Good Samaritan

By BadgerGater

Season: mid-5 or earlier

Spoilers: None

Summary: Jack gets into trouble by helping out a stranger

Category: Drama, Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: None

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Don’t own SG-1. Couldn’t afford their medical bills if I did.

Author’s Note: More Jack in trouble, the way we love him best.

This fic, my 150th posting, is dedicated to my friends in the world of SG-1 and Jack fandom. Without your support and friendship, I wouldn’t have written five fics, much less 150… you have shared your friendship, and in return, allowed me to share my vision of a wonderful character and his unique worlds…

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

No good deed goes unpunished.

Jack O’Neill knew that. It was one of those inevitable laws of living, like the ever popular Murphy’s law, “Anything that can go wrong, will.” Or the equally well known, “Shit happens.”

He knew he should have kept right on driving.

Normally he would have.

Except for the kid.

Because as cynical and as world weary as Jack O’Neill could be, he was a sucker for a kid, especially a kid who might be in trouble. Or need help.

><><><><

There he was, minding his own business, on the way home from a weekend trip up into the mountains. Sure, he knew it was a busman's holiday sort of thing, as if he didn’t get enough walking and wilderness and trees in his current duty assignment. He’d walked thousands of miles in his lifetime, hundreds of miles off-world since joining the SGC. So what did he do when he got a couple of days off? He went up into the mountains to hike. Well, really, if he had to admit it, he went to find something he rarely found in his job these days. He went to find some peace, some quiet, some solace, to find that place deep inside himself that was real easy to lose track of in the work he did.

He couldn't do it at home, in his house, though being up on the roof with the telescope and the stars came real close. He really did love his place, the sanctuary of it, the 24-hour cable, the hockey, the cold beer, but the truth was, Jack O’Neill was restless. Impatient. Sara, he recalled, used to call him a perpetual motion machine. His Mom used to call him 'busy.' His teachers used to call him… okay, don’t go there. No need to get ugly.

Yeah, right, he couldn't sit still.

So, even though it would seem like he should be at home perfecting the art of being a couch potato, he’d gotten up early yesterday morning and driven up into the glories of the Colorado Rockies. Hours away from the city, he reached the starting point for the remote wilderness trail. A long, hard half-day climb took him up to a mountain meadow crossed by a small stream that formed a little pond among the rocks, where he could usually catch his lunch. Most times he took a sleeping bag and stayed the night, camping out under the familiar stars of home, gazing up at the endless glittering points of light in the void, needing to remind himself what his home sky looked like.

He'd have rather gone up to Minnesota to his own cabin, if he could, but it was too far away to get there often. So he made do.

It was a quiet place. He never met another person up there, so it was just Jack O’Neill, alone with his ghosts.

He had lots of those.

Memories of long-gone happy times filled the meadow. He used to take Charlie up there, camping overnight, teaching him about the stars and the mountains and the great outdoors, the things his Grandpa taught had taught him in the vast wilderness of northern Minnesota. Sara joined them often; she loved the wide-open spaces, too, loved to watch 'her boys' as she called them. At night, he’d snuggled in close to her in their double sleeping bag, spooned together for warmth, wrapped together in the comfortable, knowing way they shared.

It was a special place for him.

It always would be.

Whenever his job, his world, his memories, got to be too much, this was the place where Jack O’Neill went to find his way again.

><><><><

He’d gone up to the mountains and spent a peaceful, relaxing night. In the morning, rain clouds hovered low and the air was damp and cold, definitely not conducive to over-abused 40-something knees and vertebra, he thought with a shiver. Though the frost on the grass was beautiful and the air was so clean he could almost taste the freshness, Jack decided to leave early. Hiking back to the truck through the stillness that was found only in the wilderness, he savored that special quiet as he walked alone through the crisp morning air, luxuriating in the particular peace that comes of knowing he was the only human being for miles.

O’Neill got back to the truck just minutes before the rain started in earnest. Turning on the Ford’s heater and defroster, Jack let the vehicle warm up, dispelling the chill and clearing the frosted windows as the icy rain beat against the windshield. Finally, he put the big truck into gear and began driving down the mountain.

The trip, or the first part anyway, was uneventful. The road was steep and winding, but he’d driven this way so many times he probably could have navigated the route in his sleep.

It was still raining as the Colonel passed the small town at the base of the mountain, and turned south toward Colorado Springs, still hours away.

A couple of miles outside of town, along an isolated part of the little-traveled road, O’Neill

passed an old car parked along the road, unoccupied, or so it seemed. About a half-mile farther down the highway, he saw them, a young woman walking hand in hand with a small child, hunched into their coats against the cold rain. Too late to stop, he drove on past, found a spot to turn around and went back. Pulling up on the gravel shoulder of the quiet road, Jack waited as the woman halted, eyeing him suspiciously, drawing the child even closer to her. She was young, of average height, with long straight blondish hair sticking wetly out from under the hood of an oversized jacket. The child, a pre-schooler he figured from what little he could see, was huddled up tight to her coat, not looking at him.

For someone so young, she looked very tired.

Scared.

And very, very cold.

“Hi,” O’Neill said carefully, putting on his friendliest grin. “Was that your car I saw broken down back there?”

She stared at him, frightened. He couldn’t blame her, a woman out here alone on this rarely traveled road, facing a total stranger, she was smart to be cautious.

The girl looked over at the big, expensive-looking truck. “Yes,” she answered carefully. “But I’ve got friends coming to pick me up. Any minute.”

Right. So why was she walking in the rain? O’Neill wondered, but didn’t ask. It was none of his business, and if it weren’t for the shivering child with her, he’d have figured she was a competent adult and if she didn’t have the sense to get in out of the rain, that was her business. So, yeah, he knew he was a cynical military guy. It happens. “It’s awfully cold and wet for the little one. You could sit in the truck here and warm up until your friends get here.”

She shook her head, still fearful. “No. I’m fine.”

“He’s cold,” Jack gestured at the child, guessing it was a boy from the dark blue jacket.

O’Neill could see she was on the brink of refusal, and then he heard the little guy sniffle.

“Look, I understand your reluctance,” he dug into his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license, handing it to her, and showing her his military ID as well. “My name’s Jack O’Neill, Colonel, US Air Force. I’m stationed at Cheyenne Mountain. I know those aren’t character references, but…” he shrugged.

Still standing at a safe distance, she studied his face. He wasn’t a young man, the gray hair and the lines and a certain sadness in his face told her that. But his eyes were soft and kind, especially when he looked at Zach, the way she remembered her father had looked at her. Still, Kim wasn’t sure what to do, common sense that warned her to stay away from strangers warred against her first impression that here was a man she could trust.

The child made up her mind for her by suddenly starting to cry in earnest. “Shhhh, it’s okay, Zachary…” Her eyes looked up at the stranger’s once more, assessing him, and making a quick decision, she stepped over to the side of the truck.

><><><><

Part 2

Jack unlocked the door and turned up the heater one more notch as she climbed in, wedging herself tightly against the far door.

“I know self-defense,” the young woman insisted.

Jack smiled ruefully. If she knew how dangerous of a man she’d gotten into a vehicle with… He shook his head. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you, or the boy. Call me Jack.”

“Kim…”

“And Zachary. Hi, Zach.”

The boy was still shivering but squirming around now as the warmth inside the truck became noticeable. Kim opened up his coat, and the little guy, Jack guessed him to be three, maybe four years old, began peering around, solemn eyes looking over the strange place he found himself in.

Carefully, so he didn’t scare the girl or the child, Jack leaned into the back seat and rummaged through his pack, finding a couple of granola bars. “Hungry?” he offered the bars to his passengers, and the child snatched quickly at his. The woman grabbed it out of the boy’s hand, and his mouth opened to wail a protest, and then she must have decided that the sealed goodies were safe. She tore open the wrapper and the boy grasped the treat in his hand. Kim took the second one, tore it open and ate it in three bites.

“Hungry, I guess, huh,” the gray haired man said softly, digging in the pack once more and finding another bar for the girl. “You know, I’ve got a cell phone. You could call and check on your friends,” he suggested, picking up the phone, still moving slow and easy and trying hard to be reassuring.

She looked scared, and started to shake her head at the same time O’Neill looked down and saw the phone was showing no bars… meaning they were in a dead spot in the cell phone network. It happened a lot in these mountains.

He was sure she hadn’t really called anyone, anyway. “Look, Kim, I’m not going to hurt you, and you really shouldn’t be out here. I’m pretty handy with mechanical stuff, I could take a look at your car… maybe get it going for you.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble, mister…”

“No mister, just Jack. And it’s no trouble.” He put the truck into gear and drove back to her vehicle, driving past it, then swinging into a U-turn and pulling up to park behind the old Chevy.

Quickly, Jack pulled out his poncho and slipped it over his head, telling Kim to stay in the truck and keep herself and the boy warm.

It was still raining, not as hard as before, but steady, the rain drops so cold they felt like ice where they stung his face. He slipped behind the steering wheel and tried the starter. The battery had enough power to turn it over, but the starter simply ground and ground. Reaching around under the dash, Jack found the hood latch and popped it, then stepped out into the swirling wind and rain, opening the hood.

