing pain lanced through his skull. "Argghh," he moaned, bringing his hands up to cover his head.

"Jack?"

"Oh God, my head, my head hurts..."

Daniel in one jump was at the doorway, yelling at Dr. Fraiser who'd just walked by.

"Ahhh, God, it hurts, it hurts." He was holding his eyes tightly scrunched closed, rocking back and forth on the bed.

"Colonel," Doc was there at his bedside, trying to get hold of his hands. "Sir, what is it?"

"Head hurts. Hurts. God, bright, stabbing light...."

"Light, Sir?"

"Lights, in my head," he mumbled, still fighting her.

"Colonel O'Neill! Sit still. I can't examine you, please, Sir."

He tried, tried to relax, laid back on the bed, moaning, his hands still clutching his head, eyes tightly closed.

"Colonel,"Janet nodded at Daniel. "Sir, you have to let me examine you. Daniel," Jackson took hold of the Colonel's hands, pulling them away from the man's face. "Easy, Sir. Colonel? Relax, that's better." She pulled out her pen light, "Sir, open your eyes."

He tried, but even before she could turn the light on, he snapped them shut again.

Janet's face suddenly turned from worried to optimistic. "Daniel," she said, pointing at the door. "Turn down the lights, would you?"

He complied, wondering why, but did so.

"Colonel, try again, slowly, open your eyes."

He did, and this time, they stayed open, squinting, staring straight ahead a moment, then wandering slowly side to side. Janet stood, holding her breath, begging every higher power she knew that her hunch was right. O'Neill's face remained impassive.

"Doc?"

"Colonel?"

"You know something, Doc," he said very, very softly. "You are a sight for sore eyes." The Colonel smiled, that cock-eyed crooked hot shot grin, then looked over at Daniel. "Smile, Daniel. It's okay."

"Jack, you can see?"

"It's still a little fuzzy around the edges, but I can tell you're wearing that ugly purple plaid shirt I told you to donate to charity."

"Jack, you bought this shirt for me."

"Must have been blind at the time," he said, all the cockiness back in his voice.

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

A month later, ribs healed, ankle back to normal, eyesight once again 20/20, Colonel Jack O'Neill and his team stood at the base of the Stargate ramp. Jack stared a moment at the shimmering circle of plasma, then turned to look up at General Hammond standing in the control room.

"SG-1," the General said with a smile, "you have a go."

O'Neill threw his CO a sloppy salute. "Thank you, Sir. See ya' in three days," he said, jauntily, striding up the ramp, a grin on his face. "C'mon kids, what you waiting for?" he asked his team, "there's a whole universe out there to see."

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XXXXX

FINIS