The car was old and worn out. O’Neill checked all the wires and connections, belts and hoses, then got back in and tried to start it again. Same result… lots of grinding, no starting.

Having exhausted his out of date mechanical knowledge, he climbed out of Kim’s car and hurried back to his warm truck. Once inside, he puffed out his breath to warm his icy fingers, rubbing his hands together in front of the heat vent to get the circulation going again.

Zach was sitting on the seat, playing with the airplane shaped air freshener that had been hanging from the rear view mirror, making little buzzing engine sounds as he swooped his toy through the air.

O’Neill’s heart caught in his throat. Charlie used to do that….

Roughly, he cleared his throat then rasped, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t get it started.”

“That’s okay,” Kim shrugged, and reached for the door handle. “We’ll go. Don’t want to trouble you any further…”

“It’s not any trouble. And you can’t take Zach out in that weather.”

“Really, you don’t have to…”

“I know. But I want to. I’m on my way home to Colorado Springs. You can ride with me as far as you like. I’d appreciate the company,” he offered, reaching down to tousle Zach’s still damp hair.

The young mother looked at him appraisingly, fear still plain in her eyes. Could she trust this stranger? He seemed safe, and he was in the military, and he hadn’t made a move toward her or Zach. There was something reassuring in his bearing, and in his voice, something that made her want to trust him.

God, he thought, noting her hesitation. He wasn’t that hard on the eyes was he? Hadn’t gotten that grim looking? Sure, he knew he didn’t smile much these days, but damn, he was not that untrustworthy looking, was he? Okay, Jack knew he could put on the hard-ass Colonel scowl that would scare ten years off the life of a green lieutenant and turn an offending airman into a shriveled lump of goo, but he only did that on purpose, didn’t he? She was just being sensibly cautious, he reminded himself.

Kim’s eyes drifted from O’Neill’s face down to the boy, and back to the man sitting behind the wheel. “Okay,” she answered at last. “But just as far as the truck stop at Deerfield.”

“Deal.” Jack reached out his right hand, palm up, toward the little guy. “Give me five, Zach.”

The child grinned and slapped his hand, and in that open way kids have with adults they like, Zach had a friend for life.

“I like airplanes,” the boy said suddenly, still clutching the air freshener.

“So do I,” O’Neill grinned as he put the truck into gear once more and pulled back onto the road, heading south once more.

“Someday I’m gonna ride in a plane and go really, really high and really, really fast.” From the corner of his eye Jack saw the child look shyly up at him. “You ever ride in an airplane?”

“Real often.”

After that, little Zach was never quiet, talking constantly, asking O’Neill a stream of questions, racing on to the next inquiry before the Colonel had even answered the last. Kim apologized for him, but Jack waved a hand at her.

He was enjoying it.

Jack O’Neill liked kids, always had, and for some reason he’d never been able to fathom, had an infinite well of patience with them that he lacked with everyone else. Sara had always said it was because he was mostly just an overgrown kid himself.

Zach talked, filling the silence, and Jack answered here and there when he could get a word in edgewise as he drove on through the rain induced dimness.

><><><><

They’d almost reached the turn onto Hwy 4 just up from the truck stop when O'Neill spotted headlights in his rear view mirror, coming on fast. For a moment, he thought the vehicle was going to rear-end them, or just blast on by, but suddenly it veered in behind the pick-up and followed.

Jack saw Kim’s eyes flicker to the car behind them. The terrified look was back in her eyes.

“You know that guy?” O'Neill asked, watching the road and his rear view mirror all at the same time.

“N-no.” She looked away. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“It might be my boyfriend. Dennis.”

Jack nodded, and concentrated on driving and watching. “Possessive?”

“Sometimes.”

“Like today?”

“He doesn’t like it when I go to town.”

Jack really didn’t want to get into the middle of this girl’s business, it was absolutely none of his business, and he knew that. But he also knew that the cute little kid who liked airplanes was caught in the middle.

And if there was one thing Jack O'Neill couldn't do, it was turn his back on an innocent in trouble.

><><><><

Part 3/10

With the car still all but glued to the pick-ups' back bumper, Jack was relieved to finally round a bend and see the truck stop appear in front of them. He pulled the pick-up into the parking lot of the gas station/restaurant, near the front door. The wheels had barely stopped moving before the girl was grabbing Zach with one hand and reaching for the door release with the other.

“Kim, wait.” O'Neill waved a hand at the car which had pulled in behind them. It was sitting back near the entrance to the parking lot, engine idling, the driver waiting and watching. “Are you sure you want to get out here? I could take you someplace else.”

“No. I’m fine.”

Knowing it was none of his business, he asked anyway. “Going back with him?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t think you should get out here.”

“Mister... Jack, thanks for the ride, but…” she shrugged, eyes sad. “I have to fight my own battles.”

“Please don’t put him in the middle.” O'Neill knew he had no right to say that, not him of all people, but something about this mess was making a knot grow in his stomach, the same kind of knot he got right before the shit hit the fan on a mission.

“I’m okay, really, and he will be, too," the girl insisted, though she looked anything but confident. "I’ll call my Mom and she’ll come pick us up.”

Uneasily, Jack watched the girl and the child walk hand in hand into the building. He wanted to stop them, even before he saw her boyfriends' car begin creeping slowly closer across the parking lot. His gut twisted another knot tighter, his every danger instinct going to red alert, and O'Neill made a decision. Before he could change his mind and let common sense dissuade him, he found himself on his way out of the truck, and into the diner.

><><><><

Kim stopped at the sight of him, watching the tall man warily, her grip on Zach tightening reflexively. The wariness was back in her face. “Are you following me?”

“I’m hungry. For pie. This place has great pie,” Jack ad-libbed.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” Kim told him, and walked toward the phone.

O'Neill ordered coffee and pie, and watched while she went to the pay phone. As soon as she put Zach down, the kid was running back towards him. So, yeah, he knew he might have a face that scared the women and the horses, but kids gravitated to it. And him. It was just one of those things.

By the time Kim was done on the phone, O'Neill had ordered Zach a glass of chocolate milk and himself another piece of pie, since the kid had eaten most of his.

Kim came over to sit across from O'Neill, watching the tall man and a giggling Zach.

“He likes you,” she said softly.

O'Neill shrugged. “Kids usually do.”

“Zach’s usually pretty quiet. There’s not many people he likes, unless he knows them real well,” she said, a worried tone in her voice. “Dennis… Dennis likes to roughhouse, you know, and I think sometimes it scares him.”

Jack was liking this less, minute by minute.

And then Dennis walked in.

Got sick of waiting for them, O'Neill supposed.

Kim's boyfriend stalked into the little diner looking all the world like a B movie heavy, peering around with a scowl on his dark features. Jack assessed him carefully. The man was clad in blue jeans and a flannel shirt and looked pissed. Dennis was shorter than Jack's 6'2" height, but not by much, O'Neill figured. The man was broader built than the Colonel, and, even if a bit of a beer belly was beginning to appear, he packed some muscle. Jack had seen his kind before, and most of them bore the label bully.

Dennis's angry gaze suddenly caught sight of his quarry. “Kim!”

Jack thought he'd heard drill sergeant's berate raw recruits in a more civilized tone of voice.

Zachary cringed, ducking under the table. Kim’s face went white.

“Kim!” he shouted again.

Jack noted heads turn at the diner’s counter, then quickly turn away, not wanting to get involved, he supposed.

“Hi,” the girl answered carefully, not looking at the angry young man.

Dennis’s hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. “Come on.”

The young woman yanked her arm away. “I’m not going with you.”

Dennis grabbed her again, or started to, and Jack was on his feet, his hand snagging the other man’ wrist and twisting it back. O’Neill knew he was what most folks considered lean, but he also knew appearances could be deceptive. He did, after all, have years and years of special ops and combat hand to hand experience, and he trained at least three times a week when he wasn't off-world actually using those skills.

Jack tightened his hold on the younger man's arm.

The power of the older man's grip surprised Dennis.

“Take your hands off the lady,” Jack ordered in a quiet voice.

Dennis withdrew his hand from Kim's arm.

O'Neill released his hold on the younger man.

Dennis turned to face the stranger. “This is none of your business, Mister.”

“That's O’Neill... Mister O’Neill to you.”

“Well, Mr. O’Neill,” Dennis sneered, “don’t matter what your name is. She’s my girl and that’s my kid and they are going with me.”

“Do you want to go with him?” Jack looked over at Kim.

The girl was cowering in the booth, looking down, but she defiantly shook her head no.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” O'Neill interpreted softly. "So I think you should leave."

“Butt out of my business!”

“No,” the Colonel said calmly.

Dennis looked from the gray-haired man in front of him, to the girl, and back to Jack again. “You sleeping with her? Huh?” he spun to look at the young woman. “Is this who you’ve been sneaking off to see? A little *old* for you, isn’t he?”

Jack's hand snapped out to grab the wrist again, twisting Dennis's arm up and behind his back. “The gray hair doesn’t mean I’m old. Or slow.” O'Neill started pushing the younger man toward the door. “Now, I suggest you leave, and let the lady do as she pleases.”

Dennis was sputtering angry words, cursing under his breath, but Jack cranked his arm another notch higher, pushing. Dennis had to go or he’d be dislocating the shoulder. O'Neill pushed the younger man out the door and into the rain, watching as the angry bully stomped over to his car, gunned the engine, and peeled rubber out of the parking lot, gravel flying high.

Hurrying back inside, O'Neill found Kim clutching a crying Zach, rocking him back and forth, the girl probably more scared than the child was, if the look on her face was any indication, Jack thought.

“Th-thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” O'Neill pointed at the unfinished pie. “Now, I think you should eat the rest of that, and then we’ll go.”

Zach was still drinking his chocolate milk. The girl still looked nervous, but finally she picked up the fork and began to eat.

When the girl seemed calmer, and the pie was mostly gone, Jack asked, “So, did you get hold of someone to come and get you?”

She shook her head. “I tried calling, but there’s no answer at my mom’s.”

“Then I’ll take you there.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. That’s all the way to Denver…”

“It’s Sunday, and my camping trip got rained out, so what’s wrong with a drive to Denver? I've got nothing else to do,” he offered.

When she didn't say no, O'Neill reached down, taking the boy from her arms, and carried him out to the truck, Kim following.

><><><><

It was silent in the pick-up as the three of them headed down Hwy 4, away from the truck stop. The rain had slowed to an annoying drizzle, wisps of fog still drifting across the highway, the windshield wipers slapping out a slow steady rhythm.

They hadn’t traveled five miles when O'Neill realized there was something wrong with the truck, the steering wheel pulling more and more heavily to the left, the whole vehicle feeling off. He eased his foot off the accelerator, dropping his speed back to a crawl as he pulled over onto the rough gravel shoulder.

“Why are we stopping?” Kim's frightened deer in the headlights look was suddenly back.

“A tire, I think,” Jack told her as he grabbed his poncho, sliding it over his head before stepping out of the truck. Walking around the front of the vehicle to the passenger side, his suspicions were immediately confirmed… the tire was low, very low. Kneeling down, he ran a hand along the edge of the tread, stopping when he felt something smooth and metallic protruding from the surface: a nail. Reaching further, his hands encountered another and another. "Crap," he muttered. One nail in a tire, that could be an accident, but three? And right after he’d had a nasty confrontation with an angry goon? It *might* be a coincidence, but even Carter couldn't figure a number high enough for those odds.

O'Neill walked quickly back around to the driver’s side, opening the door and reaching in to pull out his cell phone.

“What’s wrong?” Kim asked.

“Flat tire,” he answered quickly, cursing silently as the phone again showed no bars. Another dead spot, one of many in this part of the state, surrounded by mountains that blocked the signal. “Phone’s not gonna work here.” The girl looked scared again, so he tried to reassure her, though he knew his words sounded flat. “It should only take a couple of minutes to change the tire,” he added, reaching behind the seat for the jack and tire iron. Taking them with him, Jack walked to the back of the Ford, sliding up and under the bumper to get at the spare tire. The bolt holding it in place didn’t want to budge, but on the third try he got it moving, and soon had the spare off its mounts, rolling it forward to lean it against the front bumper. More hard work with the tire iron got the bolts loosened, and he reached for the jack, propping it in place under the front axle and pumping the handle to raise the now totally flat tire off the ground.

As he worked, Jack watched his surroundings. He was carefully scanning the quiet forest around them, listening tensely for the sound of a vehicle coming down the road, worried Dennis was following them, and equally worried because he wasn’t. Was the flat tire just a parting spit in your eye kind of revenge thing, or a method to leave them stranded along the isolated road? Would the boyfriend try to come and take the girl and the child, or just harass them? He’d clearly been angry, and probably he’d been drinking, but he hadn’t struck O'Neill as anything more than a bully, willing to push around a young woman, but unwilling to stand up when he’d met resistance.

Cautious as he was, he didn’t see it coming.

Part 4/10

Jack had the damaged tire off and was just sliding the spare into place when he felt something punch him low in the back, just above the hip, down along his ribcage on his left side. It felt like someone had swatted him with a two by four, and then he heard the sound of the gunshot reverberate through the still forest. Even as the numbing blow drove him to the ground, O'Neill saw the glass of the truck’s back window shatter and craze in the fraction of a second before he heard the sound of the second shot.

The girl screamed.

Jack grabbed the truck’s fender, levering himself upright, his left leg quivering as pain began rippling outward from his side in sharp, surging waves.

Another bullet whipped over his head, the distinctive whine unmistakable seconds before the sound of the shot reached his ears. Far too late, instinct kicked in and he ducked, his left leg buckling, spilling him hard on his hands and knees beside the truck.

Zach was crying. Kim screamed again as another bullet hit the truck with a dull thud.

The passenger side door opened, the girl scrambling out of the vehicle, her face white with fear.

“Get down!” Jack shouted, reaching out for her, covering her and the boy with his own body as another shot hit the road’s shoulder not more than a foot from them, gravel flying up and out, splattering metallically against the truck’s bumper.

Another shot, striking closer this time, gravel hitting Jack's back with a sharp stinging slap.

“He’ll kill us!” Kim sobbed, rocking, hugging the child to her, Zach too terrified to make a sound. “He’ll kill us. He’s crazy. Oh God Oh God oh God. He said if I tried to leave he’d kill me but I didn’t believe him …” The terrified words poured out of her in an almost incoherent rush.

O'Neill was looking around, trying to decide what to do. The truck was temporary, and inadequate, shelter at best, he knew, if Dennis was serious about shooting them, or him,. which he’d already done, actually, whether he’d intended to or not, Jack mused silently. And unless the bastard was one hell of a good shot, he was intent on doing damage, as close as the rounds had struck.

Rising up just a bit, Jack looked carefully around. They were in a quiet spot along the road, toward the bottom of a long slope that opened into a narrow, winding valley below. Steep mountains rose all around with medium sized thick pines marching from the hillsides right down to the edge of the ditch. There was about twenty feet of open space between the shelter of the truck and the safety of the trees, which grew thick and heavy all the way up the mountainside.

“What about you?”

“I’ll run there, draw his attention that way. Hopefully, he won’t see you and Zach…”

“But he’ll shoot you!”

She gulped in a big breath, and looked at her benefactor with wide eyes, but she nodded. “Be careful,” she breathed.

“Always,” he nodded. “On three then.” Still ducked down behind the bulk of the truck, she drew her legs up under herself. Nodding once more at the girl, O'Neill shifted, pushing off with his good leg, praying the other one, and the adrenaline coursing through him, would hold him up long enough to reach the safety of the trees.

Jack dashed out from the cover of the Ford, zigzagging away from her, his first step sure and steady, the second a stumbling, almost falling faltering stride as his left leg trembled and threatened to give way. Somehow he stayed on his feet, and another bullet whistled through the air just inches in front of him as he ran. There was a little rivulet of rainwater running through the bottom of the ditch, and he slogged through it, feeling cold wet drops of water splash up onto his pant legs above his hiking boots as he veered right, then left. Agonizing pain shot through his side, and he stumbled as he reached the shelter of the trees, gasping for air. Another bullet snapped through the air above his head, clipping needles from the tree. Scrambling forward on hands and knees, tearing flesh from his palms, O'Neill clawed his way over the rough surface of half a dozen sharp-edged rocks. One more shot smacked into the boulders beside him, ricocheting away at a sharp angle.

Using his hands and his right leg, Jack levered himself off the ground, swallowing a moan of pain as that simple movement sent another ripple of pain rolling from his side all the way to his toes. Forcing himself to ignore it, crouching low to make himself a smaller target, he began awkwardly moving through the trees toward the spot where Kim and Zach should have entered the woods, trying to be as quiet as he could.

The forest was still now, just the soft sounds of the steadily falling rain, the occasional gusting of the wind and the dripping trees. Each of his footsteps, each rasping breath, sounded far too loud.

Was Dennis coming after them? Was he slipping quietly through the trees, the hunter seeking his prey? Or did he think he’d done enough? Was his intent only to scare them, and his getting hit was an accident? Or was Kim right, was he out to kill her and the boy, and Jack as the witness? Jealousy was a terrible thing, the obsessive dark side of love, one that prompted some men to lose control and step over a line that, once crossed, you just can’t ever go back. Jack cursed himself for being stupid enough to get involved. Sticking your nose into other people’s trouble wasn’t something a wise man did, Jack reminded himself. Then again, nobody called him wise, he thought grimly. And hell, he couldn’t ever turn his back on a kid in trouble, two really, since that girl wasn’t much more than a child herself.

O'Neill stopped, taking quiet shallow breaths, listening intently. There, a noise in front of him. Easing his way forward in the dim light of the rain-filled woods, he finally caught a glimpse of the blue of the girl’s jacket.

“Kim!” Jack hissed quietly, and she turned, her eyes wide and huge with fear, but they relaxed a little when she saw it was him. He stepped closer and whispered his question. “You two okay?”

“Y-yes,” she answered, but he could see her hands were shaking where she held Zach’s hand. Jack wasn’t sure if it was fear or cold, probably both. “What are we going to do?”

“I’ve got this,” she said suddenly, pulling something out of her pocket and holding it out toward him.

His cell phone.

Relief surged through him. “Way to go, Kim.” He took it from her, his spirits plunging when he realized they were still in a dead zone, down here in this valley.

Shit. Looking around, his gaze followed the outline of the mountains soaring above them. “We need to get up there,” Jack waved a hand toward one of the peaks, “so the phone will work. Then we call 911 and just wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

Kim looked where he’d pointed. “Up there?”

“Yeah. Part way should do it.” Jack knelt down to get face to face with Zach, who was still clinging to his mom’s coat, quiet and looking scared. “Champ, we’re going to play a game. You ever play hide and seek?”

The boy nodded, wide-eyed.

“Good. This is sort of like that…”

“Grown ups don’t play hide and seek...”

Jack smiled. “This one does. I like games, and I really like hide and seek. You, me and your Mom, we’re playing hide from Dennis. You’re an important part of the game, Zach. I need you to be my partner, my silent partner. We’re going to be really, really quiet. Speak only in whispers. Okay?”

“Okay,” the boy agreed, and when Jack stuck out his hand, Zach slapped the palm and grinned.

Carefully, O'Neill pushed himself back to his feet, swaying for a moment as the stitch in his side took his breath away. Something must have shown in his face, he realized, because Kim suddenly looked strangely at him. Shaking his head, he started walking before she could ask any questions, easing his way through the trees.

Moving carefully, choosing the best cover he could find, picking a path through the most dense stands of pines, Jack led them upward. There wasn’t anything he could do at the moment about the tracks they were leaving in the moist forest floor, though, he noted worriedly. Finally, they came upon an area of scattered flat boulders. The trees were thinner there, but still provided adequate cover. He turned back to Kim. “Walk on the stones. Don’t leave any footprints. Go that way.” They’d been working their way south as they climbed, but now Jack pointed nearly due north, paralleling the path they’d taken.

“Why?”

“Hopefully, he’ll think we kept on going that way,” O'Neill pointed straight forward. “I need to lay a bit of a false trail, then I’ll catch up with you. Move slowly and carefully. If you get that far,” he pointed up to a rocky clearing, “wait for me in those trees,” O’Neill waved at a stand of aspens, green leaves fluttering dully in the rain.

She nodded then, and started off with the boy.

Stepping onto a rock, Jack worked his way south for a dozen yards, then purposely left a smudged footprint, like he’d slipped off the stone. He went a couple yards further, and found myself in a spot where the rocks were too far apart even for his long stride. Perfect… *if* Dennis the Menace was a good tracker, Jack thought, knowing he couldn’t be *too* obvious here. Stepping carefully onto the ground, O'Neill went forward several steps, then broke a small bit of branch off a tree. Going back, he brushed across his tracks, being just a little too blatant with the smoothing motions. Finished, he stepped back to look down at his handiwork. There, it looked like he’d been trying to conceal tracks. Good.

Now came the tricky part, doubling back and returning the way he’d come, this time without leaving any evidence of what he'd done. Which meant Jack was going to have to jump from the rock he was currently standing on over to another large boulder that sat tilted at a slight angle. Normally, even with his bad knees and iffy back, he could have done it with no problem.

Normally.

Oiy.

Pushing off with his right leg, he jumped.

The jump was fine.

But the landing sucked.

O'Neill's boots hit the hard stone, the jolt of his feet touching down rippling up through his legs and into his torso, pain exploding from his side, his left leg suddenly going numb. He fell to his knees, groaning, sliding on the rain dampened slippery surface. Only then could he see that the far side of the rock dropped away more sharply than he’d expected, like the rock had been sliced in two by some powerful force of nature, the sheer drop a good 20 feet.

And he was still sliding on the wet slick stone.

Jack clawed at the rock with his fingers, fighting futilely for purchase. Unable to stop as the slow pull of gravity drew him closer and closer to the edge and a fall that, if it didn’t kill him, would surely cripple him and leave him to Dennis’ mercy.

Somehow he just knew the SOB wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.

Sharp stone dug into Jack's palms, tore at his nails and then his straining fingers found the rough edge of a narrow fissure in the otherwise smooth rock, and somehow he managed to halt his skid before he fell.

O'Neill hung there a moment, relief washing through him.

He had to get off the rock. The last of the surging adrenaline gave him the strength to pull himself up, off to the side of the boulder. Scrambling down onto the ground and staggering forward, he just barely made it into the shelter of the trees before his wobbly legs buckled. He sank to his knees on the wet ground as the adrenaline left his system and the pain roared back taking his breath away. “Oh God,” he moaned, curling up into a fetal position. His hands reached involuntarily toward the center of the raging pain in his side as if the frantic gesture could somehow hold back the swelling, throbbing tide.

><><><><

Part 5/10

Kim and Zach had reached the trees by the clearing. The rain had let up some, though it still swirled in the wind, which blew patches of damp mist through the trees. Spying a large, heavy pine near the cluster of aspens, Kim crawled up under the branches, finding it dry and much warmer than the open ground.

She pulled the phone out of her pocked and dialed, waiting anxiously as it rang, and finally someone picked it up.

“Colo…. Em…gency. Plea…”

“Help. He’s trying to shoot us.”

“Wha…”

“Send the police. Hurry. Route 4 south of the truck stop. He shot at us… please…” Kim begged into the phone.

But it didn’t matter, and she knew it. She could only hear the occasional syllable of the 911 operator’s voice, interspersed with bursts of static. Praying that the woman could hear her better than she could hear the woman, Kim repeated her urgent message. “We had to leave the truck by the road. He was shooting at us. Please. Hurry.”

Nothing but crackling static answered her.

Turning off the device, with trembling arms she hugged her son tightly to her, rocking the both of them.

“Where’s Jack?” the boy asked.

“He’ll be here soon,” she promised, hopefully, hugging the child to her once more. He hadn’t wanted to leave their new friend behind, she’d had to carry him most of the way, and he was getting too big for her to carry, especially climbing on this rough ground. “Are you cold?” Kim whispered, ignoring the question.

The boy shook his head no. “Will Jack find us here? We’re hiding.”

“Yes. This is where he said we should wait for him.”

“I like Jack.”

She felt the child shiver.

“I want to go home, Mommy.”

“We can’t, honey. Remember, we’re going to Grandma’s house.”

“Grandma lives in town, not in the woods,” the child insisted.

“Shhhh,” Kim admonished the child. “Remember, Jack’s game. Hide and seek. We have to do that first and then…”

The sound of footsteps sent a thrill of fear racing through. Cautiously, she raised her finger before her lips, a silent quiet signal to Zach as she peered through the trees, searching for movement.

There.

A shadow. A figure moving slowly, a few steps, then pausing, as if searching. God, please not Dennis… and then she saw the glint of silvery hair and knew it was Jack.

And she could see that something was wrong.

Why hadn’t she seen it before? He was moving hunched over, not to hide, but because there was something wrong, something awkward about the way he was holding his body, limping, weaving from side to side.

Keeping quiet, Kim sat Zach down, motioning for him to be still, and brushed the branches aside. “Jack!” she whispered.

He spun on his heel, his head snapping up to look over at her, the sudden movement causing him to lose his balance and slide down to one knee. Jack grimaced, biting his lip not to cry out as he landed hard, propping himself up with one hand.

He nodded, and let her help him.

Jack tried to use her lean shoulder just for balance, tried not to let his weight fall against her, but he couldn’t help it. Gritting his teeth, attempting to ignore the pain that surged every time his left boot hit the ground, he stumbled on, his leg barely able to carry any of his weight, buckling beneath him every couple of staggering steps.

They reached the sheltering tree and O’Neill sank down gratefully on the soft carpet of old pine needles and forest duff, trying to protect his side.

“What happened?” she asked, studying his face, noting the way his eyes wouldn’t meet hers.

“Dennis,” he said softly.

“Now?” She hadn’t heard any more shots.

“You were hurt then? Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “No time. Nothing to be done anyway.” With shaking hands he let Kim help him pull the poncho off over his head, groaning at the pain in his side.

Kim was behind him as they maneuvered the bulky raincoat off, and then she saw it, a neat round hole through the back of his jacket, just over his hip. When he sat back, his breath jerking sharply, she saw the bigger hole in the front of his clothes, torn flesh and blood, a lot of blood, forming a dark deadly looking stain on the front of his jeans, running down almost to his knee.

He tried to grin at her, one long slender finger reaching down to feel the torn edges of his jacket where the bullet had exited. “Damn. Ruined my favorite jacket,” he tried to lighten the moment, and failed.

Her eyes were wide, and scared, her face white. Zach clinging to her side, looking frightened, too. “You n-need a doctor.”

“I’ll be okay. Looks worse than it is.” Jack tried to smile at the boy. “I’m okay.”

“You’ve been shot.”

“Been shot before.”

She looked at him strangely.

“Military hazard.” He tried to grin reassuringly, and failed.

She nodded, and reached out a tentative hand toward the wound.

“You’ll have to help me… bandage it,” he told her.

She swallowed and nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a small knife. “Cut the end of my shirt, make a bandage.”

Uneasily, she did as he asked, carefully pulling the long tails of the shirt out of his jeans, then slicing off the ends, moving as gently as she could because she could see that, even though he was trying not to let it show, every time she touched him, it hurt. Folding up the cloth, she set it against the ugly exit wound above his hip, feeling him flinch at the contact, his eyes tightening, his lips thinning into a grimace.

“Tight. Needs pressure,” he managed to force out between his gritted teeth. He bit his lip not to cry out when she pushed the makeshift bandage against the wound, his hands moving to replace hers, so she wouldn’t get any of the blood on her hands.

He closed his eyes then, and for a terrified moment Kim thought he’d passed out or died, but she could still see the long fingers clutching the bandage, could see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. She watched him fight the pain, the effort written all over his face, and then she saw his expression ease, as if he’d beaten it back, somehow gotten some sort of control over it.

Finally, his eyes reopened slowly. He looked around, sending a thin grin at the frightened boy who was huddled against his mother’s side. The man reached out his left hand, careful to choose the one without the bloodstains, touching the boy’s arm reassuringly.

“Does it hurt?” Zach asked.

“Only when I laugh.”

“Then I won’t make you laugh,” the child promised solemnly.

“Good.” Jack raised his hand to tousle the boy’s hair before switching his gaze to Kim’s face. “So, when’s the cavalry coming?”

“The cavalry?”

“Sheriff. State patrol. Cops. Whoever.”

The girl’s face went white.

“You *did* call?” he asked, sitting up suddenly and immediately realizing he really, really ought to just stay still. Black spots danced before his eyes, the ground and trees and sky swapping places before he slammed his eyes closed again. Jack could feel the sweat popping out on his forehead as nausea roiled his stomach. For a moment, he thought that cherry pie was going to make a reappearance before he managed to get his body back under control.

Kim was looking at him, the terrified expression back on her face as she nodded over and over. “I called. I told them someone was trying to shoot us. Along Route 44, south of the truck stop.”

Good, O’Neill sighed inwardly. He’d be okay if all he had to do was lie here and wait for rescue, even if it took them an hour or two to get here. They’d find the truck down on the road. And Jack was pretty confident that Dennis would disappear damn quick once the police cars started showing up… he hadn’t seemed like the kind of man with the courage to hang around and face the music, not when he was outnumbered and outgunned. Pick on a girl and a kid, sure, and even one harmless looking gray-haired old guy, but cops? With guns? Nah.

And then O’Neill realized Kim was saying something else, and his blood ran cold at the words.

“The connection was bad. I could hear them but I don’t know if they heard me… I kept trying to tell her where we were…”

Jack sighed. “Don’t worry. They can trace the call… crap.” Cell phone. Unless this sparsely populated rural area had the latest sophisticated 911 equipment, which he seriously doubted, they had no way of knowing where the call had come from.

They’d know it was his phone, and they might start looking for his truck, but they wouldn’t have any idea where the hell it was.

And Colorado was a very big state.

Oh shit.

They were going to have to move, further up the mountain, in hopes that they could get a better signal from a higher altitude.

Damn.

He really didn’t want to move. Really.

He’d have fallen flat on his face if it weren’t for her help. Gasping for air against the agony emanating from the wound, he forced himself to move, sweat soon trailing down his neck and back. After a few steps, he found an awkward rhythm… stare down at the ground, slide his injured leg a few inches forward, use it to brace his weight with the aid of her shoulder and the tree branch she’d found for him, then lurch forward, his weight jarring clumsily onto his right leg, swallowing the curses that sprang to his lips because it wasn’t right to swear in front of an impressionable kid.

As if what the boy had already seen and heard in his short life wasn’t enough to give the kid nightmares already.

They’d only traveled 20 or 30 yards when O’Neill realized that this was one of his more stupid plans.

Kim did as he asked without question.

Reaching the shelter of the tree, Jack lowered himself to the ground with a grateful sigh of relief.

Kim pulled the phone out of her pocket, shaking her head in disappointment. Only one bar was lit. “This isn’t far enough.”

O’Neill nodded in agreement. “I know. We’re moving too slow. You and Zack go on, I’ll wait here…”

“But…” she objected.

“I’ll be fine. Make the call, then stay put.”

Kim bit her lip. “What if Dennis comes after us?”

“I’ll watch for him.”

“He’ll hurt you.”

“He can try.”

“But he’s got a gun.”

“I can take care of myself. I’m military, remember?” his lips twisted in an attempt to grin reassuringly.

She shook her head, wanting to say no, knowing it wasn’t right to leave him.

“Go,” he ordered.

“You can make it…” she was afraid, she didn’t want to leave his comforting presence.

“I’m slowing you down too much. Do it.” Jack’s gaze drifted down to look at the quiet boy clinging to her side. "Do it for him.”

Finally, she reached down, touching O’Neill’s hand gently, then nodded and left. As they walked away, Zach looked back and waved.

Jack waved back.

><><><><

Part 6/10

The phone on General George Hammond’s desk rang.

“Hammond here,” he answered.

“Sir, this is Sgt. Tanner, Security Forces. We’ve just received a message from Colorado Emergency Services. It seems someone called 911 from Colonel O’Neill’s cell phone.”

“The Colonel?”

“No, Sir. The call was breaking up badly, and the operator could only make out an occasional word. It sounded like a young woman’s voice, and she said something about someone trying to shoot her.”

Hammond’s brow furrowed in confusion. Colonel O’Neill was trying to shoot someone? That didn’t seem plausible… “What about the Colonel?”

“That’s all the information we’ve been given, Sir. The operator tried to call the phone back, but it’s reading as out of service. We’ve also tried his home, and there’s no answer there, or from his pager. It’s reading out of service as well, General.”

Hammond snorted. Out of service could be anywhere in half of Colorado, what with all the dead zones created by the mountainous terrain, the exact kind of places O’Neill liked to frequent during his infrequent time off.

“Keep me apprized of any new developments, Sergeant.” Hammond hung up the phone, staring blankly ahead into space for a moment. Then, quickly, he dialed another number. The phone range once, twice, three times, and a fourth, and the general was about to hang up when a voice answered.

“Carter here.”

“Major, aren’t you supposed to be on leave?” he queried disapprovingly.

“Ah, yes, Sir, but I wanted to finish running the tests on that device we found on P4….”

“Okay, Major. I understand,” he cut her off. “What I need to know is if you know where Colonel O’Neill might be.”

“No, Sir. When he left the mountain, he was going home as far as I know.”

“Well, he’s not there now. Any idea where he might have gone? Most likely somewhere up in the mountains?”

“No, Sir. Is something wrong?”

“Colonel O’Neill’s phone was used by a young woman to call 911 and report someone was trying to shoot her. But the connection was so poor, the operator wasn’t able to get any details as to who or where.”

“There are a couple of places he likes to go up in the mountains. I don’t know any details, though, Sir, but Daniel might know.”

“Ah, I believe so, Sir.”

“Then find him and report to my office. Now.”

><><><><

O’Neill watched the mother and child leave, feeling suddenly very alone in the stillness of the woods. For several moments after they disappeared from sight, he could hear the faint noises as they moved through the damp forest, and then they were gone.

Jack shifted his hips on the hard ground, cursing at the sudden flare of pain even that small movement brought. He kept his right hand clamped firmly over the hole in his side, his fingers encountering warmth and dampness.

He was still bleeding.

Shit.

Licking dry lips, he leaned his head back against the tree’s trunk and fought off the urge to let his weary eyelids slide close. What could a few minutes sleep hurt? His tired body argued with his weary brain.

A lot, his brain answered back.

An eddy of wind swirled the fog, lifting it momentarily from the mountainside. The small stream they’d crossed earlier was visible now, several hundred yards away, its tumbling waters making his mouth feel even drier, his thirst rage even higher. Blood loss did that to you, he knew. It was a bad sign, because shock and fever were usually the next steps.

And then he saw something that was even worse.

His eyes caught a flicker of movement, a momentary glimpse of a dark form moving swiftly across the open space between the trees. Eyes straining, Jack watched, praying it was a deer or an elk, and inwardly knowing better.

He’d stalked, and been stalked by enough humans to know the difference.

Dennis had ferreted out their trail.

And once he reached the meadow, hell, a blind man could follow the path they’d left when Kim had helped Jack stagger these last few yards.

He’d be on O’Neill in a few minutes.

Shit.

Desperately, Jack looked around, searching the silent trees for something, anything that could help him, his fingers digging frantically through his pockets. All he found was the small pocket knife.

><><><><

They kept climbing.

><><><><

Dennis was muttering to himself as he walked, following the now obvious tracks. The old guy had been smarter than he’d figured, he had to admit, coming up with that neat trick back at the stream. That had cost him an hour at least, to figure out the ruse and finally find the tracks once again. But he had them now. They couldn’t get far, and then he’d drag that two-timing worthless little witch and the brat home with him where they belonged.

Nobody.

The man’s tracks he was following led him out of the trees at last, across a small open meadow, stopping under a heavy, wide pine. They’d rested there, the old guy laying down even, the sandy soil clearly showing signs of where he’d been down, prone. Probably tired, Dennis thought with derision.

Funny, there was something dark, there, a drop of something rusty red, just like the blood of the deer he tracked each fall during hunting season.

He smiled a feral grin. “Hot damn!” he’d hit the old guy, must have been back at the truck. That would explain the blood, and the odd, stumbling steps leading away from the tree.

The bright thing never moved.

The man lay crumpled against the base of a tall pine, on his left side, facing him. Even from a dozen yards away Dennis could see the dark blood staining the pale yellow shirt and faded blue jeans.

Must have nicked an artery and the old fart just bled to death like a stuck pig.

Well, that’s what Kim got for taking up with the likes of someone who was old enough to be her granddaddy.

Too bad he couldn’t hang this trophy on his wall next to that big ol’ seven point bull elk.

Dennis was close to the man now. Reaching out the barrel of the gun, he prodded the body.

There was no reaction.

He prodded the still form again, harder this time.

Nothing.

So he reached out a hand to shake the man…and the body moved.

><><><><

Part 7/10

Pulling the phone from her pocket, she saw that four bars were now showing. Sobbing in relief, she sat down, turned the device on, and punched in the numbers 9-1-1.

“Emergency operator…”

“Oh, please, help, send help. We need the police and a doctor…"

“Ma’am, calm down, please,” the operator soothed. “I’m not getting any location information…”

“I’m using a cellphone. It belongs to Mr. O’Neill, Jack O’Neill, he’s in the Air Force, a-and he’s been hurt.”

“We need to know your location, ma’am.”

“South of the Deerfield truckstop on Hwy 4. The truck had a flat tire, so we had to climb up the mountain to get away…”

“What is your name?”

“Kimberly, Kimberly Milford.”

“Kimberly, are you injured?”

The calm voice helped soothe Kim’s rattled nerves. “N-no, just scared. And Zach is fine, that’s my little boy. He’s here with me. But we had to leave Jack, Mr. O’Neill, he’s hurt.”

“How was Mr. O’Neill injured?”

“Dennis, my boyfriend, shot him.”

“What is Dennis’ last name?”

“Carson, Dennis Carson.”

“And where is Dennis now?”

“I-I think he’s looking for us,” Kim was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please, hurry. Before he kills Mr. O’Neill.” Far below, Kim saw movement. For a hopeful moment, she thought it was O’Neill, and then she recognized the color of his coat… it was Dennis. Taking a deep breath, the young woman climbed back to her feet, taking Zach’s hand. “I’ve got to go back, and help him. I can see Dennis down there….”

“Kimberly, stay where you are. We’ve got sheriff’s department deputies and an ambulance on the way. I want you to stay put until…”

“I can’t, I have to go back. We left him alone, and hurt…” Kim had already started back down the hillside.

“Kimberly, stay on the line with me. Don’t… back… yo……breaking…”

Looking down, she saw that only one bar and part of another was still lit. “Hurry!” she shouted into the phone, and worked her way back down the mountainside as quickly as she could, praying she wouldn’t be too late. She didn’t know what, if anything, she could do, but she couldn’t stand by and watch while Dennis hurt Jack even more.

><><><><

Jack was breathing shallowly, his eyes bare slits as he watched the man sneak closer and closer, his stealthy steps soon turning into confident strides as he neared his victim.

Clutching the small knife in his right hand, O’Neill waited, praying the son of a bitch got close enough, because Jack knew this wasn’t much of a chance at best and a deadly fool’s gamble at worst.

He steeled himself not to move as his adversary drew closer.

The cold metal of the gunbarrel tapped against his foot, and then, harder, against his thigh.

A shadow blocked the sun above him.

A hand reached out to shake him.

Jack lunged upward, the knife in his right hand slashing across Dennis’s forearm.

The younger man screamed as blood spurted from his arm. Dennis dropped his rifle from pain numbed fingers, his left hand instinctively clamping across the ragged tear in his right arm as he backpedaled away from what he’d thought was a dead body.

A dead body that had just attacked him.

Rolling left, propelling himself forward with his uninjured right leg, Jack’s second swipe with the short knife caught on the younger man’s jacket, tearing the blade from O’Neill’s grip. The knife spun through the air, landing a dozen feet away in a clump of bright purple lupines.

As Dennis retreated in shocked surprise, Jack pressed his advantage. One step, two, three, and then, just as he’d latched his hands onto the younger man’s sleeve, O’Neill’s wounded leg buckled.

The two men crashed to the ground.

Under normal circumstances, regardless of the age difference, regardless of the fact that Jack was outweighed by close to a hundred pounds, it wouldn’t have been a contest.

It nearly wasn’t anyway.

Somehow, fueled by the surge of adrenaline, Jack managed to strike out at the younger man, the blow driving Dennis to the ground, on his back, momentarily dazed. O’Neill moved to press his advantage, crawling forward to pin down his larger, now prone adversary. Pushing Dennis over onto his stomach, O’Neill used his legs to straddle the younger man’s hips, grappling for control of his opponent’s left arm. Grabbing onto Dennis’s left hand, Jack pulled it behind the younger man’s back.

Dennis went limp.

Jack carefully sucked in a breath, stifling a gasp of pain as his side protested.

Maybe he flinched, he didn’t know, but somehow, Dennis realized his adversary was vulnerable.

The quiet, seemingly defeated opponent suddenly writhed like a bucking bronco. Jack’s hand, slick with his own blood and more from Dennis’ arm, slipped, allowing the younger man to pull his arm away from O’Neill’s grasp.

Jack found himself thrown free, landing hard on his back, stunned.

Dennis was on him in an instant, drawing back his right hand and delivering a looping punch toward the gray haired man’s injured left side.

O’Neill’s hand was too slow to block the blow, only deflecting it slightly, even as he twisted in a vain attempt to escape the punch.

The blow landed against his already damaged side with devastating impact.

Jack’s vision went gray as pain blossomed, an agonized groan torn from his throat as the darkness raced in. The last thing he saw before the black cloud overwhelmed him was Dennis’ fist, poised to strike once more, and then the blow landed in his side, directly over the bleeding wound. Fiery pain tore through him. Bright sparkling lights flickered across his vision as O’Neill lost the battle for consciousness, slumping bonelessly to the damp ground.

Scrambling to his feet, Dennis let out a roar of triumph. He stifled a fleeting thought of admiration for the toughness of his adversary, reveling in his victory.

Now, finish off the old guy and find Kim and the kid and get the hell out of here.

A glint of metal just a few feet away caught his attention.

The knife was there, lying in the flowers.

Dennis scrambled after it, finding the small blade covered with his own blood. The thought angered him, and he looked down at the unconscious man lying at his feet. Maybe he’d have a little fun, carve the bastard up before he finished him off, give him back a little of his own medicine. After all, his arm hurt like hell and this guy was the cause. It was the kind of thing he deserved for butting into someone else’s business, him and his expensive truck and his lah-de-dah pretty boy manners, trying to make off with his woman and the brat.

It all seemed like more effort than he could expend. He just wanted to lie there until the pain stopped.

‘Get up!’ his inner voice screamed at him, unrelenting.

Part 8/10

With a groan, Jack flopped over onto his stomach, damaged nerves in his side screaming their messages of pain, but the adrenaline surging through him once again overrode their demands. He crawled forward, his long fingers latching onto Dennis’s boot and pulling just as the younger man crowed in triumph, raising the knife in his hand.

Dennis spun, swinging the knife in front of him in the awkward way of someone who’s watched too many movies and done no real fighting.

Didn’t matter, Jack knew, because he couldn’t move and he couldn’t fight back, he was a sitting duck that any amateur, including this one, was going to kill dead as a doornail in about three seconds.

His gut contracted, anticipating the fatal blow he knew he was helpless to evade.

He’d always figured he’d die fighting, but not like this, not on some hillside on his own world, in his own country, fighting with some bully…

And then she screamed.

“Noooooooo!”

Dennis spun around, looking behind him.

There stood Kim and the boy, staring down at the battling men.

“Yes!” Dennis thought in triumph. He wouldn’t even have to go looking for them now.

“No,” thought Jack, all he’d fought for, all he very likely was going to die for in the next few minutes, was wasted because she’d come back and Dennis would get her and the boy and the ugliness and the violence would begin all over again. He wanted to sob at the waste, at the futility and stupidity of it.

“You get down here, bitch,” Dennis snarled.

The girl was white faced, her eyes flitting around the meadow, looking for an escape, for some sign of the police, even as she knew it was far too soon for any help to be arriving. Though in her heart she knew better, she clung to the hope that maybe she could stall him, maybe she could talk Dennis out of doing anything else. “Please, don’t hurt him anymore. You don’t have to. He hasn’t done anything to you, Dennis…”

“Yeah, right, you’ve only been running around behind my back, hanging out with him…” the young man angrily toed his boot into the gray haired man’s thigh, eliciting a groan from O’Neill. “Look at him now, Kim. He’s worthless…” Dennis kicked the man again, forcing another moan of pain from the injured man. “Some hero he is.”

“Don’t,” a high pitched yell sounded preceding a tiny bundle of furious child racing out from behind his mother, aimed at Dennis. The child barreled into the man, small fists flailing. “Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!”

At that moment, Kim’s eyes found what she’d been searching for.

Dennis reached down to push the child away.

Zach fell, landing in the flowers.

O’Neill, summoning up the last of his strength, fastened a hand around the younger man’s ankle, and pulled.

Dennis crashed to the ground.

Zach screamed.

Kim raced across the meadow, snatching up the rifle from where it lay in the grass.

Jack kept his fingers locked around his opponents’ ankle as the man regained his feet, kicking at O’Neill with his free leg.

Raging, Dennis started across the meadow toward the girl standing defiantly with the rifle in her hands, impervious to the weight as he dragged O’Neill with him.

She raised the weapon higher. “Stay back. Or I’ll shoot.”

“You won’t,” Dennis answered smugly.

Kim raised the rifle to her shoulders. “I will. Stop or I will. Stop!”

He didn’t do what she demanded.

She did what she had to do.

><><><><

The rifle blast was deafening in the close confines of the small meadow, echoing through the forest.

Stillness followed.

Slowly, Kim let her arms sag, the weight of the gun dragging them down toward her waist.

O’Neill rolled away from the man as Dennis shuddered, a look of sudden surprise replacing the smug smile. The young man’s hands flew to the red stain blossoming across his chest as he took a step, and another. Suddenly, his knees buckled and the big man slid to his knees in the damp grass, reaching out a hand toward the girl. For a moment he lingered, there, poised as if to say or do something, his mouth working, and then, as if a string had been cut, he collapsed, and lay still.

“Mommy!” the boy’s terrified cry shattered the stillness. The child raced across the meadow, throwing himself into his mother’s arm. The girl, on her knees, shaking, wrapped her arms around the sobbing child.

O’Neill’s gaze slid from the mother and child, to the still body of their tormentor.

It was over.

Suddenly terribly weary, Jack let his head sink down to rest in the cool grass.

He was tired, so very tired.

Brown eyes slid slowly closed.

><><><><

Voices called him back to awareness.

“Mr. O’Neill? Jack?” that was a woman’s voice.

“Jack?” that was a child’s voice.

A child’s tiny hand touched his face.

In answer, he forced his eyes open.

The girl’s frightened face hovered just above his. “Jack?”

He licked dry lips, “Yeah,” he answered, hoarsely.

“I got through.”

The words weren’t registering. He was still trying to figure out where he was and who these people were, because every time he started to form a coherent thought, the pain washed through him and wiped away everything in its path, making him start all over again time after time, and that was taking way more energy than he had to spare.

But he knew this was important, knew he should listen, knew he needed to reassure her because she was scared and she shouldn’t be, she was just a kid…

O’Neill groaned.

“I got through. Help is coming. Hold on.”

He nodded, and shivered, suddenly feeling very cold and unutterably weary.

He let his eyes fall shut again, but that started the voices once more. So maybe, he decided, it was better if he tried to keep them open. Frankly, their scared tones frightened him.

Once more he shivered, hunching his shoulders, curling up on his side, his hands wrapped tightly around his side where the blood flowed sticky and warm.

Hands pushed his hands away, and he felt something pressed tightly against his side.

“Hold still. Help is coming. Can you hear the sirens? I can hear them. Hold on.”

><><><><

The sheriff’s deputies worked their way slowly up the hillside. Several hundred yards from the road, they heard a woman’s voice, shouting, “Here, please hurry, here!”

Another body lay face down, some 20 feet away.

To their astonishment, the police discovered both men had been shot, and both were still alive.

><><><><

“We’ll be waiting.” By the time the chopper set down on the hospital roof, the emergency response team was assembled, surgeons called in and two operating rooms were prepared.

They were going to be needed.

“This one’s crashing!” the paramedic shouted as the first victim was lifted out of the chopper, the stretcher quickly strapped into place on a gurney. The ER nurse got only a momentary glimpse of a silver haired head as the man was rushed straight into an operating room.

><><><><

Part 9/10

The police had given her a ride to Colorado Springs. Wrapped in blankets, a cup of coffee in hand, Kim had huddled in the back seat of the squad car, holding tightly to Zach, who kept asking for Jack. “He’s at the hospital, honey. The doctors are working to make him better.” She hoped so, at least, for her son’s sake. He’d formed such a strong attachment to the tall quiet man who’d helped them. Muttering a quick prayer for the man’s wellbeing, Kim closed her eyes.

At the police station, the questions had been polite, but pointed. She told them what happened, and then she told them again, and then several more officers showed up, and she had to tell the tale once more. Exhausted, Zach asleep on her lap, she’d finally refused to say anything more. “I want to know how Mr. O’Neill is,” she’d finally demanded.

“We don’t know,” an officer told her.

“Please, can’t you find out?” She’d watched the news often enough to know they only called for Air Rescue when the situation was critical. Her last glimpse of Jack had been frightening. He’d been still and quiet, gray faced as the paramedics worked on him before hurriedly loading him into the helicopter. The medical people had sounded grim as they’d worked at what had seemed to her to be a frantic pace. They hadn’t even let her say goodbye. “I need to know. Please. He got hurt because he helped me,” she looked from one officer to another.

Finally, one shrugged. “I’ll call and see if there’s any news.”

He was gone an awfully long time, she thought, and when he returned, she knew there was no good news by the long on his face.

“The hospital says there’s no change, he’s still in surgery.”

“I want to go there,” she demanded, suddenly sure of herself.

“Look, Kim, he’s getting the best possible medical help. There’s nothing you can do for him…”

“I need to be there. Someone should be there. So he’s not alone,” Kim stared defiantly at the officers, too tired to care if she was being polite. “Mr. O’Neill shouldn’t be alone. He’s hurt because of me, because of us, because he stopped to help us along the road. He didn’t know us, he didn’t have to help us. But he did. He shouldn’t be alone,” she insisted, stubbornly. “Please, take me there…”

The officers looked at each other, and finally, the sergeant in charge shrugged. “Miss, if that’s what you want, I’ll have an officer give you a ride.”

At the hospital, there really wasn’t anything she could do. She’d known that, but she’d also known she had to be there, be close, lend her strength to the man who might be dying because of her. She knew Dennis was there, too, in the same hospital, but she felt no compassion and no pity for him. He’d been responsible for his own fate.

Mr. O’Neill, a stranger, had been kinder to her than anyone had been in a very long time. She didn’t know much about him, but she knew he was a good man.

She sat in the waiting room, the minutes passing slowly. Exhausted, but unable to sleep, she sat beside Zach, who was curled up on a couch in the waiting room. The hospital staff had treated them kindly, bringing Zach a blanket, refilling her coffee cup, and giving her updates on the surgery. Finally, a harried looking nurse had come to find her.

Kim stood, worried.

“We’re taking him to intensive care,” the nurse informed the worried young woman. “He nearly died on the table, he’d lost massive amounts of blood, but the doctors were able to repair the damage. If we can get him stabilized, he’s got a chance, a good chance.”

“Can I see him?”

“Not yet. After we get him settled. But there’s a waiting room upstairs. I’ll show you.”

Picking up the sleeping child, Kim followed the nurse to the elevator and up to the ICU waiting room.

She’d dozed off when there was a commotion in the hallway. Four people stood at the nurse’s station. She couldn’t make out their voices, but in a moment, three of them were walking briskly toward her. One was almost as tall as Jack, with glasses covering his blue eyes and floppy long hair and a worried frown on his face; a tall blonde woman walked purposely beside him; and finally, a large, African-American man, ebony-skinned and muscular, stalked next to them. The fourth person, a tiny woman, had followed the nurses down the hallway and into what she knew was O’Neill’s room.

“Hello, you’re Kim?” the blue-eyed man stuck out his hand. “I’m Daniel Jackson. This is Major Carter, and, ah, Murray. We work with Jack, Colonel O’Neill. I understand you can tell us what happened?”

She looked from one to the other of them. The woman looked military, as did the powerful man, but Daniel Jackson seemed different. Somehow, she knew she could talk to him. “You’re his friends?”

“Yes,” answered Murray in solemn tones. “ColonelO’Neill is our team leader.”

“And our friend,” added the woman quickly.

“Do you know how he is?” Daniel asked.

Kim shook her head. “No. He was in surgery for hours, and then they took him into a room…” she nodded toward a nearby hallway.

Just then, an alarm sounded at the nurses’ station. All of the gathered group turned, heads swiveling as they watched nurses and a doctor hurry down the corridor and enter a room.

“That’s Jack’s room?” Daniel asked, worriedly.

Kim could only nod.

For long minutes, they all stood staring, as if somehow they could see through the wall. More nurses and another doctor ran down the hallway, entering the room.

Long minutes passed.

Finally, people began to emerge from the room, talking quietly to each other. None of them approached the tensely waiting group.

Unable to wait any longer, Daniel had started down the corridor after one of the nurses when a familiar face stepped out of Jack’s room. Doctor Fraiser’s face was grim.

“Janet?” Sam’s eyes were wide.

“He’s still alive,” the petite physician answered with a sigh. “It was a close call. He went into cardiac arrest, but they were able to get his heart restarted.” She raised her eyes to meet theirs. “It’s still touch and go. They’re having trouble getting his blood pressure stabilized.” She shook her head. “I need to go back. I’ll let you know when there’s any news…”

Turning on her heel, Janet returned to the Colonel’s room. Although she wasn’t on staff at CS General, she was allowed privileges as a patient’s personal physician. The medical people here were good, she could see that for herself as she observed them working around O’Neill.

He was still intubated, of course, with monitors in place recording his breathing, pulse, blood pressure and heart rate; IV’s providing transfusions, fluids and meds; and other tubes carrying away and measuring urine output. She could see the incision on his lower left side, a long row of stitches closing the wound around the drain tube that would carry away any accumulating fluids. The chance of infection was high, gunshot wounds were always dirty, bullets driving bits of cloth and other materials deep inside the body.

Reading the Colonel’s chart, there was some good news. The bullet hadn’t hit the bowel, which greatly lessened the chance of complications and infection. It had also missed, barely, the hip bone, so he didn’t have any broken bones to deal with. Damage to blood vessels had led to significant internal bleeding, complicated by the lengthy time between the injury and the initiation of treatment.

It was the next day before Kim was able to visit her good samaritan. Murray was entertaining Zach, the boy seemed to like the large, quiet man.

The tiny physician, Dr. Fraiser, escorted Kim into the ICU, smiling reassuringly. "I know this looks scary, but all the equipment is there to help him recover. Which he will. Colonel O'Neill is a very strong man."

Hesitantly, afraid of what she would see, Kim followed the doctor into the sterile white room. Jack's eyes were closed, there were tubes and wires everywhere, and he looked more dead than alive. It scared her. She hesitated a long time before gathering up the courage to reach out and touch his hand. She’d been somehow afraid it would be cold, but it was warm, and when she had clasped his long fingers in hers, held that hand that had done so much to protect her and Zach, she’d been gratified to feel a slight but definite squeeze in return.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Zach and I are okay because of you. Get well soon.”

><><><><

Jack had just gotten home from the hospital the day before.

His team had been there yesterday, underfoot all day, mother henning him until he'd gruffly ordered them out of his house so he could get some rest.

Reluctantly, they'd left, vowing to be back.

Dr. Fraiser and Cassie had been the last to leave, the petite physician carefully repeating the directions for his meds and lecturing him on taking care of himself. She knew he would, just as she knew he resented all the coddling while at the same time, deep inside, he was warmed by their show of affection. She did worry about him being here all alone, but she also knew he was a resilient man who treasured his privacy.

Besides, between her and his teammates, they'd check on him often enough that he'd know he wasn't forgotten, and that he wouldn't be wanting for anything he needed.

><><><><

It had felt awfully good sleeping in his own bed.

He woke with bright sunlight filtering into the bedroom around the drawn curtains. He'd slept late. Rising carefully, he made his way to the bathroom. Done there, he returned to the bedroom. Feeling stiff and sore, O'Neill carefully dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, then padded carefully down to the kitchen. The fridge was stocked full courtesy of his teammates, though he noted there wasn't so much as a single beer on the shelves amid the milk, juice, and fresh fruit. He found the orange juice, using the sweet beverage to wash down his morning pills, thoughtfully arranged in one of those fancy morning/noon/night pills-by-the-day pill boxes.

He finished breakfast and settled down on the couch, switching on the TV, surfing through half a dozen channels before finding an old John Wayne western. It was one he’d seen before, but that was okay, because he was pretty sure he’d fall asleep long before it was over.

That’s what he knew he’d be doing a lot of over the next few days, sleeping, napping and dozing, when he wasn’t resting. If it warmed up enough, maybe later he’d even go out to the deck and relax for a bit in the sun. Warm sun was always conducive to a good, satisfying nap.

That’s how his body healed. He had lots of experience in knowing what he needed while recuperating, even without Doc’s lecture about rest, decent meals and taking all his meds.

He’d drifted off into that dozing state that was the preamble to real sleep when the doorbell’s loud tones startled him.

Crap.

Sitting up carefully, he swung his long legs toward the floor, carefully planting his feet and rising slowly, straightening cautiously, as if by moving slowly enough he could slip the movement past his body. Nope, not to be done, as the healing wound in his side reminded him that any movement, slow or not, was just gonna hurt for a while yet.

Double crap.

The doorbell was ringing again.

“Hold your horses. I hear ya. Just give me a minute, huh?” he grumbled, easing his way toward the door.

><><><><

Part 10/10

Kim stood on the porch of a handsome woodframed house, Zach’s small hand clutched tightly in hers.

“Is this where Jack lives?” the boy asked.

“Yes, honey,” Kim smiled, and rang the doorbell again.

From inside, she heard a muffled voice. Good, then what the hospital had told her when she’d called last night was right, that he had gone home.

The door opened a crack, a familiar face looking around the half open door before pulling it wide, a smile touching his lean face. Then his gaze slid downward, seeing Zach, and Kim saw a real smile light up her benefactor’s face.

“Hi!” the boy’s grin matched that of the tall man.

Jack swept an arm wide, “Come on in.”

Walking gingerly, he led his visitors into the sunken living room, pointing them at the couch while he eased himself carefully down into a chair.

“It’s really good to see you home,” she told him. “You look so much better than the last time I saw you.”

“Ah, well, all that hospital white doesn’t do a thing for my color,” he answered glibly.

She nodded, studying his face. He still looked pale, and there were tight lines around his lips and eyes, a sure sign he was in discomfort, but to see him up and moving around was reassuring. “I went to see you in the hospital, but I don’t imagine you remember.”

He shook his head no.

“They wouldn’t let Zach in at all.”

Jack looked affectionately over at the boy, his gaze softening. “That’s good. It’s a pretty scary place for a kid.”

“For a grown up, too,” she said. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He shrugged.

“Zach had something he wanted to give to you,” she opened the small plastic bag she’d been carrying. The boy gently lifted something out of the bag, a brightly wrapped package, and walked across the room to hand it to O’Neill.

“You didn’t have to…” he started, looking over at her.

“It’s from me,” said Zach proudly. “Open it.”

He let the boy help him tear off the bright paper, and opened the box.

Inside was a teddy bear. Obviously, it wasn’t new, most of the hair was worn off one ear, some of the fur looked matted, and one eye was sewn on a little crookedly, like it had been repaired more than once.

“This is yours,” Jack said, lifting it out of the tissue paper wrapping.

“I wanted you to have it,” the boy said shyly.

“It wouldn’t be right. You’ll miss him, and he’ll miss you.” Jack extended the bear toward the child.

Zach pushed it back at him. “No. I used to sleep with him when I was little, but I’m big now, and I won’t miss him,” the tremble in the boy's words gave away the lie, but Jack could see the child was trying hard to be as grown up as he could be. “He’s good company when you’re feeling sick,” Zach affectionately patted the stuffed animal.

“Mommy said you would be sick for a while and I wanted you to have Charlie-bear, to help you get all better.”

Jack gulped. "Charlie?" he asked in a whisper.

The boy nodded. "That's what I call him. But you can give him a different name, if you want."

Unthinkingly, Jack's hand reached out to touch the toy’s matted fur, remembering another little boy who’d also carried around a well-worn and well-loved stuffed animal. He blinked, holding back the moisture that had gathered in his eyes. "Charlie is a perfect name," he said hoarsely. “I-“ O’Neill raised his gaze to meet Kim’s. “I- this wouldn’t be right. It's his...”

“Zach wanted you to have it. He has others but this one has always been his favorite. When Mom took us back to the house to get our things, it was the first thing he went looking for. So he could give it to you.”

Jack reached out and set his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of him. And if you ever need him back, promise, you'll come and get him, okay? Promise?”

The boy smiled.

An awkward silence filled the room.

Kim looked over at the man who had befriended her, probably saved their lives, risked his own life to help her and her son, even though he didn’t know them. It was odd, to owe so much to someone who was a stranger, yet someone to whom she felt an incredible connection of gratitude and appreciation. She would be forever grateful to the tall, quiet man who had helped them. Much as she wanted to explain, she couldn’t find the words to tell him what he had done for her and her son. “Thank you,” she said, though she knew it wasn't enough.

Kim raised her head and her gaze met his, and she knew that he understood.

He nodded.

“Mom’s waiting in the car. We’re going back to Denver with her, we’re going to live there. We’ll have to come back for the trial and everything,” she added, “but I’m looking for a job down there, and Mom will let us stay with her for a while. Until we get settled.”

“That’s good.”

She stood up, picked up the now empty plastic bag, twisting it in her fingers.

Jack leaned forward, and hugged Zach, then carefully rose to his full height, stepping slowly toward the door. As they reached the hallway, she paused, her hand on the doorknob. Turning back, she gathered her courage once more. “Thank you. I know that’s not enough…”

“But it is,” he smiled gently, and reaching out, wrapped his long arms around her in a warm, paternal hug. “You are a very brave young woman. Take good care of him,” he nodded at the boy. Turning to the child, kneeling down very carefully, Jack looked the boy in the eye. “And you take good care of your Mom, okay?” He held out his hand, and the child slapped it, and giggled.

Jack gingerly stood once more, holding the door as they left, watching them go down the walk, the boy skipping happily. Just before they reached the car parked at the front curb, they both turned around and waved.

He waved back, and watched while the car disappeared from sight.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he hobbled back into the living room, and settled himself on the couch once more.

><><><><

Janet Fraiser drove past the Colonel's house on her way home that evening, deciding to make a quick stop to check on her patient.

There were lights on, the only noise the quiet rumble of the TV as she knocked, then let herself in the back door with the key he’d given her. If the Colonel was sleeping, she didn’t want to wake him. Rest was the most healing thing for him.

Tiptoeing quietly across the dining room, she peered down into the family room, and smiled.

The Colonel was sound asleep on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his long form, and clutched snugly in his arms, a teddy bear.

><><><><

The End